---Shades Of Grey---
Chapter 3-No Doubts And Nothing To Fear
**His Excellency is dead--assassinated. Long live His Excellency. The first appearance of His Excellency's Silver. Treize and Zechs grow closer. Oh, the other two cats' fates? That's part of the plot--you must wait.**
AC 192-a year later. . .
Treize smiled slowly as a familiar young man strode through the main doors into the manor's entrance-hall and set his single canvas bag by his feet, head rising to look about the marble staircase and echoing grey stone covered with warm tapestries and rugs. The room was warmly lit by skylights above, yet the new arrival didn't remove his dark sunglasses. Only gazed about with a faint smile curving his lips. . .
//He's grown taller. He's taller than me now.// Treize shook his head with amused dismay, waiting patiently just between the double oak doors to the library, leaning on his cane. //And handsomer. . . I wish. . . but I can't tell him how I feel. It wouldn't be right. And it could so easily break that trust we've formed.//
A soft sigh. . . A contented sigh, which almost surprised Treize. It was the closest he had ever seen Zechs to. . . happy.
"You shouldn't be standing, you know," Zechs admonished softly, his gaze on the top of the staircase. Turning slowly, he smiled warmly at Treize, as if he had known the man was watching him from there the whole time.
//Which he probably did,// Treize admitted to himself. He didn't put much beyond Zechs's abilities of late. Perhaps the young man didn't suspect the full extent of his own potential, himself. "Welcome home, Zechs," he answered, smile quirking higher at the corner.
"Who's here? Cousin, you are utterly useless--you never tell me /anything/!" a shrill female voice scolded teasingly from above--and a whirlwind of light blonde hair and dark skirt swirled to a halt at the top of the stairs to peer down.
"Hello, Dorothy," Zechs chuckled, not turning from Treize.
"Zechs!" she squealed, thundering down the stairs at an almost deadly pace for a twelve-year-old. "Cousin--you /should/ have told me! I'd have gone after a few partridges--"
//She's /never/ going to let me live down my lack of skill at shooting birds, and his partiality to bird for dinner,// Treize sighed mentally. "I only knew a short while ago myself about the change in his schedule, Dorothy."
Hands on hips, she came to a halt only a few feet away from the pair, and sniffed at Treize haughtily, though her eyes danced merrily with amusement. "You /still/ could have told me!"
"I thought to surprise both of you," Zechs offered, turning to glance at the girl, smile lingering.
Treize shook his head and chuckled. //He's loosened up, for all he's learning to kill in different ways now. Maybe it's that girl, Noin. . . She told me they had become friends, when she visited me in the hospital.//
The sniff shifted from Treize to Zechs, and became a reproofing glare. "No glasses in the house, Zechs. You /know/ I don't like it! And I'm Lady of the house, with Father out, so you'd better listen!"
A single rough laugh, and Zechs reached up, pulling them off, cat-eyes warm as they fell on the young girl only an arm's reach away. "I hope he won't be upset with me returning with so little warning. . . "
She snorted in an unladylike manner. "Oh, pooh--you /know/ he's almost as fond of you as he is of Cousin Treize! He'll be thrilled. Finally, someone he can hunt with who won't come home with only feathers--even if you /insist/ on bringing things back alive!"
"Really, Dorothy, that's low--" Treize protested, leaning harder on his cane. //My leg aches. But it's good to see him home safe. People /do/ die during training.//
Her eyes shifted sharply to his leg, and he knew he'd been caught. "/You/ get back to that chair. Father told me to keep you off that leg, and I /refuse/ to fail him!" Whirling on a softly-chuckling Zechs like a tornado, she added sharply, "And /you/ go make sure he /stays/ in that chair until I get the servants to throw together a room for you!" Hands waved in a firm shooing motion at both young men. "Get moving! Go! Shoo!"
Treize shook his head and smiled slyly at Dorothy. //You suspect how I feel about him, don't you girl? You wouldn't tease me so much about my shortcomings in his presence if you didn't.//
Tucking an earpiece of his sunglasses into the neck of his uniform jacket and chuckling louder, Zechs moved to reach for his bag at his feet.
With a squeal of frustration, Dorothy darted forward and shoved at his lowered shoulder, pushing him towards Treize. "Oh /leave/ that! That's what servants are /for/, silly! Now go help Cousin Treize before the idiot ends up in a heap in the door there--and I can't lift the lummox, only you can!"
Laughing, the pair of young men let Dorothy propel them into the darker library. Dutifully, Zechs escorted Treize to the chair with the ottoman, but Treize firmly waved away any attempts to assist him into getting comfortable there. Setting his aching foot up on the soft resting stool, the young First Lieutenant of Oz returned his scrutiny to the fair-haired young man pulling up a chair opposite him. . . and turning it around to straddle it with arms and chin resting on the back, so he could stare back with mischievous intensity at Treize.
