---Shades Of Grey---
Chapter 2-Seen With The Vision Of Youth
**Paths cross, collide, and entangle more than Treize when he tries hunting on his uncle's estate and comes across someone else's prey. . . Hasty decisions are forced on many, forming bonds more important than they realize. Did you ever note how when Treize shoots that bird, he only knocks off a few feathers, and the bird itself doesn't fall. . . ?**
Two days later. . .
Slapping his annoying alarm clock, Treize Kushrenada hauled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and began hunting out his bird-hunting clothes and favorite rifle. //A brace of partridges would be nice this morning. . . Or pheasant. That would make for a good supper. . . //
Neatly fastening his tri-colored old combat jacket with deft fingers, he paused to smile into the mirror in irony at his reflection.
"Treize Kushrenada in old fatigues. . . Nobody would believe it but Uncle Catalonia!" he chuckled, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to push those last two tendrils of hair back from his forehead. "But I hate waste, and I barely use them otherwise. Besides, why change tactics simply because the prey is different? Men or birds, both can be sharp-sighted."
Shaking his head, he swung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap, shoved a few spare cartridges into the jacket pocket, and left his elegant room for the estate's fringes.
Striding down the main staircase, his boots clopping on the marble steps, he could faintly hear the clinking of servants in the kitchen and dining room setting up for breakfast, and detoured to pass through the latter. Before anyone could say a word, he snatched up a couple rolls from a steaming breadbasket set on the buffet table only a mere instant before his entrance--and quickened his pace for the opposite door, which would let him into the garden and from there, the forest.
//Breakfast to go. . . //
"Master Treize!" admonished General Catalonia's butler sternly--though the man couldn't help an amused and helpless smile at the young Lieutenant's back.
"I'm off before the birds fully get their senses together, Jensen!" the young man laughed over his shoulder, not pausing.
His laughter trailed behind him out the garden doors, leaving the old servant to shake his head and chuckle.
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//I'm /sure/ I winged that pheasant,// Treize assured himself firmly, stomping along the river path angrily. //It can't have gone far. . . Oh hell, Treize, just admit you just hit tail feathers! It doesn't look like the damn bird's anywhere near here, for all it seemed to fly this way.//
Cursing under his breath, the young soldier stomped all the harder, ignoring the fact that his heavy steps would scare the bird off well before he found it, even if it /were/ around to be found. But he stepped too hard once too often--and suddenly the bank crumbled beneath his weight, dropping the young man through the tall weedy boarder of the path and into the edge of the silty river.
A yelp, and the highborn young man found himself sitting on his rump on the gravelly--but luckily shallow--edge of the river, dirty water swirling around his knees and soaking him to the ribs.
"Damn it!" he cursed, half-growling and half-bellowing his frustration out at the forest and river around him. //At least it didn't /fill/ the rifle, but now I have to clean it when I get back. And I /hate/ cleaning mud out of my guns! And my clothes. . . Oh, this is going to be /so/ undignified. . . limping in half wet and muddy like this with nothing to show for my efforts out here. Dorothy will laugh her head off!//
Angrily, the young man flung himself to his feet and shook water off his rifle--a vain attempt to dry at least that beloved object. Muttering under his breath about making pheasants enter the Endangered Species listing soon, he turned back towards the overgrown bank, and put his hands on his hips, glaring at it.
It was steep, to keep the path dry during minor floods, but eroding badly, and not just where it had dumped him but to the left and right, it did not look safe enough to risk climbing back up. //I'd just end up even /more/ soaked and filthy, then--/if/ I don't lose the gun entirely the next time. Better find a better place to climb up.//
With a sigh, Treize began sloshing along in the shallows parallel to the bank, thankful he thought to wear his high uniform boots for all that they were already full of muddy water, following the river up-stream. "Somewhere near here must be a sandbar, or inlet, where the bank's not so bad. . . ," he murmured out loud, letting the sound of his own voice hearten him.
Ah, ahead he could see a fallen tree trapped against the bank, and quickened his pace eagerly at the hope of the thick trunk boosting him back to dry land. Lifting one heavy waterlogged boot, he set that foot firmly on the trunk, and reached up to stabilize himself with a half-rotten root, when something caught his eye, making him glance down at the upriver side of the tangled flotsam.
Something pale, unnatural in this setting, gleaming weakly in the early light, too big to be a dead fish.
Bending, Treize peered closer, and almost fell backwards in surprise, eyes widening.
Mud soiled the fair gleaming, but couldn't conceal it--pale hair so fair it must have been white when clean, pale skin beneath and beside it. . .
//A person--is he dead?//
A tentative hand reached out to brush mud-plastered long hair away from the face, curious. This wouldn't be the first dead man Treize had ever seen, but he could see enough to feel that the loss of this handsome creature would be an unspoken tragedy for this world.
Matted hair aside--so soft--he could see the face, young, fine-featured, relaxed, yet set in a vaguely sad--or despairing--expression. Skin was cool, clammy from the river's soaking, but not the cold of death. And--was that the brush of a faint breath tickling his hand?
//He's alive?// Tossing his rifle up onto the dry path above, Treize vaulted over the fallen tree, soggy clothes and water-filled boots forgotten as he fought through the flotsam and water to reach the limp figure's side.
The young man was half-sprawled over a branch of the fallen tree, head and shoulders held above the water by it, the rest of his body hidden by the murky water, which was a bit deeper on this side of the massive trunk. He might have been fighting the river's current and fetched up against the tree in a high flood--if so, it seemed he'd run out of strength beyond levering his upper body onto safety. Ragged-edged long hair tickled his shoulders, the tips tugged playfully by the water still, so it didn't conceal the sharp jutting of his spine and all-too-visible ribs. . . nor the marks of water-soaked recent slashes and older scars on his hide. Those prominent ribs were moving faintly, shallow breaths, the quiet ones of someone unconscious.
