Mid-June AC 192

Khushrenada Ancestral Estate – Moscow

It was the work of only a few moments to place a phone call to Otto. The younger man wasn't yet out of bed but that didn't stop him answering his Wing Commander near-to immediately, his eyes clear and his answers coherent despite his sleep-rumpled appearance.

"No, sir," he said promptly. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see a thing. Is he all right?" he asked worriedly, his lovely eyes soft in his concern for his closest friend and occasional lover. "He did mention having a headache last night before we left the base but it didn't seem to be bothering him over-much. I just assumed it had cleared itself up. I wouldn't have let him come back there alone if I'd thought he was sick," he added hurriedly, as though worried he had somehow failed in the older man's eyes.

Treize found a smile for the German pilot, more than a little familiar with his tendency to fret over his friend like a mother hen with a lone chick. "I know," he reassured. "Although you might stop encouraging him to Absinthe cocktails!" he chided sternly, letting his continuing smile mollify the words into the teasing they were supposed to be.

Otto blinked, then responded in typical fashion. "Oh, but, sir!" he protested promptly. "Do I have to? He's so much fun!" he exclaimed.

Treize laughed softly at the whiny tone Otto had summoned. "Thank you, Lieutenant Maxillian. That would be my brother you're talking about – I do not want to know the details of what you and he consider 'fun'!"

"Yes, sir!" Otto replied smartly, then frowned again, pensively. "Seriously, though, I didn't see a thing. The only thing odd he did all night was to return to the Estate rather than coming back to the Base with the rest of us and he does that at least once a week regardless."

Treize nodded his agreement with that, then terminated the call, bidding Otto to go back to bed so that Jean-Remy wouldn't have cause to yell at him again.

Turning away from the comm. unit, Treize frowned to himself. It was true that Zechs had a tendency to spend the odd night in his old room at the Estate rather than in his assigned quarters at the Base, but that was a product of his liking for comfort and was hardly a sign of distress when Treize himself did the same thing. It had been predictable enough behaviour from the moment it had been decided to permanently station the Zodiac Wing at the old Moscow Base regardless, behaviour not entirely discouraged by either Treize or Leia.

Thoughts of Leia prompted Treize to start looking for his wife again. In conjunction with Otto's reports of symptoms prior to their night out, Treize was more inclined to think his brother had just picked up a touch of the flu that was circulating with annual regularity through the ranks, but he still couldn't rule out a more sinister cause and had always been wary of doing so since missing it the first time it had happened a year ago.

Mid July AC 191

Zodiac Wing – Forward Operating Base

Treize stiffened at Zechs's question, his hands tightening automatically on the glass jug he was holding as he bit his lip. He might have expected the younger man to ask, he supposed – in fact, he had been expecting him to ask, which was why he hadn't wanted the blond in his rooms at all.

"No particular reason," Treize answered as smoothly as he could.

Behind him, he heard Zechs shift uneasily, the rustle of his uniform against his skin and the soft tap of his fingernails against the surface of the counter. "If you don't want to tell me…," he said, his voice still low, inviting intimacy between them. Treize had noted some weeks before that Zechs was developing a flair for intimidating the information he wanted out of people but he hadn't known the blond had learned so well how to coax, too. His tone of voice was pitched just as Valadin, professional in the field as she was, would have pitched it, and was possibly more effective for being masculine and rich. It made Treize want to tell his friend the truth and he had to take a deep breath to resist the urge.

"I don't," he replied shortly, knowing it for the half-lie it was.

Zechs shifted again. "Say so, then," he answered. "Don't lie to me," he instructed intently, leaving Treize to wonder how Zechs thought he should be giving instructions at all. "I can accept you wanting privacy but not that."

That comment made Treize chuckle bitterly. "Can you?" he asked tightly. "You never have before and I'm not seeing the evidence to back the statement up now. You're here," he pointed out, gesturing to his rooms with his free hand as he rinsed the coffee-pot a final time and then started to dry it, "despite me asking you to go away."

There was a moment's silence, then another rustle, very much as though Zechs had just shrugged. "I don't recall you asking me to go away," Zechs said, and Treize could hear the frown in his voice even before he turned and could see it. "You said you weren't for listening to me whine but you didn't ask me to leave, or to leave you alone."