//If only he knew I could drown in eyes like his and not care. . . // He had already been berated--from /all/ sides--during Zechs's last vacation about letting a boy blast his mobile suit with a missile-launcher on L1. //He's teasing me with this, staring. . . I wonder if young Noin has seen his eyes? Probably not.//
Zechs's mouth curved into a slight smile. "You look better than last time I saw you," he stated quietly, eyes amused. "Probably Dorothy's doing--if anyone can make you rest sensibly, she can."
Treize snorted. "She can--and /has/, I might add--cowed the world's most powerful men before this. God help anyone who crosses her. They'll need it." //Put /her/ in charge of Romefeller and the world, and things would be run competently for a change, though. No nonsense.//
"Then why do you keep trying?" Zechs chuckled, gliding smoothly to his feet and moving towards the liquor cabinet. "Mmmm. . . Are you allowed anything, or are you still on medication? You look like you need a drink for your earlier efforts. . . "
//You're more considerate than you credit yourself, Zechs. . . Or else my face is really betraying me.// "I'm allowed now. I wouldn't mind something, to be honest. Try the blue crystal--it has a new brandy I found on L1, some kind of intriguing thing they make there themselves." He tried to crane his head to glance back at Zechs and the liquor cabinet, but failed to glimpse either over the plush back of his own seat, and settled back in the comfortable chair with a sigh.
A half-hiss, half-growling sound rumbled behind him for a moment, making Treize frown. //Is something wrong?// "Zechs. . . ?" he inquired.
Abruptly, two decanters were set firmly--almost angrily--on the table by his arm with an audible thump, a frustrated Zechs towering over both and eyeing them as if they existed merely to annoy him.
One blue.
One burgundy.
Treize blinked. //This isn't the first time he's been upset by deep colors. I don't understand. . . // "Zechs. . . ?" he tried again, looking up into those cat-eyes.
Frustration--and pain. Something really upset the younger man. Not Treize, but something about the two drinks.
"Which one is it?" Zechs half-growled, glaring at the matching crystal decanters.
//Which one? The. . . blue.// Glancing at the two containers, Treize gestured at the blue one with his hand, letting his confusion show in his voice. "The. . . blue. . . Zechs, what's wrong?"
With blinding speed, the younger man returned the other to the cabinet, and set about filling two glasses, not answering.
//He moves faster when upset--it's as if he can't keep still then,// Treize sighed. "Zechs. . . just tell me. This isn't the first time something's upset you like this."
The younger man simply picked up his own glass, and stalked back to his seat, resuming it, staring intently into his glass. His silence, his posture, screamed that he didn't want to share it, that it was something he felt strongly about.
"Zechs," Treize whispered gently, the plea of a close companion trying to understand. //Tell me. Please. I want to help.//
"What if I told you that I can't for the life of me tell you what color uniform I'm wearing even this very moment, Treize?" Zechs asked in a quiet rush, a hint of despair in his voice, threatening to crack it.
//Wh-what?// Treize stared. "But it's. . . "
"Red. Yes, everyone says so. I can't tell." Zechs took a good mouthful of the brandy, testing it a moment, then swallowing. If it was to fortify himself, he still took that brief moment to appreciate it.
"You. . . can't tell? You mean, red from green? Or just red from blue?" Treize tried, struggling to fit the idea of this limitation around his concept of Zechs. //I've heard of people having trouble with those at times--a genetic flaw, it's said.//
"No. I mean /all/ color, Treize." Zechs continued to stare into his glass, voice dropping to a painful whisper. "All I see. . . is grey. I /used/ to see color. . . until they caught me. . . "
//Oh, God. . . Whatever they did to him--he's colorblind. Completely colorblind!// "But--the mobile suit controls, the colored lights, buttons, and monitors--" Treize protested, trying to find evidence to the contrary.
"I memorized the positions of things. The monitors--I can see the differences in shading, and those have to be big or they wouldn't be so visible to you, either."
Treize took a long pull on his own brandy, needing it for more than his leg now. //I. . . never thought. . . He's adapted pretty well for such a complication.// "Your instructors. . . ?"
"Not a clue."
//You kept them completely in the dark. Must have been inconvenient at times-and quick thinking at other times!// "Noin?"
A pause, then, annoyed, "She found out."
"How?"
A snort, and a faint smile, as cat-eyes met his again. "Like you just did. Wrong color container. It was in the cafeteria--lunch. I ended up with the most vile thing on the menu by mistake--she had recommended something better."
Treize chuckled, suppressing a twinge of sadness. //He likes her. There go your dreams, Treize. Too good to be true, I told you. . . // "And ate it all as if that was what you intended, as usual."
Those eyes seemed to read more than he wanted them to, staring so intently into his own. "To show weakness there is dangerous," Zechs answered quietly, finally looking back at his drink.
Both sat in silence for a bit, studying their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.
//He'll never be mine. . . But oh, how I wish he could!// Treize wailed, body held in stiff control to avoid betraying his broken heart, which hurt more than his leg at the moment.
Someone knocked on the library door, startling both heads into jerking upright. "Master Treize," Jensen, the butler, called through the door. "Some gentlemen to see you, Sir. It appears to be urgent."
Wordlessly, Zechs whipped out the glasses again, covering his eyes, despite the room's already low lighting.