Treize's eyes softened, and he jerked branches free of their grip with the old tree, tossing them out of the way--ironically back into the river's powerful current to go tangle up somewhere less annoying. But it cleared the pale young man's body enough that the Lieutenant could reach under those weakly-holding arms and lift that unresisting body.
//He's amazingly light--but then, he doesn't look like he's been eating well lately. He's all skin and bones!// Shifting his grip, Treize set one arm about the stranger's shoulders, to free a hand to scoop up those long legs.
//He's not yet my own height. . . But then, I think he's a bit younger than me. What a mess. . . ! The river wasn't easy on him, whoever he is-- and he's not wearing a stitch! Heavens, Uncle Catalonia would probably have a fit if my clothes didn't corroborate with my story.//
Shifting that light form in his arms, Treize carefully began picking his way up the pile of flotsam and the fallen tree towards the top of the bank again, choosing his steps with care. This was no place to fall--it would be too easy to crack his head on one of those thick beams of wood and drown /both/ of them, like this young fellow nearly had!
That pale head lolled against Treize's chest, and he felt the limp form jerk with a couple faint coughs. He glanced down at that fair face, and smiled wryly. //Swallowed half the river, did you? I'm not surprised. How on Earth did you ever end up like this? Now /that/ might surprise me.//
Either the tree or the river weren't willing to give up the stranger without some form of retaliation, because a root caught Treize's foot at the top, and dumped both him and his dripping burden unceremoniously onto the grassy river path. Sprawled on his side, the stranger began coughing again, oblivious to poor Treize half-crouched over him and griping over skinned palms that were the price of avoiding falling on him.
//I'd better get the worst of that water out of him, first.// Struggling back to his feet, he pulled that unresisting light body fully onto the flat path.
//Arms over head, face-down, knees under hips to help the water reach his mouth. . . //
Treize froze amid positioning the young man to drain the fellow's lungs, staring, one hand on a bony knee he was about to tuck under the younger man's body.
Massive claw marks, one so deep it had been sutured together only days ago, in the calf of the young man's leg.
A familiar pattern of claw marks, with equally familiar ones nearly hidden by the long hair about the young man's shoulders.
//It's him. . . // The young Lieutenant had to sit down before his knees gave way, and plopped onto the grass beside his foundling. //Six--from Project Circe. . . Circe, the Greek sorceress who changed men into beasts and who Odysseus had to force to change back into men. . . Am I saving man or beast here? He must have been one of the three we saw escape.//
Again, a faint cough. Hands crooked into feeble claws to grip the grass, and shoulders tensed, a weak, unconscious effort that failed utterly. Struggling to live. Survival instincts demanded that he wouldn't surrender to the dark without a fight.
Reaching a hand to brush hair from that fair face again, Treize frowned slightly. //Hell, he's maybe, /maybe/ fifteen at the most! He didn't want to kill /then/--I doubt he'll want to now. Perhaps, as the tale goes, I can make him human again? Or at least help him keep his humanity?//
Shaking his head and sighing, Treize knelt beside Six and, wrapping an arm about that thin waist, finished tucking the fellow's legs under his body before starting to thump prominent ribs with the flat of his hand. . . and firmly keeping his gaze on a flutter of hair that swayed with every cough that followed.
//Admit it, Treize,// he admonished himself sternly, //you think he's handsome and want to keep him, now that he's managed to follow you home.//
Those coughs deepened, shaking the whole body in his arms as Six began retching up river-water.
//I want more than just to keep him,// Treize chuckled to himself, acutely aware of that bare, damp figure he was bracing against his hip against the vibrations of those increasingly violent coughs. //Think mud, Treize-- river-mud in your poor rifle and this man's lungs. Ick, no wonder it makes people sick after they half-drown! It's bad enough trying to get it out of the bullet chambers. . . //
At last, the worst of the water was out, and those coughs swiftly faded into deep breaths, refilling half-swamped lungs with life again.
Loosening his hold about Six's waist, Treize sat back on his heels, mind whirling. //Now what do I do with him? Surely there's a hunt up. . . //
An arm moved, slowly dragging along the grass, stopping now and then as if that much was severely taxing the owner's strength and he needed to rest. It halted with hand flat on the grass by his mouth. The other elbow bent a bit, and shoulders tightened, shook. . . failed.
//Is he. . . is he waking?// Treize wondered, glancing about for his rifle worriedly. //Yes, I saved you, but only God knows how sane you are when it comes to a witness to your escape!//
That pale head turned, and Six glanced at him through matted bangs with one icy blue eye.
Treize couldn't escape that gaze, pinned, captivated. //They're slitted, like a cat's. . . But I've never seen a cat with eyes such a light blue!// He couldn't breathe. //Lovely eyes. . . //
That visible eye narrowed, and a faint, deep gravelly growl echoed the defiance gleaming in its depths.
Reaching a hand in a peaceful gesture, Treize shook his head in answer to that sound, that defiance. "I'm not an enemy," he offered quietly, hoping against hope to turn that anger away from himself. "I'm a friend. . . " //I'd love to be more, but I don't care to be ripped into ribbons by six- inch claws like yours, friend. Being a friend may be daring enough for now.//
The growl faded, but that eye remained warily on Treize for a moment, before the young man turned back to trying to lever his shoulders off the ground. With little luck still--Six's body shook from his efforts, but he couldn't get more than an inch off the flattened grass. He collapsed limply with a frustrated, exhausted puff of a sigh.
//He needs help, and badly. . . But if he changes and turns on me when I try to help him, I'll lose a hand before he can stop!// Treize decided sadly, feeling a sympathy for this independent, determined spirit. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. . . Let me help you," he pointed out in a vague warning, as he reached out a hand.
There was no hiding the tension that appeared under his touch--muscles tightened, tensed, even if they didn't have the strength to do anything about it.
//Afraid of me? Wary? How /did/ they discipline them in that place? How did they try to control what they made? I don't see any marks, but there are ways to hurt that don't leave any. . . //
Pushing a damp shoulder over, he half-rolled the younger man onto his back, then slid an arm about those tensed shoulders to lever Six into a half- sitting, half-sidelying position. Treize had to bite his lip at the weight of that body against his chest, the wisps of pale hair that dared to tickle his nose, the warm breath against his throat. //Mud, Treize, mud! Just focus on the reek of the river that's on you both. . . // he reminded himself firmly.
