With hindsight, it should have been obvious that General Septum was going to explode all over again at the news that it was the L5 colonies behind the attempts on his life. The man was highly excitable and took everything far too personally – in Zechs's opinion – for a military commander.

What, perhaps, should also have been obvious was the reaction of the rest of the commanders to Septum's demand that the guilty colonies be punished as swiftly and as brutally as the Alliance could manage. Zechs personally felt sickened by the proposals tabled by the general of the Cosmo-Arma, but it looked as though he was the only one.

The vast majority of those at the table appeared to fully support Septum's plans – certainly no-one voiced any objection. Even Treize, much to Zechs's dismay, made no attempt at dissent. The older man appeared content to settle for telling silence on the matter, and, when the pilot hissed his name in encouragement, he merely shot Zechs a quelling look and reached for his water glass.

Zechs couldn't understand how any of the men and women at the table could countenance even discussing Septum's schemes but then, none of them had been victims of a holocaust as he had.

"Major Marquise, what is the position of the Specials on this matter?" Noventa asked abruptly. "I presume we can count on your support in any action we undertake?"

The pilot tensed – he had been warned it would come to this, but he still hadn't been expecting it. Taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts and steady his voice, Zechs looked at the Marshall. "That would depend on what support was required. I would need the chance to examine the details of any mission before I could agree to commit my troops to it," he replied, silently thanking Treize for that bit of advice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zechs saw Treize smile at him and then grimace suddenly.

"I don't think I quite understand, Major," General Ventei interjected. "It is your commander-in-chief who has been the victim of most of these baseless attacks – a man I had been given to understand is also a close personal friend of yours, and a blood relative. Why would you refuse to act to protect him from further attempts on his life? There is no guarantee that the next assassin will be as unsuccessful as their predecessors."

Zechs shook his head again, calling on his knowledge of Treize for what the older man would have replied to Ventei's insinuation. "I think you may have misunderstood me, sir," he countered as the words came to him. "I did not say that the Specials were refusing to assist – we are a part of the Alliance after all – merely that I refuse to agree to a mission with so little information. If the mission designed is suitable, then…"

The pilot trailed off as Treize suddenly got to his feet and stepped away from the table, drawing all eyes in the room to him. As Zechs looked up, the older man gripped his shoulder with one hand, squeezing gently for a second before he made for the door. The lack of colour in the general's face and the expression in his eyes was enough to communicate to Zechs what the problem was.

"Colonel Treize…?" Noventa asked, rather harshly, obviously not appreciative of the man walking out in the middle of his meeting.

At the same moment, Une shot Zechs a questioning glance, obviously wanting to go after their commander. Concern for his lover overriding everything else, Zechs nodded to her and watched as she shot out of the room after Treize before turning his attention to the Marshall and forcing a smile for politeness' sake. "I shall have to beg your pardon for my commander it seems. I'm afraid the injuries he sustained in the Dover bombing are still causing him some discomfort."

Noventa and Ventei exchanged a swift look, and then the Marshall smiled. "Of course, Major. We understand completely. Now…"

The meeting finally ended some three hours later – by which time Zechs was feeling utterly wrung out.

With Treize's disappearance from the room, the other commanders had abruptly taken on all the characteristics of the sharks the older man had described them as, and they appeared to have scented blood in the water. The barrage of questions, insinuations and leading statements thrown in his direction had made Zechs's head spin, confusing him to the point where he had no idea what was happening. Lady Une's brief reappearance to inform the pilot that Treize had – as Zechs had suspected – finally lost his fight against the effect of his painkillers had done nothing to help his concentration.

Though Treize had ordered Une to return to the meeting to help the pilot, Zechs had given in to his feelings and overridden him, unwilling to let the older man be alone. Une had pointed out that Noin was available to watch Treize but both Zechs and the Lady knew full well that the older man would never let a subordinate see him in any state of weakness. There were only two living people Treize would allow to serve as a helping hand if he needed one, and if Zechs couldn't be there then he was determined Une would be.

Une's eyes had once again shown her clear gratitude – concern for Treize seemed to be a common bond between them, whatever else their differences – and she had left as quietly as she had come, removing Zechs's last bastion of support against Noventa and his allies as she did so.

Treize was sitting with the two women in a small lounge opposite the meeting room, and as the door opened and the officers began to spill out, he lifted his head and began searching for his friend. The satisfied air around the Alliance commanders, and the pleased looks on their faces sparked a flash of unease in him, but it was overridden in the next moment by concern. As the pilot caught sight of his commander and changed direction, Treize could see utter exhaustion marked in every line of Zechs's body. Three hours of dealing with some of the slipperiest men in the Earth Sphere had left the younger man looking about as bad as Treize felt.

Zechs came to stand in front of Treize, looking down at him, his worry for his friend showing in his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Une said…"

"I'm fine," Treize insisted. "Though I would like to get home. Are you all right?" he asked in turn. "You look rather done in."