//It doesn't matter. His sight's so acute that the added shade doesn't hinder him in the least. even if it's all in black and white.// Glancing at Zechs, Treize received a nod, and looked back expectantly to the door to call, "Let them in, Jensen!"
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//I've hurt him. Something. . . I said? Or is he hurting for me? Treize doesn't deserve the pain I cause with my blundering about.// Zechs looked into his half-full glass again, listening to the strangers, visitors, follow the butler into the library.
Heavy feet. The clop of uniform boots. The ring of swaying sabers like the one at his own side. The creak of leather gun holsters on their belts. Soldiers. Zechs could even smell mobile suit exhaust fumes from them still. His eyes narrowed as he focused on individual scents among the visiting party. . . One bore an additional strong scent, something vital. . .
//Big-shots from the Specials. General Catalonia's aide? What is he doing here, if not following the man around?// Zechs's pale head jerked up, and turned towards them sharply, eyes picking them out of the bright background light of the doorway. //He's the one. . . //
He could see Treize frown in concern at his own reaction, before the older man also peered towards the door. "Yes. . . ? To what does a recovering man owe the pleasure of this visit? Ah, Lieutenant Shimmel--what brings you here? Uncle Catalonia will be missing your presence, surely." But Zechs could see from Treize's stiff posture and hear in that light tone that his friend was on guard, wary.
Zechs could feel his hackles rising, hidden by his long hair, his muscles tensing to snatch sword or gun at the slightest hint of aggression from the new arrivals. //He doesn't like this. Something's wrong. But he doesn't know--what /I/ know--it's on Shimmel, and recent! I won't let Treize be hurt. . . //
Lieutenant Shimmel's colleagues huddled back, leaving him to do the talking. Hesitantly, the aide stepped forward towards Treize, bowing nervously before glancing at Zechs. The man didn't want him there.
"Sir. . . Perhaps we should speak in private."
//Like hell I'm leaving Treize alone here with you!// Zechs set his glass down on the table with the decanter, folding his arms across the back of the chair in front of him, hands gripping the ornate wood so tightly that, if he hadn't been wearing gloves, would have visibly turned his knuckles white. //You'll have to haul me out.//
Treize glanced at him, eyes locking on his dark sunglasses, as if trying to read the eyes hidden behind them, then shook his head at Lieutenant Shimmel firmly. "Cadet Zechs is part of the family, Shimmel. You can speak in front of him," he answered sharply.
Zechs blinked in surprise at that admission--though, on second thought, Duke Catalonia, his daughter, and Treize had seemed to adopt him as their own over the past year, enthusiastically merging him into their everyday lives. That Treize--or his uncle--would openly acknowledge the relationship was the next logical step, though just /having/ that kind of relationship--a family--was enough to Zechs. //I've lost my family. . . It's good to have one again. It's true, now that I think about it--I /do/ consider this place, with them. . . home.//
Lieutenant Shimmel sighed softly, but saluted smartly, took a deep breath, and said, "Well, Sir. . . General Catalonia has been assassinated, Sir."
Treize went as white as a sheet, mouth opening slightly, horror in his bright blue eyes.
Zechs dug his fingernails into the ornate wood, smothering a hiss of anger and pain. //He was a good man--a friend! /Family!!!/ How--/who/--dares take family away from me again!// But he dared not speak his demanding questions. It was not his place. . .
It rankled enough that, had he been in his feline form, his tail would have lashed in frustration and rage.
"Who did it? Who ordered it?" Treize asked quietly, visibly taking a hold of himself and rising to his feet urgently. "Where are they?" he added with an increasing growl of anger.
Lieutenant Shimmel backed a pace, shaking his head negatively to all questions. "Sir, we don't know yet. . . We have men investigating. But I came immediately to tell you, Sir. . . as you are now Head of the Specials, Sir."
Picking up his cane, Treize set it at his side so he could lean on it--and turned to the butler. "Jensen. . . Get Dorothy, please. She should know. . . I'd best break the news to her myself," he mused painfully.
"Very good Sir." With that, the butler let himself out.
//She'll be furious,// Zechs decided, gliding to his own feet and turning back to the liquor cabinet for a third glass.
"Zechs. . . ?" Treize asked, not certain what his friend was doing.
"She might be underage, Sir, but I think a sip might do her good after hearing the news," he answered his superior with quiet confidence, ever formal in public, but not shifting his attention from what he was doing. //Let the others think it's to keep her from hysterics. /We/ know better, Treize--it's to keep her from trying to grab the throat of whoever is responsible.//
Treize did not inquire further.
A knock announced Dorothy's arrival even as Zechs set the third full glass on the small table beside his own. The knock was quickly followed by the butler ushering her in. "Miss Dorothy, Sir."
"Cousin, I thought I told you to stay off your feet! A fat lot of good /you/ are as a babysitter, Zechs. . . ," the twelve-year-old scolded sharply, hands on hips as she stalked closer. But then Dorothy recognized other faces present. "Lieutenant Shimmel? Where is Father, then? What's going on?"
//I wish we knew for certain ourselves,// Zechs sighed softly, an impassive statue.