But Six didn't have the strength to hold that position, and didn't even bother something as beyond his abilities as escaping Treize's support. Tired muscles relaxed, unable to hold their tension, and he simply leaned against Treize's chest weakly, focused on breathing again. . . After a moment's rest, though, his head turned, lifted, to face his rescuer fully.
Treize stared into those icy blue eyes so uncomfortably close to his own, his own breath stilling at the uncertainty and weary pain he could read in those depths. //He's. . . lovely. . . God, how could they try their inhumane games on someone like this?!? How could anyone hurt someone like this? May as well abuse an angel. . . //
That uncertainty faded, the longer those cat-eyes stared into his own, slowly replaced by something akin to bewilderment, with a flicker of curiosity hidden in it, perhaps.
"Th-thank you." Six's voice was still soft, quiet, low, but roughened by the river's treatment.
Treize had to swallow twice before he could respond with his own gentle, "You're welcome."
Those spellbinding cat eyes closed slowly again, their owner relaxing against Treize as if just supporting his own head to maintain that gaze was becoming too much for him.
"Just relax," Treize added, uncertain the other was still awake to hear him. "I'll take care of the rest. . . " //The river took a heavy toll on him. . . I won't be surprised if you've just fainted on me, friend. . . //
As if taking him on his word, those deep breaths sank into the steady pattern of one lost to consciousness again.
Treize smiled slowly, gently, at that relaxed face so alluringly near his own. //I take it you trust me, then?// he chuckled to himself, carefully slipping a hand under those bony knees again to scoop the younger man in his arms again. //Well, better get you inside and doctored up--as best as the servants and myself can manage. . . I don't think we dare call in a professional. And what would we call? Doctor or vet?//
Carefully getting to his feet so as not to jar--and possibly wake--his charge, Treize turned back along the path towards his uncle's manor house, musing grimly, //I wonder what Uncle Catalonia will say. . . //
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Voices around him, over him. . .
//No--no more, please, I can't stand people any more! Just let me go, let me go somewhere people never go, and be the animal you made me into. . . Better an animal then a man. . . // he begged silently, knowing that to voice such things would lead to nothing more than self-humiliation.
They wouldn't listen. They never had.
Pride--did he even have that little left to him? Probably not. The illusion of it, perhaps. //I don't know what matters anymore. . . just keeping my secret safe. They will never know Relena lives. . . In that much I still win, you bastards! You may have destroyed me, but you failed, you failed. . . //
//I failed. . . Look at what I am now. . . A monster. A beast. A killer.// The old ache of that acknowledgement made his chest hurt, and brought on a weak cough.
His throat hurt, he realized. Despite all the river-water he'd swallowed, it was rough and dry and aching. Or perhaps /because/ of the muddy water.
He cracked open heavy eyelids, blinking slowly to focus. . .
On tapestry-covered walls of stone, and drawn drapes of someone's sitting room. The back of a soft couch supported his left side, with presumably a pillow propped under his head against the arm of the couch, and his legs rested across the length of the soft sitting pillows. Light was struggling to filter through the heavy drapes, but kept the room comfortably cool, if moderately illuminated.
//I. . . don't understand. . . Who. . . ? Why. . . ?// Pale brows furrowed slightly--then memory supplied a hazy glimpse of a face: bright eyes, fairly light hair, a handsome but worried aristocratic face, young yet sadly haunted by the knowledge of too many secrets and the responsibilities brought with power. //Him. . . the one who knocked the water out of me. . . Why?//
He shifted a little, feeling plush blankets slide slightly on bare skin, turning his head a bit to see. . .
Yes, the young man was there, only now dressed in a dark-colored military jacket, turning from speaking to an older man in a similar uniform, though the latter bore a greater number of adornments. Higher rank, perhaps.
//Military. . . /Alliance/!// He could feel his own lips draw back slightly from his teeth, feel more than hear his own hiss, stirred on by a pang of betrayal. //They saved me--for what? I won't do it! I'd rather die!//
His reaction seemed to pain the younger man, who dared to draw closer, more fully into his range of vision. Keen ears could hear the older man walking out and close the door behind himself.
"Is something wrong? You're hurt somewhere?" the young soldier asked, worry creasing his noble brow.
//If only I had the strength to get up! I would show you just how good a killer you made of me, then! I'd leave you all in ribbons too small for the vultures to find!// He glared back, silent, defiant, angry. He didn't understand why he felt betrayed, but it burned, fueled his anger.
The young soldier stopped, sharp eyes trying to read something from his own, studying him a moment. There was some kind of sympathy in his gaze, something suggesting that he wanted. wanted. . . to help? "Tell me," he suggested softly, not pleading but insistent, trying to understand.
//So be it!// "Alliance!" he snarled back accusingly.
The young man blinked back at him, then looked down at his uniform, and smiled slyly, shaking his head negatively. "No. . . Oz Specials." He made a small bow, graceful and neat, adding in the way of introduction, "First Lieutenant Treize Kushrenada, at your service."
//Oz. . . ?// Anger died at that, and a single eyebrow arched slightly, echoing the confusion he felt replace it. "Why. . . ?" he asked slowly, after a moment.
Heat filled Treize's bright eyes--anger. "Because the Alliance is wrong. Because Romefeller's 'little' projects, such as yours, are wrong. General Catalonia--my uncle, who was just here--brought me along when we shut down the project you were part of. Why should you die with it?"
//Good question. . . but I ask, why should I /not/ die with it? What kind of life remains for me? A beast in the woods? Some kind of twisted pet somewhere? Yes, try fitting someone who can become a large cat into society--I was caught because I was too easy to spot /before/ this was done to me! Or funnier yet--get crowned King of Sanc finally! Wouldn't /that/ be something? "Your Majesty, would you care for a sniff of catnip?"// Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. //I'm considered dead to the world. What can a dead, half-human thing do?//
"You want me to help you," he told Treize disgustedly. //One military is as bad as the other. . . Just put me to sleep and get it done with.//
Treize jerked back as if slapped, stiffening, then answered coldly, "I did not say that."