Treize set the towel he was using down on the side, still holding the glass pot. "You're being deliberately obtuse," he snapped. "I more than made my intention clear!"

Zechs raised an eyebrow at the flare of temper and Treize reigned himself in forcibly. The more he reacted out of character, the more he would convince his younger friend there was something he wasn't admitting to.

"I'm sorry," Treize said quietly, glancing away for a moment. "I'm tired. It's been a long couple of days and I haven't had much sleep."

The younger man nodded slowly. "I know the feeling, believe me. I got a few hours yesterday afternoon but other than that…." He shrugged eloquently. "Last night really wasn't my idea, but you try telling Otto no when he thinks he's helping."

Treize knew he was supposed to reply to that, to say something encouraging given that it was a blatant lead-in to the conversation he'd already said he didn't want to have, but he wasn't for playing. "You're his senior officer, Zechs," he replied steadily, turning back to his coffee pot. "Make it an order and make it stick."

"I tried," Zechs replied, chuckling dryly. "He went and got Aristedes." He shifted, moving a pace or two so Treize could see him again out of the corner of his eyes, and shook his head. "Besides, I don't like doing that. If the subject is personal, I don't think it fair to bring our professional relationship into it. It's asking for problems in our friendship."

And that was the most unsubtle subtle reprimand Treize thought he'd ever heard. "Friendship or not, you have to be his commander first or you have no career," he countered carefully.

He won himself another humourless laugh. "Trying to tell me something, Treize?" Zechs asked quietly.

Treize shrugged. "Only as much as you were trying the same tactic," he answered. He sighed, and brought his hand to his eyes to press against them wearily, blocking the light, and the room, and Zechs out in a haze of over-pressured red. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Zechs. Not tonight."

There was another moment of silence, before warm fingers touched the top of Treize's arm lightly. "Are you all right?" Zechs asked quietly. "You were in the medical wing and you seem… off."

"I'm fine," Treize bit off, more shortly than he really should have. "I've already told you we're not having that conversation, either," he warned.

Zechs nodded immediately but his next words belied his acquiescence. "I know, it's just… Treize, if you're ill, just tell me," he pleaded. "If you're not feeling well, I'll leave you alone. I want your company but not…."

"Not what?" Treize snapped, interrupting the blonde's stumbling babble. "Not, what?" He shook his head sharply. "At what point am I entitled to privacy, Zechs? I've already told you I'm not talking about this!" The coffee pot clattered into the sink as Treize turned to glare at the younger man hotly, his breath coming rapidly as his temper surged. "Well?" he demanded harshly.

Zechs stared at him mutely, and his wide-eyed, frozen expression behind his glasses seemed to register with the older man after a beat, because Treize went a little wide-eyed himself and held up a hand as he took a step back. "Sorry," he murmured breathlessly. "I'm sorry. Christ!" he swore, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to them again. "I'm sorry," he repeated a third time, looking back at his friend. "This is why I didn't want you here. I'm not fit company for a cat tonight," he explained.

Zechs blinked once, warily. "Okay," he said neutrally. He forced a nervous chuckle. "I'd ask why but I'm afraid you'd shoot me, so…." He shrugged. "At least I know why you slapped me now," he offered. "You had me a little worried there," he confessed shakily.

Treize gave him a wry look. "I had you worried?" he asked. "With what you said to me? Zechs, you can't tell me you're putting yourself in considerable personal danger as reaction to an argument between us and expect me to be fine with it!" he said sharply.

Zechs frowned, bewildered. "Pardon?" he asked, wondering where this was coming from. "When did I tell you that?" he asked blankly.

"In the med-wing," Treize replied. "Or did I misunderstand what you were saying? You gave me to understand that your encounter with Lieutenant Aristedes was unprotected."

The younger man shrugged tightly, realising that for all he'd wanted to explain to Treize, he also really didn't. The topic of sex had never been an easy one between them and this, Zechs realised abruptly, was a conversation that was going to play perfectly to absolutely all of Treize's worst ideas about the lifestyle choices Zechs had made. "It was," he admitted, having already said too much to even attempt denial.

Treize nodded sharply. "Well, then," he said sharply. "You see why I have to be concerned. Whatever issues you and I may have had professionally yesterday," he continued, "you shouldn't be responding by letting yourself be hurt like that. It smacks of a dangerous lack of self-respect and I really had hoped you thought more of yourself than that," he said, his tone of voice very soft.