All the soldiers looked expectantly at Treize. The new leader of the Specials closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before turning to Dorothy, sympathy and his own anguish in his eyes. "Dorothy. . . He's been assassinated," he stated quietly, but gently.
Dorothy's eyes grew large, and her hands flew to her mouth to cover a gasp of breath. No other sound emerged--but tears shook her eyes until they slid free, trickling down her cheeks.
Using his cane, Treize stepped closer, and wrapped his arms about the girl. "I'm sorry, Dorothy. . . "
She buried her face into his chest, shaking. "But. . . oh, Father! Who. . . ? Who. . . !" Sobs of pain turned quickly to sobs of rage, demanding that she be told.
The other soldiers shifted uneasily, and Lieutenant Shimmel turned away, breathing harsh. Zechs took the chance of their distraction to unbend his formal pose, slipping up to the pair to rest a hand on Treize's shoulder and give him the glass of brandy for Dorothy, a silent gesture of support.
"We don't know yet," Treize answered softly, offering the girl a sip before setting the glass aside, wrapping his arms back around her, and closing his eyes again. Growling, he added, "But I intend to find out. I'm going to investigate it personally. . . "
//I will help,// Zechs added silently, determined. //I may not show it much, but. . . you all mean a lot to me.//
Lieutenant Shimmel seemed taken by surprise by Treize's decision, however. He may have known General Catalonia, but not the rest of the family--at least, not more than enough to greet during major functions or on the phone. "Sir. . . ? We have good men on it, Sir. They'll find those responsible."
Without letting go of Dorothy, Treize's head jerked up, eyes napping open to fling a glare at the man. "I'll leave in an hour, Shimmel. But I /will/ see to this investigation myself! Damn it, the man's been like a second father to me, and I will not be sitting on the sidelines, waiting for some unknown incompetent to find justice for him!"
"Take the cat," Zechs suggested firmly, voice little more than a whisper. //I'm coming. And I can probably do more than any damn search-dog. . . or guard-dog. They may well be after you, too, Treize! And I won't let them take /you/--never! You, Dorothy. . . Relena. . . You're the only family I have left, and the only family I can guard. Relena--I daren't go near her, even to protect her.//
Treize looked at Zechs blankly, confused. "Cat?"
Dorothy pulled back from Treize's embrace, tear-stained face full of fiery anger and a restlessness that matched her cousin's. "Yes, Cousin--take Silver with you!" she commanded sharply.
//"Silver"?!?// Zechs nearly choked on the name, and eyed the girl sharply from behind his glasses. //Heck, that's almost as bad as "Spot" is for a dog!//
Catching Zechs's gaze, Dorothy could only shrug slightly and try an apologetic smile, though not much of one could get past her grief.
Treize looked from one to the other as if not certain there was some kind of conspiracy going on between the pair of them, undecided.
"He was /my/ father, Cousin!" Dorothy pointed out, establishing her rights. "If you're going to hunt his killers--take Silver with you! I won't have you taken by them as well!"
The corner of Zechs's mouth quirked slightly. //Oh, Dorothy, you and I think very much alike here. . . I won't let anything happen to him! You can rest assured.// "She has a point, Treize," Zechs added wryly.
"The. . . cat. . . Very well, I'll take him with me, Dorothy. If you and Zechs would be so kind as to bring him to me, and tell Jensen to prepare things for our departure in an hour. . . " Trailing, the young General took a step towards the library door as if to start the procession out. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to pack a few vital things. Tell them I'm coming to--where was he assassinated, Shimmel?"
"Corsica Base, Sir." The man saluted smartly. "I'll let them know, Sir."
"Tell them I want everything they have, they found, they know, and as much untouched as possible. With that, I leave you, gentlemen."
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"'Silver'. . . ?"
"It was the first thing that came to mind, Zechs!"
"It's. . . boring."
"I could have said 'Spot'."
A shudder. "'Silver' is better, thank you."
"Are you sure a leash is a good idea? I won't forgive you if you turn out as useless for Cousin Treize as Father's guards were for him!"
"Unleashed would be a bit too suspicious. . . Chain would be best--it's generally used for large cats--but I'd rather not be choked, thank you. You're sure you have that kind of clasp here somewhere?"
"The dog Father had when I was really little was a well-trained guard dog. He said a leash it couldn't lose when necessary made the poor animal's training utterly redundant."
"Hmmm. . . " More of a grunt than a sound. He didn't approve of dogs, as a rule.
"Oh, stop it. Miti was a good dog."
"'Mighty'?"
"Military Intelligence Trained It. MITI."
A soft chuckle.
"Ah, here it is. I've the rest of the stuff. Ready. . . ?"
A sigh. . . "Yes. Two things while I still can talk, however. . . "
"Yes?"
"One--tell this to Treize: Shimmel's uniform smells of blood."
Surprise. "You can tell? You're sure!"
"Yes. . . And two--be very, very careful, yourself. I rather doubt you're as much a target as Treize, but that doesn't mean you're not one all the same. . . And I would rather not lose the only family I have left."