Zechs shrugged tiredly. "Bastards, every one of them," he whispered and Treize couldn't help but smile.

"As long as you didn't sign anything," he replied, relieved when Zechs shook his head.

"I suspect I sounded like a stuck record by the end of the meeting. The only thing I agreed with was that something had to be done to prevent more attacks."

Treize frowned, catching a sudden glimpse of a smiling General Septum and a grimacing Rena over Zechs's shoulder. "I'm sorry?" he asked, abruptly certain that Zechs had acquiesced to far more than he thought.

"Sir?" Zechs quizzed, hearing his friend's tone sharpen. "Was I not supposed to? I had to give them something..."

Treize stood up, pausing to catch his balance. "Zechs, what…" he began, and stopped when a hand on his shoulder made him turn. "Jean?" he asked, as he established that the hand belonged to Colonel Rena.

"Treize, you look terrible, old boy – which isn't something I thought I'd ever get chance to say about you!"

"Very droll, Jean," Treize returned, wondering what had prompted the other man to come over. "Did you want something, or were you simply looking for an excuse to insult me?"

The Intelligence officer shook his sandy blond head, sobering. "You're staying in town, aren't you?" he asked. "Will you be home this evening?"

"Does it look as though I'm going out?"

"I suppose not. I'm sorry I can't leave you to your rest but we need to talk, privately." Rena's gaze locked with Treize's for a moment and then he turned to face Zechs. "My compliments on your piloting abilities, Major, I hear you're quite something in a mobile suit," he murmured and stepped around the younger man to walk away.

Treize felt himself go cold. "Zechs, what have you done?" he asked softly.

The question appeared to be rhetorical, because he didn't wait for the blond to answer him. Zechs watched, confused and a little alarmed, as Treize exchanged hurried words with Une. What on Earth had Rena meant by that last comment? Even Zechs had been able to recognise its two-edged nature. And why had it prompted such a strong response from Treize?

Zechs followed as the older man beckoned to him, suddenly certain that he'd done something terribly, truly wrong.

"What, specifically, did you agree to, Zechs?" Treize demanded as soon as the younger man closed his commander's office door behind him. "I need the exact wording if you please."

Zechs stared at his friend, the apprehension that had been teasing at the back of his mind all afternoon solidifying into a lump in his gut.

Treize had spent all afternoon working in this office with Une, leaving Zechs and Noin to their own devices. The pilot had hoped that Treize would allow him to sit in on the meeting he'd had with Colonel Rena, but that hadn't been the case. When the Romefeller spy had departed, looking grave, not more then five minutes before, Treize had immediately summoned Zechs to his presence.

"I don't understand," Zechs confessed. "I told you at Horse Guards – I only agreed that something had to be done to stop any more attacks. I thought… it seemed a harmless enough thing to concede, and I had to give Noventa something."

"Did you? Why?" Treize shook his head. "I wouldn't have."

"No, but… They wouldn't let it go, and I'm not you. I can't talk circles around people the way you can. Noventa was ready to keep going for hours if I didn't give him something and…"

"And you were more worried about me than doing your job," Treize finished shortly. "Which is precisely what I told you not to do."

Zechs tensed. "It's hardly that simple…"

The older man shook his head. "Isn't it?" he snapped. "I repeatedly told you not to agree to anything! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything!" Zechs protested. "I didn't sign anything, I didn't consent to any specific mission, despite the way Septum was pushing – I thought… I didn't concede anything I didn't want to!"

Treize raised an eyebrow, slowly, letting the silence stretch as he wondered if Zechs really knew what he'd just said. "I beg your pardon?" he enquired eventually, his voice little more than a murmur. "I don't think I quite heard you correctly."

The pilot felt the condescension in Treize's voice hit him like a slap across the face and he drew himself to perfect attention, forcing down the sudden flash of anger he felt. "I didn't yield to any sentiment I don't, personally, agree with," he returned coolly. "Those people have repeatedly tried to have you killed. Some form of reprisal is necessary."

Treize gazed at Zechs for a moment and then nodded once. "Yes, I suppose I might have expected you'd think along those lines," he agreed. "You do have rather a fondness for the concept of revenge."

Zechs recoiled, stunned beyond words. The first coherent thought through his mind was that Treize must be utterly furious with him to make such a remark. The second, accompanied by a welter of disbelieving betrayal, was that he hadn't thought the older man could ever be angry enough to be so callous.

It hadn't been two months since the pilot had confided his dream of avenging his family to Treize – the only person he'd ever admitted it to. He'd shared his secret in hushed, hurried whispers against the other man's skin as Treize held him, and only the darkness of their bedroom and the lingering intimacy of their recent lovemaking had let him speak at all. The fear that Treize would be disgusted at his desire for blood and the agony of confessing his most closely held secret had almost broken something in Zechs, but the relief when Treize breathed back his understanding had made all the struggle worthwhile.

"How could you?" Zechs gasped, rage stealing his voice from him.