Zechs felt his jaw drop in disbelief as he stared at his friend impassively for a moment. "What?" he asked automatically, then spluttered a strangled, "Oh, my God!" before bursting into howling laughter.

He closed his eyes helplessly, leaning weakly against the counter behind him for a moment as he let the fit take him. "Have you heard yourself?" he gasped when he could form the words. He indicated Treize with his free hand and only laughed harder at the man's truly taken aback expression. "Seriously?" he asked. He shook his head helplessly. "Otto's going to die laughing."

Treize's face began to shade into an annoyed frown. "This isn't funny, Zechs," he snapped curtly. "If you really are responding to reasonable discipline in such a fashion, then there's something seriously wrong."

Zechs sobered as best he could, shaking his head again. "My only response to you yelling at me was to drink a little too much and let Otto talk me into a partner I didn't know," he explained. "I told you, none of what happened last night was my idea. I didn't agree to Leander fucking me bare. I'm not rightly sure I agreed to any of it at all, frankly, but that's beside the point."

Within seconds, Zechs knew he'd said something wrong, even if he didn't know what. Treize's eyes flashed at his words, his expression shifting this time to outrage of another kind, and horrified shock.

"What?" the commander asked flatly. He paled noticeably, his lips parting as he exhaled hard. "Zechs," he said helplessly, "Illia, are you sure?" He reached out, looking for all the world as though he were going to catch Zechs arm, then let his hand drop without completing the gesture. "You're certain you didn't give consent?" he quizzed gently.

"Pretty sure, yes," Zechs answered truthfully. "I was way too out of it to string the words together. Does it matter?" he asked carefully, confused as to why Treize was reacting so badly.

And that too, apparently, was the wrong response. Treize choked, closing his eyes for a beat as his lips parted in open shock. He swallowed heavily, then looked at Zechs again, something in his expression turning his eyes dark and sorrowful. "Of course it matters," he said quietly. "Considerably so."

"Why?" Zechs wondered. He paused as he took in Treize's nauseated, mournful expression and then rolled his eyes, shaking his head as the light dawned. "Oh please, spare me," he said flatly. "If you're about to suggest that Leander assaulted me last night," he continued, "then don't. I'm really not interested in hearing it."

"You should be," Treize replied lowly. "And if you didn't give him consent, then assault is too mild a term for what he did to you by a long way," he warned.

Zechs couldn't help but smile, even though he knew it was the wrong reaction. "Is it?" he checked. He shook his head. "It's hard to rape the willing, Treize," he said, trying to soothe the older man somewhat even as he took a sadistic pleasure in the way Treize flinched at the word he'd been hedging around.

Really, though, Zechs suspected suddenly that he should have seen this coming because this was exactly what Valadin had tried to warn him about once. Treize, patently straight and – in Zechs's opinion – painfully uptight about such things, was reacting to what he was being told from a completely different worldview than anything Zechs was used to. Certainly, Otto hadn't cared a whit about who had said what to whom.

Treize, different worldview as cause or not, didn't seem soothed. "Were you willing?" he asked tightly. "It doesn't sound like it." He frowned suddenly. "Although I'm not sure whether I'm more bothered by what may have happened to you last night, or by the fact that you don't seem to care about it," he confessed.

Zechs sighed abruptly, then shrugged. "I care," he corrected. "Just not for the same reasons you do." He rubbed his head slowly, trying to think of the best way to phrase his thoughts. "Look, Treize," he started bluntly, "I'm kind of sluttish," he admitted honestly. "I know that; I make no secret of it. Whether or not I actually let Leander have me last night really is mostly irrelevant."

Treize grimaced but the way he was fidgeting strongly suggested they were close to his limit for details. "Not to me," he said stubbornly.

Zechs smiled. "Which is sweet of you, admittedly, but also irrelevant. Didn't you say you weren't for playing guidance counsellor tonight?" he asked, determined to distract the older man.

"Yes, but…." Treize started, then stopped as Zechs shook his head.

"Well, then, stop talking before you get to the bit of this that does upset me." Zechs shrugged, forcing the gesture to be careless. "We'll agree to talk about the weather for the rest of the night or something."