Frowning slightly, he opened his eyes again to consider Treize yet again, strangely fascinated by the young soldier. "Then what?" he asked, curious.
The young Lieutenant shook his head firmly. "You don't have to help us at all. We can manage fine enough, to be honest. . . " Those bright eyes again, watching him intently. . . "What is your name?"
//What. . . ?// After his first day under the care of the scientists, nobody had ever asked him such a question. He may as well have been a mere animal even then, even before they began the experimental treatments. //My. . . name?// It had been so long. . . How long? Did /he/ remember it? It had been buried so long. . . but he could find it again in the depths of memories that he had avoided in his despair. //Mill. . . //
"I can hardly keep calling you 'Six'. It's inhumane," Treize protested with a slight smile, joking gently at his hesitation.
Daringly, he looked directly into Treize's eyes, and spoke a name that he had given only to one of the scientists, and that so long ago it was rusty on his lips.
"Milliardo Peacecraft. . . "
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Treize guessed that his own eyes must have been the size of saucers at that revelation. //Of all. . . ! How /could/ they, to make a fighter out of the exact opposite?!? It's--it's--it's only sheer malice that could have made them try that!// The urge to crush the throat of the project's head was so strong that the young soldier earnestly wished the man was in the same room at that moment. //Malicious. . . monsters!//
"That /would/ be rather difficult to become again," he admitted wryly, sitting on an ornate chair by the couch.
Milliardo simply licked his lips and swallowed with a faint grimace, returning nothing, those icy blue eyes resigned and tired.
Treize blinked, then mentally kicked himself. //Water. He's thirsty.// Getting up, he quickly stepped to the end table beside the sofa, pouring a glassful and holding it to his patient's lips carefully. "Here. You should have said something. . . "
The younger man glanced up at him, but remained quiet, sipping carefully instead.
//What did you expect--him to lap it up with his tongue? Get reasonable, Treize. /You/ have to believe in his humanity before you can convince others of it!// When those eyes looked back up at him expectantly, he withdrew the glass, setting it beside the pitcher before resuming his seat.
"I've been Six too long," Milliardo whispered softly, almost to himself. "I can't. . . see myself as a Peacecraft anymore. . . I barely recognize my own name."
//How long was he part of this thing? It must have been a long time.// "How old were you when they made you part of the project?" he asked gently.
"Six, ironically enough," Milliardo answered with a dry laugh. "Three months. . . I'm surprised it took them that long to find me, after. . . " He trailed, leaving the rest unspoken, eyes darkening at the memories.
Treize made a face, tallying years silently in his head, thoughtful. //From one hell into the next. . . That makes him fifteen all right.// "Nine years," he murmured quietly. //Nine years of captivity.//
A slow nod, and those pained cat-eyes closed. "I can't be a Peacecraft," he repeated hopelessly, "and I don't know what else to be. . . other than. . . Six."
//There has to be /something/ more elegant than just "Six". Hell, I wouldn't name a dog that!// Mouth quirking wryly, Treize murmured, "Zechs. . . Even in a foreign language, it sounds better than just 'Six'!"
Blue eyes snapped open, and gazed at him impassively. A faint shrug shifted the covers a bit. "It doesn't matter. . . " To him, it made no difference.
Sighing, Treize stood, reaching out to brush feathery bangs from those eyes gently. "How's 'Zechs', at least until we can come up with something better?" //Or, rather, me. He doesn't seem to care if I called him 'Spot'.//
"Good enough." Those eyes stared past him, lost in their own thoughts.
"My uncle told me that you are welcome to stay as long as you want, Zechs. We can't undo what they did to you--but what help we can give you is yours for the asking," Treize offered softly. //You don't know what that means, coming from Uncle Catalonia. He doesn't offer that to just anyone.//
"You said. . . Oz is to destroy the Alliance and all things similar. . . ?" Zechs asked, words hesitant and slow, as if he was trying to piece together the concept carefully.
Treize blinked, head tilting to one side as he looked down at those cat- eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them, concerned. "Yes. . . "
Zechs's eyes rose to meet his own, something strangely protective in their depths. "You helped me. . . Let me help you," he stated firmly.
A warmth spread from Treize's chest outward slowly at those words and that fierce gaze. //Perhaps you're hoping against hope, Treize. . . reading too much into those. . . lovely. . . eyes. . . Bad boy--back to mud- meditations for you! Heavens, Treize, you need to go find a date and work on these frustrations already before you start humping trees. . . ! Now leave the poor boy alone!//
"Only in as far as you're willing to help. . . I will never force you into anything, Zechs."
And he meant it with all his heart.
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"Everyone alright? Everyone made it to their colony again?"
A chorus of murmurs answered that carefully-coded question spanning space between the colonies--a forbidden communication that tickled the stars and bounced around the moon playfully.
"We're one voice short," someone observed.
"He got caught."
"Damn. . . " Other sounds of dismay echoed the mild curse.
"Well, how are everyone's charges. . . ? Still in the safe homes we bargained with nine years ago?"
Nine years ago. . . A compromise between people who wanted someone to love, and some who wanted to make youngsters with enough of an edge to rescue humanity.
Again, a chorus of assent, except. . .
"Mine's gone--his family died. Alliance bastards got them when rebels took refuge there. . . "
"02?"
"Not a trace of him, though he's alive. They caught him, but didn't suspect anything--let him go after."
"It's okay, then. A shame, but they're resourceful. . . "
"What about the charge of our lost colleague?"
"I checked--he's safe and sound. Let them stay where they are, for now."
"How will we get them back when we need them. . . ?"
Laughter.
"They'll find /us/!"
"Yeah, who else brings catnip to the colonies? There are no housecats up here, you know!"