She snorted. "You needn't worry on that score. I'll be careful--I'm not a fool."
"We know. . . " Amusement in those few words, speaking on Treize's behalf as well. Then, "I won't be back until we find and deal with those responsible. You'll have to make excuses for me."
A laugh. "They won't cross me, Zechs. Now stop fretting and go change. I still have to fit this mess on you, even if it's only for show."
A chuckle. . .
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A few minutes later, Treize was sitting on his bed beside a hastily-filled duffle bag, wiping his sidearm with an oily rag for the last time, just done cleaning it. //Carrying the cleaning rags and oils would be pointless. I'm sure they have some there, and probably someone to even do it for me, though I'd rather do it myself, with my own equipment. . . if only this last time.//
A knock.
"Come in." He tucked the revolver into the leather holster at his side, turning to look at the door, rising carefully to his feet and reaching for his cane.
Dorothy brushed the door open with a rough shove, stalking into the room. . . with something on a chain following behind carefully so as not to knock her down with sheer bulk.
A cat. Zechs had never taken his cat form in daylight, not since his escape from those who had forced that form onto him. Privately, Treize attributed it to the younger man's shame at being a killer, at his unwanted, wild, inhuman side. But now, seeing him.
//My. . . God. . . // It was hard to hold his ground as that large feline paced languidly closer--as long as Zechs had been tall, which was now more than Treize's own height, and seeming twice as graceful. Long fur that fit the human description of "platinum blonde", the tips were just a shade darker in places to accent the animal's "feathering" along long legs, mane, and tail, as well as emphasizing those icy blue eyes, and hinting of dappled markings in the rest of his coat. //He's. . . No, he's not /quite/ a snow leopard, but the similarity is there! He's. . . amazing.//
The large feline sat neatly on the carpet in front of him, head higher than Treize's waist, and watched him expectantly, seemingly oblivious to the chain Dorothy held. Treize's eyes followed the steel links to a strange pincer-clasp nearly hidden in the thick ruff, to the handsome collar of woven silver links.
"So, what do you think, Cousin? He'll pass?" Dorothy asked, stepping up beside Zechs. "Do you think they'll accept the story that 'Silver' here is some kind of pet?"
//Pet?// Treize had to smirk at the very idea. //Hardly. . . Though all we have to convince them of is his tameness towards me. I /think/ we can manage that much, though.// "It'll still take some convincing, I suspect. I think they're expecting a housecat, actually," he chuckled, sitting back down on his bed.
Zechs snorted, eyes narrowing, as if to say that for the publicly dignified Treize, trailing a simple tabby on a string to a murder investigation was ludicrous.
Shaking his head and smiling gently, Treize dared to reach out, and cup that massive head in both hands, looking firmly into those alluring icy eyes, trying to plead with his own into them. //I don't want you risking yourself like this. If someone suspects who--/what/ you are. . . // "Zechs. . . You're sure about this?" Treize asked quietly, almost hoping there would be second thoughts, yet. . . //I want him near, though. I need him.//
Those uncanny cat-eyes bore back into his, determined, then the head nodded slowly but firmly. Yes.
"Cousin. . . ," Dorothy added after a moment.
"Hmmm?" Treize looked up, letting Zechs go. //I can drown in those eyes if I'm not careful. . . //
She was frowning worriedly at them both. "Zechs said. . . while he could still talk. . . to tell you that he smelled blood on Lieutenant Shimmel."
Treize looked back at the cat, who nodded to confirm it. //You've that good a sense of smell even when human? Still. . . that means he was either there when Uncle Catalonia died, or killed him himself.// Thoughtfully, he murmured, "Thank you both for the warning. . . We'll have to be very careful, Zechs."
"Silver," Dorothy corrected firmly. "He's the pet cat now. If you slip up, Cousin. . . " She let the warning hang threateningly--no need to finish it. They knew.
"Silver," Treize accepted, fixing the name in his mind firmly. //I'd better not mess that up!// Again, he stood, using his cane to support his aching leg.
"Here," Dorothy murmured, handing him the end of the chain. "And don't worry for him--the clasp opens if he pulls hard enough, we tested it, and the collar is /real/ silver, easy enough to break if he needs to."
//That's a relief.// Treize sighed, feeling tension leave him at that reassurance. //I wouldn't want him restrained, even willingly.// "Good. I'm sorry you have to bear it at all. . . Silver."
A soft rumble was the only answer he received, as the cat got up, and curled around to stand at his weaker side, powerful shoulders slipping under his hand--and bumping him.
//What's this. . . ?//
Blue cat-eyes lifted to regard him, then a paw tapped his cane, before strong shoulders arched insistently under his hand again.
//Ah, you're offering that I can lean on you if I need to. Thank you, Zechs.// Obediently, Treize tangled his fingers--and the chain in their grip--in that smooth, silky fur. Unbidden, he remembered soft tendrils-- exactly the same, silky, lovely--tickling his skin as he supported the young man--was it only a year ago? //I've wanted to touch you for a long time,// Treize realized. //Thank you. . . for a wish granted, even unknowingly.// "Thank you, Silver," he murmured.