The off-hand comment at least won him a dry snort from the other man. "What rest of the night?" Treize asked. "I'm waiting for Une to give me the end of shift report and then I'm going to bed. From the look of you, you should be doing the same."

"Ah," Zechs said, then shifted uneasily. "I was hoping to talk you into letting me sleep on your couch, actually," he admitted. "If you wouldn't mind?" he tried, infusing his tone with more hopefulness than Treize was comfortable hearing.

The older man hoped his wince wasn't visible but suspected it had been when Zechs flinched. "I'm sorry," he started immediately but the blond waved him off.

"No, it's all right," he said hurriedly, having read every inch of Treize's reluctance from the involuntary start the older man had given. "I shouldn't have asked. You've already told me you don't want company. I'm being daft anyway," he added, with a forced smile. "And lazy. I'm trying to avoid cleaning up my room!"

Treize seemed to settle at that, raising one knowing eyebrow as he shook his head and turned to rescue his abandoned coffee pot. "Teenagers," he muttered dryly. "Two months without regular room inspections and they lose all sense of discipline."

"Blame Otto," Zechs fired back, "not me. When have I ever been untidy?"

At that, Treize laughed softly. "You forget I knew you as a child," he reminded. "How many times did my mother force me into helping you clear up your room?"

It hadn't been all that often, to Zechs's memory, and the mess had usually been the result of one of Treize's schemes in the first place, but there was enough truth in the older officer's needling that the blond felt himself blush a little regardless. "You always got even for it," he replied, "and besides, it turned out to be good practice, didn't it? Think your mother knew you'd be a father this soon?" he asked lightly.

Treize's pause was momentary, but the sudden stillness set all sorts of alarm bells ringing in Zechs's head. He was hypersensitive to family troubles, particularly when they concerned Treize, and that reaction was as good as waving a red cloak in front of a bull.

A cloud of frightened worry dawning in his mind, Zechs took a slow step forward, reaching out to the older man automatically. "Treize?" he asked carefully, letting his tone tell his friend that Zechs was on to him.

Treize stilled in his reassembly of his coffee machine, tensing under Zechs's fingertips as he shook his head. "Don't," he answered emptily.

Zechs frowned. "Don't what?" he asked. He solidified his grip on the redhead, seeking for the leverage to make him turn around. "Don't what, Treize?" he pressed.

"Just don't," the older man replied. He shifted to free himself from Zechs's hand, shrugging him off roughly.

The blond pulled his hand back obediently, but only to step closer still. "Treize, if…," he started, and stopped when a knock on the door echoed through the room.

The relief in Treize's posture was all the confirmation Zechs needed that there really was something wrong but the older man moved too quickly for him to pursue it further.

"That will be Lady Une," the Commander said swiftly. He stepped away from his little kitchen, crossing his room rapidly to gather up some papers he had resting on his couch. "I'm sorry to renege on that offer of coffee but I do have to speak with her. Let her in on your way out, would you?" he instructed.

Zechs hesitated, every instinct that screamed at him to stay and press his friend until Treize confessed in direct conflict with the part that was conditioned to obey military discipline, then reluctantly turned for the door when Une knocked again.

He paused again with his hand on the door latch. "Should I come back later?" he asked awkwardly, tumbling the words out in a hopeful rush. He looked over his shoulder as he spoke, silently begging Treize to look up at him and say yes, but the older man didn't waver from his paper-collecting.

"Whatever for, Zechs?" he answered firmly. "Go. I'll meet you for breakfast before the morning briefing."

It should have been a comforting offer, except that breakfast was served in the mess hall, in public, where Zechs couldn't even begin to ask the hundred questions pressing in his mind, as Treize was undoubtedly intending.

It suddenly occurred to the blond how much easier it was going to be for Treize to avoid being alone with him as Wing Commander and Squadron Leader than it had been as Instructor and Cadet. There was no professional route of access guaranteed now as there had been until a few weeks before – Treize was entirely entitled to relay all military matters either through Une or through Jean-Remy, and there was nothing Zechs could do about it.

It made him even more uncomfortable about leaving Treize now, but as Une knocked a third time and Treize lifted his head to glare at him, the blond acknowledged that he had no real choice and opened the door.

It was only when he saw Une on the other side, waiting impatiently, that another idea came to him.