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To be continued.
Chapter 2-Seen With The Vision Of Youth
**Paths cross, collide, and entangle more than Treize when he tries hunting on his uncle's estate and comes across someone else's prey. . . Hasty decisions are forced on many, forming bonds more important than they realize. Did you ever note how when Treize shoots that bird, he only knocks off a few feathers, and the bird itself doesn't fall. . . ?**
Two days later. . .
Slapping his annoying alarm clock, Treize Kushrenada hauled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and began hunting out his bird-hunting clothes and favorite rifle. //A brace of partridges would be nice this morning. . . Or pheasant. That would make for a good supper. . . //
Neatly fastening his tri-colored old combat jacket with deft fingers, he paused to smile into the mirror in irony at his reflection.
"Treize Kushrenada in old fatigues. . . Nobody would believe it but Uncle Catalonia!" he chuckled, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to push those last two tendrils of hair back from his forehead. "But I hate waste, and I barely use them otherwise. Besides, why change tactics simply because the prey is different? Men or birds, both can be sharp-sighted."
Shaking his head, he swung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap, shoved a few spare cartridges into the jacket pocket, and left his elegant room for the estate's fringes.
Striding down the main staircase, his boots clopping on the marble steps, he could faintly hear the clinking of servants in the kitchen and dining room setting up for breakfast, and detoured to pass through the latter. Before anyone could say a word, he snatched up a couple rolls from a steaming breadbasket set on the buffet table only a mere instant before his entrance--and quickened his pace for the opposite door, which would let him into the garden and from there, the forest.
//Breakfast to go. . . //
"Master Treize!" admonished General Catalonia's butler sternly--though the man couldn't help an amused and helpless smile at the young Lieutenant's back.
"I'm off before the birds fully get their senses together, Jensen!" the young man laughed over his shoulder, not pausing.
His laughter trailed behind him out the garden doors, leaving the old servant to shake his head and chuckle.
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//I'm /sure/ I winged that pheasant,// Treize assured himself firmly, stomping along the river path angrily. //It can't have gone far. . . Oh hell, Treize, just admit you just hit tail feathers! It doesn't look like the damn bird's anywhere near here, for all it seemed to fly this way.//
Cursing under his breath, the young soldier stomped all the harder, ignoring the fact that his heavy steps would scare the bird off well before he found it, even if it /were/ around to be found. But he stepped too hard once too often--and suddenly the bank crumbled beneath his weight, dropping the young man through the tall weedy boarder of the path and into the edge of the silty river.
A yelp, and the highborn young man found himself sitting on his rump on the gravelly--but luckily shallow--edge of the river, dirty water swirling around his knees and soaking him to the ribs.
"Damn it!" he cursed, half-growling and half-bellowing his frustration out at the forest and river around him. //At least it didn't /fill/ the rifle, but now I have to clean it when I get back. And I /hate/ cleaning mud out of my guns! And my clothes. . . Oh, this is going to be /so/ undignified. . . limping in half wet and muddy like this with nothing to show for my efforts out here. Dorothy will laugh her head off!//
Angrily, the young man flung himself to his feet and shook water off his rifle--a vain attempt to dry at least that beloved object. Muttering under his breath about making pheasants enter the Endangered Species listing soon, he turned back towards the overgrown bank, and put his hands on his hips, glaring at it.
It was steep, to keep the path dry during minor floods, but eroding badly, and not just where it had dumped him but to the left and right, it did not look safe enough to risk climbing back up. //I'd just end up even /more/ soaked and filthy, then--/if/ I don't lose the gun entirely the next time. Better find a better place to climb up.//
With a sigh, Treize began sloshing along in the shallows parallel to the bank, thankful he thought to wear his high uniform boots for all that they were already full of muddy water, following the river up-stream. "Somewhere near here must be a sandbar, or inlet, where the bank's not so bad. . . ," he murmured out loud, letting the sound of his own voice hearten him.
Ah, ahead he could see a fallen tree trapped against the bank, and quickened his pace eagerly at the hope of the thick trunk boosting him back to dry land. Lifting one heavy waterlogged boot, he set that foot firmly on the trunk, and reached up to stabilize himself with a half-rotten root, when something caught his eye, making him glance down at the upriver side of the tangled flotsam.
Something pale, unnatural in this setting, gleaming weakly in the early light, too big to be a dead fish.
Bending, Treize peered closer, and almost fell backwards in surprise, eyes widening.
Mud soiled the fair gleaming, but couldn't conceal it--pale hair so fair it must have been white when clean, pale skin beneath and beside it. . .
//A person--is he dead?//
A tentative hand reached out to brush mud-plastered long hair away from the face, curious. This wouldn't be the first dead man Treize had ever seen, but he could see enough to feel that the loss of this handsome creature would be an unspoken tragedy for this world.
Matted hair aside--so soft--he could see the face, young, fine-featured, relaxed, yet set in a vaguely sad--or despairing--expression. Skin was cool, clammy from the river's soaking, but not the cold of death. And--was that the brush of a faint breath tickling his hand?
//He's alive?// Tossing his rifle up onto the dry path above, Treize vaulted over the fallen tree, soggy clothes and water-filled boots forgotten as he fought through the flotsam and water to reach the limp figure's side.
The young man was half-sprawled over a branch of the fallen tree, head and shoulders held above the water by it, the rest of his body hidden by the murky water, which was a bit deeper on this side of the massive trunk. He might have been fighting the river's current and fetched up against the tree in a high flood--if so, it seemed he'd run out of strength beyond levering his upper body onto safety. Ragged-edged long hair tickled his shoulders, the tips tugged playfully by the water still, so it didn't conceal the sharp jutting of his spine and all-too-visible ribs. . . nor the marks of water-soaked recent slashes and older scars on his hide. Those prominent ribs were moving faintly, shallow breaths, the quiet ones of someone unconscious.
Treize's eyes softened, and he jerked branches free of their grip with the old tree, tossing them out of the way--ironically back into the river's powerful current to go tangle up somewhere less annoying. But it cleared the pale young man's body enough that the Lieutenant could reach under those weakly-holding arms and lift that unresisting body.