Looking towards the door, Treize sighed, squaring his shoulders. "Well, armed as you've made us, I think your champions are ready to go, Dorothy. Let's move, Silver. Time to hunt."
With that, the new leader of the Specials lifted his cane and began walking, feeling power rippling the muscles under the fur in his hand as the cat kept pace with him--and marveling at the headiness of what it meant.
//Such power. . . ! And. . . the cat. . . is mine. Willingly.//
Glancing at the white fur and the chain in his left hand, Treize smiled, touched. //My Silver.//
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To be continued.
Treize was hurt when instructing cadets on L1, according to Heero's Episode Zero (Heero shoots at Noin's mobile suit, and Instructor Treize steps between, gets hit. . . ). I'm assuming that's after Relena's Episode Zero (when she and Zechs meet during a training thing between Instructor Treize and him), because General Catalonia's still alive during that. Also, all dukes get addressed "Your Excellency", so I'm assuming both General Catalonia and Treize Kushrenada are already dukes in their own right. ;)
Chapter 3-No Doubts And Nothing To Fear
**His Excellency is dead--assassinated. Long live His Excellency. The first appearance of His Excellency's Silver. Treize and Zechs grow closer. Oh, the other two cats' fates? That's part of the plot--you must wait.**
AC 192-a year later. . .
Treize smiled slowly as a familiar young man strode through the main doors into the manor's entrance-hall and set his single canvas bag by his feet, head rising to look about the marble staircase and echoing grey stone covered with warm tapestries and rugs. The room was warmly lit by skylights above, yet the new arrival didn't remove his dark sunglasses. Only gazed about with a faint smile curving his lips. . .
//He's grown taller. He's taller than me now.// Treize shook his head with amused dismay, waiting patiently just between the double oak doors to the library, leaning on his cane. //And handsomer. . . I wish. . . but I can't tell him how I feel. It wouldn't be right. And it could so easily break that trust we've formed.//
A soft sigh. . . A contented sigh, which almost surprised Treize. It was the closest he had ever seen Zechs to. . . happy.
"You shouldn't be standing, you know," Zechs admonished softly, his gaze on the top of the staircase. Turning slowly, he smiled warmly at Treize, as if he had known the man was watching him from there the whole time.
//Which he probably did,// Treize admitted to himself. He didn't put much beyond Zechs's abilities of late. Perhaps the young man didn't suspect the full extent of his own potential, himself. "Welcome home, Zechs," he answered, smile quirking higher at the corner.
"Who's here? Cousin, you are utterly useless--you never tell me /anything/!" a shrill female voice scolded teasingly from above--and a whirlwind of light blonde hair and dark skirt swirled to a halt at the top of the stairs to peer down.
"Hello, Dorothy," Zechs chuckled, not turning from Treize.
"Zechs!" she squealed, thundering down the stairs at an almost deadly pace for a twelve-year-old. "Cousin--you /should/ have told me! I'd have gone after a few partridges--"
//She's /never/ going to let me live down my lack of skill at shooting birds, and his partiality to bird for dinner,// Treize sighed mentally. "I only knew a short while ago myself about the change in his schedule, Dorothy."
Hands on hips, she came to a halt only a few feet away from the pair, and sniffed at Treize haughtily, though her eyes danced merrily with amusement. "You /still/ could have told me!"
"I thought to surprise both of you," Zechs offered, turning to glance at the girl, smile lingering.
Treize shook his head and chuckled. //He's loosened up, for all he's learning to kill in different ways now. Maybe it's that girl, Noin. . . She told me they had become friends, when she visited me in the hospital.//
The sniff shifted from Treize to Zechs, and became a reproofing glare. "No glasses in the house, Zechs. You /know/ I don't like it! And I'm Lady of the house, with Father out, so you'd better listen!"
A single rough laugh, and Zechs reached up, pulling them off, cat-eyes warm as they fell on the young girl only an arm's reach away. "I hope he won't be upset with me returning with so little warning. . . "
She snorted in an unladylike manner. "Oh, pooh--you /know/ he's almost as fond of you as he is of Cousin Treize! He'll be thrilled. Finally, someone he can hunt with who won't come home with only feathers--even if you /insist/ on bringing things back alive!"
"Really, Dorothy, that's low--" Treize protested, leaning harder on his cane. //My leg aches. But it's good to see him home safe. People /do/ die during training.//
Her eyes shifted sharply to his leg, and he knew he'd been caught. "/You/ get back to that chair. Father told me to keep you off that leg, and I /refuse/ to fail him!" Whirling on a softly-chuckling Zechs like a tornado, she added sharply, "And /you/ go make sure he /stays/ in that chair until I get the servants to throw together a room for you!" Hands waved in a firm shooing motion at both young men. "Get moving! Go! Shoo!"
Treize shook his head and smiled slyly at Dorothy. //You suspect how I feel about him, don't you girl? You wouldn't tease me so much about my shortcomings in his presence if you didn't.//
Tucking an earpiece of his sunglasses into the neck of his uniform jacket and chuckling louder, Zechs moved to reach for his bag at his feet.