Treize stared at him remorselessly. "How could I? I could as well ask you the same thing. I told you the Alliance have been looking for an excuse to bring L5 to heel and they fully intend to use the assassination attempts as a justification for attacking the L5 colonies. Specifically, colony A0206, so Jean-Michel informed me when he was here. It's old, it's expensive to maintain and the families controlling it are two of the most independent. Many of the most disturbing rumours coming from space are centred there too."

Zechs shook his head. "Aren't you both being a touch alarmist? I only agreed that some sort of action had to be taken, not the nature of it. Was I expected to argue for doing nothing at all? Don't you think it would have looked rather odd if I had? As Ventei said, you are my friend."

"Oh, indeed," Treize snorted. "But just what do you imagine that action will be? A polite request to co-operate? An invitation to tea?" He raised an eyebrow, pinning the younger man in place with his gaze. "I think perhaps it's time you grew up, Major, and realised the nature of the world you live in. Noventa and Septum aren't planning a few light air raids or isolated assaults on those directly responsible, Zechs – they never were. The current plan is to do just as you heard Septum propose: virus-bomb the entire population, and then destroy the colony itself."

Zechs froze in place, feeling as confused and off-balance as he had in the meeting. "What? I did not give my consent to that! There was no discussion of any specific action…" he objected.

"Did you ask?" Treize cut in. "You were there when Septum tabled the idea. You even encouraged me to protest it when no one else did. How could you possibly believe that wasn't what was being discussed?"

"I don't know!" the younger man snapped, his blood running cold as Treize's words sank in. "I only wanted to protect you!" he confessed. "To keep you safe. I didn't think…"

"No, I don't imagine you did," Treize sighed, and his disappointment was too clear. "You 'only wanted to protect me'," he repeated bitterly. "Did you really intend to sanction the slaughter of a colony to do it? Should I be flattered that you think my life is worth so much?"

Zechs could feel himself beginning to shake in reaction as the two men stared at each other, a swirl of feeling in the air between them. Just as Zechs drew a deep breath, scrabbling for the words to explain, Treize gestured sharply and shook his head.

"Would you like the full truth of what you've done?" the general asked, and the expression in his eyes was absolutely merciless. "They needed your consent," he snapped. "UESA regulations state that the full assent of all unit commanders is needed before an action on this scale can be considered. Noventa called this meeting with the express intent of getting it from you, knowing I would never give it. I don't hold with genocide."

"Stop it…" Zechs whispered, not quite sure whether he was pleading with the older man to prevent the actions he had so unwittingly permitted, or merely for an end to the general's dispassionate detailing of the magnitude of the pilot's error.

Treize took it to mean the former. "I intend to try, believe me. I have no plans to massacre the population of that colony. Fortunately for them, neither does Colonel Rena, so I stand a chance."

"Thank God…"

"Oh, don't look so horrified, Major." Treize purred. "In the end, it won't be you that has to sign the order." He smiled suddenly at Zechs, the expression utterly without mirth as the younger man fell back a pace or two. "Even if I can't prevent it, it's not so bad, you know. 86,546 people are just a drop in the ocean to the Alliance. It's not even as many as they killed in Newport City."

Zechs turned pale, bringing up one hand as though to ward away the other man's words. "Treize, please!" he choked desperately, his voice little more than a whimper.

There was a moment of complete silence, and then Treize lost his smile and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he murmured softly. "That was utterly unforgivable of me." He turned on his heel sharply and crossed the room to his little credenza liquor cabinet, pouring and drinking a measure of some spirit in short order. "Get out," he ordered quietly, staring morosely at the heavy tumbler he was holding in his good hand.

Zechs felt despair catch at him, stealing his breath away. "Oh, no, Treize, don't…" he begged.

The older man shook his head. "Go on, before I say something else I shouldn't," he insisted, glancing at the pilot with something infinitely tired in his eyes.

"I'm sorry!"

"I know."

There was a hesitation for a breath or two, and then Treize closed the space between the two of them and reached up a little to kiss the younger man fleetingly. "I love you, Milliardo," he murmured, so quietly that Zechs almost didn't catch it, "but right now I don't want to be near you. I wouldn't ever willingly hurt you, but I'm really about to rather spectacularly lose my temper and if you stay I can't answer for what I'll do…."

Zechs nodded silently, numbed by the contradiction the older man was presenting him with. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do and yet, all he could offer Treize by way of apology was to obey his wishes perfectly. Unsteadily, the younger man turned and walked to the door on quiet feet.

The general came with him, closing the door behind him without saying a word and turned the key in the lock with a click

Zechs stood in the corridor, staring at the ornate carving on the door blankly, not quite sure what to do or where to go until Treize's voice echoed through the thick wood, harsher than the blond had ever heard it over an unrelenting torrent of heated German invective. Stunned, the pilot fell back against the wall, waiting for his mind to catch up with the last few minutes and begin to process it all.

A moment later, the unmistakeable crash of glass shattering against the other side of the door made him jump away and take off down the corridor at a dead run.