//He's amazingly light--but then, he doesn't look like he's been eating well lately. He's all skin and bones!// Shifting his grip, Treize set one arm about the stranger's shoulders, to free a hand to scoop up those long legs.
//He's not yet my own height. . . But then, I think he's a bit younger than me. What a mess. . . ! The river wasn't easy on him, whoever he is-- and he's not wearing a stitch! Heavens, Uncle Catalonia would probably have a fit if my clothes didn't corroborate with my story.//
Shifting that light form in his arms, Treize carefully began picking his way up the pile of flotsam and the fallen tree towards the top of the bank again, choosing his steps with care. This was no place to fall--it would be too easy to crack his head on one of those thick beams of wood and drown /both/ of them, like this young fellow nearly had!
That pale head lolled against Treize's chest, and he felt the limp form jerk with a couple faint coughs. He glanced down at that fair face, and smiled wryly. //Swallowed half the river, did you? I'm not surprised. How on Earth did you ever end up like this? Now /that/ might surprise me.//
Either the tree or the river weren't willing to give up the stranger without some form of retaliation, because a root caught Treize's foot at the top, and dumped both him and his dripping burden unceremoniously onto the grassy river path. Sprawled on his side, the stranger began coughing again, oblivious to poor Treize half-crouched over him and griping over skinned palms that were the price of avoiding falling on him.
//I'd better get the worst of that water out of him, first.// Struggling back to his feet, he pulled that unresisting light body fully onto the flat path.
//Arms over head, face-down, knees under hips to help the water reach his mouth. . . //
Treize froze amid positioning the young man to drain the fellow's lungs, staring, one hand on a bony knee he was about to tuck under the younger man's body.
Massive claw marks, one so deep it had been sutured together only days ago, in the calf of the young man's leg.
A familiar pattern of claw marks, with equally familiar ones nearly hidden by the long hair about the young man's shoulders.
//It's him. . . // The young Lieutenant had to sit down before his knees gave way, and plopped onto the grass beside his foundling. //Six--from Project Circe. . . Circe, the Greek sorceress who changed men into beasts and who Odysseus had to force to change back into men. . . Am I saving man or beast here? He must have been one of the three we saw escape.//
Again, a faint cough. Hands crooked into feeble claws to grip the grass, and shoulders tensed, a weak, unconscious effort that failed utterly. Struggling to live. Survival instincts demanded that he wouldn't surrender to the dark without a fight.
Reaching a hand to brush hair from that fair face again, Treize frowned slightly. //Hell, he's maybe, /maybe/ fifteen at the most! He didn't want to kill /then/--I doubt he'll want to now. Perhaps, as the tale goes, I can make him human again? Or at least help him keep his humanity?//
Shaking his head and sighing, Treize knelt beside Six and, wrapping an arm about that thin waist, finished tucking the fellow's legs under his body before starting to thump prominent ribs with the flat of his hand. . . and firmly keeping his gaze on a flutter of hair that swayed with every cough that followed.
//Admit it, Treize,// he admonished himself sternly, //you think he's handsome and want to keep him, now that he's managed to follow you home.//
Those coughs deepened, shaking the whole body in his arms as Six began retching up river-water.
//I want more than just to keep him,// Treize chuckled to himself, acutely aware of that bare, damp figure he was bracing against his hip against the vibrations of those increasingly violent coughs. //Think mud, Treize-- river-mud in your poor rifle and this man's lungs. Ick, no wonder it makes people sick after they half-drown! It's bad enough trying to get it out of the bullet chambers. . . //
At last, the worst of the water was out, and those coughs swiftly faded into deep breaths, refilling half-swamped lungs with life again.
Loosening his hold about Six's waist, Treize sat back on his heels, mind whirling. //Now what do I do with him? Surely there's a hunt up. . . //
An arm moved, slowly dragging along the grass, stopping now and then as if that much was severely taxing the owner's strength and he needed to rest. It halted with hand flat on the grass by his mouth. The other elbow bent a bit, and shoulders tightened, shook. . . failed.
//Is he. . . is he waking?// Treize wondered, glancing about for his rifle worriedly. //Yes, I saved you, but only God knows how sane you are when it comes to a witness to your escape!//
That pale head turned, and Six glanced at him through matted bangs with one icy blue eye.
Treize couldn't escape that gaze, pinned, captivated. //They're slitted, like a cat's. . . But I've never seen a cat with eyes such a light blue!// He couldn't breathe. //Lovely eyes. . . //
That visible eye narrowed, and a faint, deep gravelly growl echoed the defiance gleaming in its depths.
Reaching a hand in a peaceful gesture, Treize shook his head in answer to that sound, that defiance. "I'm not an enemy," he offered quietly, hoping against hope to turn that anger away from himself. "I'm a friend. . . " //I'd love to be more, but I don't care to be ripped into ribbons by six- inch claws like yours, friend. Being a friend may be daring enough for now.//
The growl faded, but that eye remained warily on Treize for a moment, before the young man turned back to trying to lever his shoulders off the ground. With little luck still--Six's body shook from his efforts, but he couldn't get more than an inch off the flattened grass. He collapsed limply with a frustrated, exhausted puff of a sigh.
//He needs help, and badly. . . But if he changes and turns on me when I try to help him, I'll lose a hand before he can stop!// Treize decided sadly, feeling a sympathy for this independent, determined spirit. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. . . Let me help you," he pointed out in a vague warning, as he reached out a hand.
There was no hiding the tension that appeared under his touch--muscles tightened, tensed, even if they didn't have the strength to do anything about it.
//Afraid of me? Wary? How /did/ they discipline them in that place? How did they try to control what they made? I don't see any marks, but there are ways to hurt that don't leave any. . . //
Pushing a damp shoulder over, he half-rolled the younger man onto his back, then slid an arm about those tensed shoulders to lever Six into a half- sitting, half-sidelying position. Treize had to bite his lip at the weight of that body against his chest, the wisps of pale hair that dared to tickle his nose, the warm breath against his throat. //Mud, Treize, mud! Just focus on the reek of the river that's on you both. . . // he reminded himself firmly.