With a squeal of frustration, Dorothy darted forward and shoved at his lowered shoulder, pushing him towards Treize. "Oh /leave/ that! That's what servants are /for/, silly! Now go help Cousin Treize before the idiot ends up in a heap in the door there--and I can't lift the lummox, only you can!"
Laughing, the pair of young men let Dorothy propel them into the darker library. Dutifully, Zechs escorted Treize to the chair with the ottoman, but Treize firmly waved away any attempts to assist him into getting comfortable there. Setting his aching foot up on the soft resting stool, the young First Lieutenant of Oz returned his scrutiny to the fair-haired young man pulling up a chair opposite him. . . and turning it around to straddle it with arms and chin resting on the back, so he could stare back with mischievous intensity at Treize.
//If only he knew I could drown in eyes like his and not care. . . // He had already been berated--from /all/ sides--during Zechs's last vacation about letting a boy blast his mobile suit with a missile-launcher on L1. //He's teasing me with this, staring. . . I wonder if young Noin has seen his eyes? Probably not.//
Zechs's mouth curved into a slight smile. "You look better than last time I saw you," he stated quietly, eyes amused. "Probably Dorothy's doing--if anyone can make you rest sensibly, she can."
Treize snorted. "She can--and /has/, I might add--cowed the world's most powerful men before this. God help anyone who crosses her. They'll need it." //Put /her/ in charge of Romefeller and the world, and things would be run competently for a change, though. No nonsense.//
"Then why do you keep trying?" Zechs chuckled, gliding smoothly to his feet and moving towards the liquor cabinet. "Mmmm. . . Are you allowed anything, or are you still on medication? You look like you need a drink for your earlier efforts. . . "
//You're more considerate than you credit yourself, Zechs. . . Or else my face is really betraying me.// "I'm allowed now. I wouldn't mind something, to be honest. Try the blue crystal--it has a new brandy I found on L1, some kind of intriguing thing they make there themselves." He tried to crane his head to glance back at Zechs and the liquor cabinet, but failed to glimpse either over the plush back of his own seat, and settled back in the comfortable chair with a sigh.
A half-hiss, half-growling sound rumbled behind him for a moment, making Treize frown. //Is something wrong?// "Zechs. . . ?" he inquired.
Abruptly, two decanters were set firmly--almost angrily--on the table by his arm with an audible thump, a frustrated Zechs towering over both and eyeing them as if they existed merely to annoy him.
One blue.
One burgundy.
Treize blinked. //This isn't the first time he's been upset by deep colors. I don't understand. . . // "Zechs. . . ?" he tried again, looking up into those cat-eyes.
Frustration--and pain. Something really upset the younger man. Not Treize, but something about the two drinks.
"Which one is it?" Zechs half-growled, glaring at the matching crystal decanters.
//Which one? The. . . blue.// Glancing at the two containers, Treize gestured at the blue one with his hand, letting his confusion show in his voice. "The. . . blue. . . Zechs, what's wrong?"
With blinding speed, the younger man returned the other to the cabinet, and set about filling two glasses, not answering.
//He moves faster when upset--it's as if he can't keep still then,// Treize sighed. "Zechs. . . just tell me. This isn't the first time something's upset you like this."
The younger man simply picked up his own glass, and stalked back to his seat, resuming it, staring intently into his glass. His silence, his posture, screamed that he didn't want to share it, that it was something he felt strongly about.
"Zechs," Treize whispered gently, the plea of a close companion trying to understand. //Tell me. Please. I want to help.//
"What if I told you that I can't for the life of me tell you what color uniform I'm wearing even this very moment, Treize?" Zechs asked in a quiet rush, a hint of despair in his voice, threatening to crack it.
//Wh-what?// Treize stared. "But it's. . . "
"Red. Yes, everyone says so. I can't tell." Zechs took a good mouthful of the brandy, testing it a moment, then swallowing. If it was to fortify himself, he still took that brief moment to appreciate it.
"You. . . can't tell? You mean, red from green? Or just red from blue?" Treize tried, struggling to fit the idea of this limitation around his concept of Zechs. //I've heard of people having trouble with those at times--a genetic flaw, it's said.//
"No. I mean /all/ color, Treize." Zechs continued to stare into his glass, voice dropping to a painful whisper. "All I see. . . is grey. I /used/ to see color. . . until they caught me. . . "
//Oh, God. . . Whatever they did to him--he's colorblind. Completely colorblind!// "But--the mobile suit controls, the colored lights, buttons, and monitors--" Treize protested, trying to find evidence to the contrary.
"I memorized the positions of things. The monitors--I can see the differences in shading, and those have to be big or they wouldn't be so visible to you, either."
Treize took a long pull on his own brandy, needing it for more than his leg now. //I. . . never thought. . . He's adapted pretty well for such a complication.// "Your instructors. . . ?"
"Not a clue."
//You kept them completely in the dark. Must have been inconvenient at times-and quick thinking at other times!// "Noin?"
A pause, then, annoyed, "She found out."
"How?"