But Six didn't have the strength to hold that position, and didn't even bother something as beyond his abilities as escaping Treize's support. Tired muscles relaxed, unable to hold their tension, and he simply leaned against Treize's chest weakly, focused on breathing again. . . After a moment's rest, though, his head turned, lifted, to face his rescuer fully.
Treize stared into those icy blue eyes so uncomfortably close to his own, his own breath stilling at the uncertainty and weary pain he could read in those depths. //He's. . . lovely. . . God, how could they try their inhumane games on someone like this?!? How could anyone hurt someone like this? May as well abuse an angel. . . //
That uncertainty faded, the longer those cat-eyes stared into his own, slowly replaced by something akin to bewilderment, with a flicker of curiosity hidden in it, perhaps.
"Th-thank you." Six's voice was still soft, quiet, low, but roughened by the river's treatment.
Treize had to swallow twice before he could respond with his own gentle, "You're welcome."
Those spellbinding cat eyes closed slowly again, their owner relaxing against Treize as if just supporting his own head to maintain that gaze was becoming too much for him.
"Just relax," Treize added, uncertain the other was still awake to hear him. "I'll take care of the rest. . . " //The river took a heavy toll on him. . . I won't be surprised if you've just fainted on me, friend. . . //
As if taking him on his word, those deep breaths sank into the steady pattern of one lost to consciousness again.
Treize smiled slowly, gently, at that relaxed face so alluringly near his own. //I take it you trust me, then?// he chuckled to himself, carefully slipping a hand under those bony knees again to scoop the younger man in his arms again. //Well, better get you inside and doctored up--as best as the servants and myself can manage. . . I don't think we dare call in a professional. And what would we call? Doctor or vet?//
Carefully getting to his feet so as not to jar--and possibly wake--his charge, Treize turned back along the path towards his uncle's manor house, musing grimly, //I wonder what Uncle Catalonia will say. . . //
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Voices around him, over him. . .
//No--no more, please, I can't stand people any more! Just let me go, let me go somewhere people never go, and be the animal you made me into. . . Better an animal then a man. . . // he begged silently, knowing that to voice such things would lead to nothing more than self-humiliation.
They wouldn't listen. They never had.
Pride--did he even have that little left to him? Probably not. The illusion of it, perhaps. //I don't know what matters anymore. . . just keeping my secret safe. They will never know Relena lives. . . In that much I still win, you bastards! You may have destroyed me, but you failed, you failed. . . //
//I failed. . . Look at what I am now. . . A monster. A beast. A killer.// The old ache of that acknowledgement made his chest hurt, and brought on a weak cough.
His throat hurt, he realized. Despite all the river-water he'd swallowed, it was rough and dry and aching. Or perhaps /because/ of the muddy water.
He cracked open heavy eyelids, blinking slowly to focus. . .
On tapestry-covered walls of stone, and drawn drapes of someone's sitting room. The back of a soft couch supported his left side, with presumably a pillow propped under his head against the arm of the couch, and his legs rested across the length of the soft sitting pillows. Light was struggling to filter through the heavy drapes, but kept the room comfortably cool, if moderately illuminated.
//I. . . don't understand. . . Who. . . ? Why. . . ?// Pale brows furrowed slightly--then memory supplied a hazy glimpse of a face: bright eyes, fairly light hair, a handsome but worried aristocratic face, young yet sadly haunted by the knowledge of too many secrets and the responsibilities brought with power. //Him. . . the one who knocked the water out of me. . . Why?//
He shifted a little, feeling plush blankets slide slightly on bare skin, turning his head a bit to see. . .
Yes, the young man was there, only now dressed in a dark-colored military jacket, turning from speaking to an older man in a similar uniform, though the latter bore a greater number of adornments. Higher rank, perhaps.
//Military. . . /Alliance/!// He could feel his own lips draw back slightly from his teeth, feel more than hear his own hiss, stirred on by a pang of betrayal. //They saved me--for what? I won't do it! I'd rather die!//
His reaction seemed to pain the younger man, who dared to draw closer, more fully into his range of vision. Keen ears could hear the older man walking out and close the door behind himself.
"Is something wrong? You're hurt somewhere?" the young soldier asked, worry creasing his noble brow.
//If only I had the strength to get up! I would show you just how good a killer you made of me, then! I'd leave you all in ribbons too small for the vultures to find!// He glared back, silent, defiant, angry. He didn't understand why he felt betrayed, but it burned, fueled his anger.
The young soldier stopped, sharp eyes trying to read something from his own, studying him a moment. There was some kind of sympathy in his gaze, something suggesting that he wanted. wanted. . . to help? "Tell me," he suggested softly, not pleading but insistent, trying to understand.
//So be it!// "Alliance!" he snarled back accusingly.
The young man blinked back at him, then looked down at his uniform, and smiled slyly, shaking his head negatively. "No. . . Oz Specials." He made a small bow, graceful and neat, adding in the way of introduction, "First Lieutenant Treize Kushrenada, at your service."
//Oz. . . ?// Anger died at that, and a single eyebrow arched slightly, echoing the confusion he felt replace it. "Why. . . ?" he asked slowly, after a moment.
Heat filled Treize's bright eyes--anger. "Because the Alliance is wrong. Because Romefeller's 'little' projects, such as yours, are wrong. General Catalonia--my uncle, who was just here--brought me along when we shut down the project you were part of. Why should you die with it?"
//Good question. . . but I ask, why should I /not/ die with it? What kind of life remains for me? A beast in the woods? Some kind of twisted pet somewhere? Yes, try fitting someone who can become a large cat into society--I was caught because I was too easy to spot /before/ this was done to me! Or funnier yet--get crowned King of Sanc finally! Wouldn't /that/ be something? "Your Majesty, would you care for a sniff of catnip?"// Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. //I'm considered dead to the world. What can a dead, half-human thing do?//
"You want me to help you," he told Treize disgustedly. //One military is as bad as the other. . . Just put me to sleep and get it done with.//
Treize jerked back as if slapped, stiffening, then answered coldly, "I did not say that."
Frowning slightly, he opened his eyes again to consider Treize yet again, strangely fascinated by the young soldier. "Then what?" he asked, curious.
The young Lieutenant shook his head firmly. "You don't have to help us at all. We can manage fine enough, to be honest. . . " Those bright eyes again, watching him intently. . . "What is your name?"
//What. . . ?// After his first day under the care of the scientists, nobody had ever asked him such a question. He may as well have been a mere animal even then, even before they began the experimental treatments. //My. . . name?// It had been so long. . . How long? Did /he/ remember it? It had been buried so long. . . but he could find it again in the depths of memories that he had avoided in his despair. //Mill. . . //
"I can hardly keep calling you 'Six'. It's inhumane," Treize protested with a slight smile, joking gently at his hesitation.
Daringly, he looked directly into Treize's eyes, and spoke a name that he had given only to one of the scientists, and that so long ago it was rusty on his lips.
"Milliardo Peacecraft. . . "
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Treize guessed that his own eyes must have been the size of saucers at that revelation. //Of all. . . ! How /could/ they, to make a fighter out of the exact opposite?!? It's--it's--it's only sheer malice that could have made them try that!// The urge to crush the throat of the project's head was so strong that the young soldier earnestly wished the man was in the same room at that moment. //Malicious. . . monsters!//
"That /would/ be rather difficult to become again," he admitted wryly, sitting on an ornate chair by the couch.
Milliardo simply licked his lips and swallowed with a faint grimace, returning nothing, those icy blue eyes resigned and tired.
Treize blinked, then mentally kicked himself. //Water. He's thirsty.// Getting up, he quickly stepped to the end table beside the sofa, pouring a glassful and holding it to his patient's lips carefully. "Here. You should have said something. . . "
The younger man glanced up at him, but remained quiet, sipping carefully instead.
//What did you expect--him to lap it up with his tongue? Get reasonable, Treize. /You/ have to believe in his humanity before you can convince others of it!// When those eyes looked back up at him expectantly, he withdrew the glass, setting it beside the pitcher before resuming his seat.
"I've been Six too long," Milliardo whispered softly, almost to himself. "I can't. . . see myself as a Peacecraft anymore. . . I barely recognize my own name."
//How long was he part of this thing? It must have been a long time.// "How old were you when they made you part of the project?" he asked gently.
"Six, ironically enough," Milliardo answered with a dry laugh. "Three months. . . I'm surprised it took them that long to find me, after. . . " He trailed, leaving the rest unspoken, eyes darkening at the memories.
Treize made a face, tallying years silently in his head, thoughtful. //From one hell into the next. . . That makes him fifteen all right.// "Nine years," he murmured quietly. //Nine years of captivity.//
A slow nod, and those pained cat-eyes closed. "I can't be a Peacecraft," he repeated hopelessly, "and I don't know what else to be. . . other than. . . Six."
//There has to be /something/ more elegant than just "Six". Hell, I wouldn't name a dog that!// Mouth quirking wryly, Treize murmured, "Zechs. . . Even in a foreign language, it sounds better than just 'Six'!"
Blue eyes snapped open, and gazed at him impassively. A faint shrug shifted the covers a bit. "It doesn't matter. . . " To him, it made no difference.
Sighing, Treize stood, reaching out to brush feathery bangs from those eyes gently. "How's 'Zechs', at least until we can come up with something better?" //Or, rather, me. He doesn't seem to care if I called him 'Spot'.//
"Good enough." Those eyes stared past him, lost in their own thoughts.
"My uncle told me that you are welcome to stay as long as you want, Zechs. We can't undo what they did to you--but what help we can give you is yours for the asking," Treize offered softly. //You don't know what that means, coming from Uncle Catalonia. He doesn't offer that to just anyone.//
"You said. . . Oz is to destroy the Alliance and all things similar. . . ?" Zechs asked, words hesitant and slow, as if he was trying to piece together the concept carefully.
Treize blinked, head tilting to one side as he looked down at those cat- eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them, concerned. "Yes. . . "
Zechs's eyes rose to meet his own, something strangely protective in their depths. "You helped me. . . Let me help you," he stated firmly.
A warmth spread from Treize's chest outward slowly at those words and that fierce gaze. //Perhaps you're hoping against hope, Treize. . . reading too much into those. . . lovely. . . eyes. . . Bad boy--back to mud- meditations for you! Heavens, Treize, you need to go find a date and work on these frustrations already before you start humping trees. . . ! Now leave the poor boy alone!//
"Only in as far as you're willing to help. . . I will never force you into anything, Zechs."
And he meant it with all his heart.
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"Everyone alright? Everyone made it to their colony again?"
A chorus of murmurs answered that carefully-coded question spanning space between the colonies--a forbidden communication that tickled the stars and bounced around the moon playfully.
"We're one voice short," someone observed.
"He got caught."
"Damn. . . " Other sounds of dismay echoed the mild curse.
"Well, how are everyone's charges. . . ? Still in the safe homes we bargained with nine years ago?"
Nine years ago. . . A compromise between people who wanted someone to love, and some who wanted to make youngsters with enough of an edge to rescue humanity.
Again, a chorus of assent, except. . .
"Mine's gone--his family died. Alliance bastards got them when rebels took refuge there. . . "
"02?"
"Not a trace of him, though he's alive. They caught him, but didn't suspect anything--let him go after."
"It's okay, then. A shame, but they're resourceful. . . "
"What about the charge of our lost colleague?"
"I checked--he's safe and sound. Let them stay where they are, for now."
"How will we get them back when we need them. . . ?"
Laughter.
"They'll find /us/!"
"Yeah, who else brings catnip to the colonies? There are no housecats up here, you know!"
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To be continued.