A snort, and a faint smile, as cat-eyes met his again. "Like you just did. Wrong color container. It was in the cafeteria--lunch. I ended up with the most vile thing on the menu by mistake--she had recommended something better."
Treize chuckled, suppressing a twinge of sadness. //He likes her. There go your dreams, Treize. Too good to be true, I told you. . . // "And ate it all as if that was what you intended, as usual."
Those eyes seemed to read more than he wanted them to, staring so intently into his own. "To show weakness there is dangerous," Zechs answered quietly, finally looking back at his drink.
Both sat in silence for a bit, studying their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.
//He'll never be mine. . . But oh, how I wish he could!// Treize wailed, body held in stiff control to avoid betraying his broken heart, which hurt more than his leg at the moment.
Someone knocked on the library door, startling both heads into jerking upright. "Master Treize," Jensen, the butler, called through the door. "Some gentlemen to see you, Sir. It appears to be urgent."
Wordlessly, Zechs whipped out the glasses again, covering his eyes, despite the room's already low lighting.
//It doesn't matter. His sight's so acute that the added shade doesn't hinder him in the least. even if it's all in black and white.// Glancing at Zechs, Treize received a nod, and looked back expectantly to the door to call, "Let them in, Jensen!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
//I've hurt him. Something. . . I said? Or is he hurting for me? Treize doesn't deserve the pain I cause with my blundering about.// Zechs looked into his half-full glass again, listening to the strangers, visitors, follow the butler into the library.
Heavy feet. The clop of uniform boots. The ring of swaying sabers like the one at his own side. The creak of leather gun holsters on their belts. Soldiers. Zechs could even smell mobile suit exhaust fumes from them still. His eyes narrowed as he focused on individual scents among the visiting party. . . One bore an additional strong scent, something vital. . .
//Big-shots from the Specials. General Catalonia's aide? What is he doing here, if not following the man around?// Zechs's pale head jerked up, and turned towards them sharply, eyes picking them out of the bright background light of the doorway. //He's the one. . . //
He could see Treize frown in concern at his own reaction, before the older man also peered towards the door. "Yes. . . ? To what does a recovering man owe the pleasure of this visit? Ah, Lieutenant Shimmel--what brings you here? Uncle Catalonia will be missing your presence, surely." But Zechs could see from Treize's stiff posture and hear in that light tone that his friend was on guard, wary.
Zechs could feel his hackles rising, hidden by his long hair, his muscles tensing to snatch sword or gun at the slightest hint of aggression from the new arrivals. //He doesn't like this. Something's wrong. But he doesn't know--what /I/ know--it's on Shimmel, and recent! I won't let Treize be hurt. . . //
Lieutenant Shimmel's colleagues huddled back, leaving him to do the talking. Hesitantly, the aide stepped forward towards Treize, bowing nervously before glancing at Zechs. The man didn't want him there.
"Sir. . . Perhaps we should speak in private."
//Like hell I'm leaving Treize alone here with you!// Zechs set his glass down on the table with the decanter, folding his arms across the back of the chair in front of him, hands gripping the ornate wood so tightly that, if he hadn't been wearing gloves, would have visibly turned his knuckles white. //You'll have to haul me out.//
Treize glanced at him, eyes locking on his dark sunglasses, as if trying to read the eyes hidden behind them, then shook his head at Lieutenant Shimmel firmly. "Cadet Zechs is part of the family, Shimmel. You can speak in front of him," he answered sharply.
Zechs blinked in surprise at that admission--though, on second thought, Duke Catalonia, his daughter, and Treize had seemed to adopt him as their own over the past year, enthusiastically merging him into their everyday lives. That Treize--or his uncle--would openly acknowledge the relationship was the next logical step, though just /having/ that kind of relationship--a family--was enough to Zechs. //I've lost my family. . . It's good to have one again. It's true, now that I think about it--I /do/ consider this place, with them. . . home.//
Lieutenant Shimmel sighed softly, but saluted smartly, took a deep breath, and said, "Well, Sir. . . General Catalonia has been assassinated, Sir."
Treize went as white as a sheet, mouth opening slightly, horror in his bright blue eyes.
Zechs dug his fingernails into the ornate wood, smothering a hiss of anger and pain. //He was a good man--a friend! /Family!!!/ How--/who/--dares take family away from me again!// But he dared not speak his demanding questions. It was not his place. . .
It rankled enough that, had he been in his feline form, his tail would have lashed in frustration and rage.
"Who did it? Who ordered it?" Treize asked quietly, visibly taking a hold of himself and rising to his feet urgently. "Where are they?" he added with an increasing growl of anger.
Lieutenant Shimmel backed a pace, shaking his head negatively to all questions. "Sir, we don't know yet. . . We have men investigating. But I came immediately to tell you, Sir. . . as you are now Head of the Specials, Sir."
Picking up his cane, Treize set it at his side so he could lean on it--and turned to the butler. "Jensen. . . Get Dorothy, please. She should know. . . I'd best break the news to her myself," he mused painfully.
"Very good Sir." With that, the butler let himself out.
//She'll be furious,// Zechs decided, gliding to his own feet and turning back to the liquor cabinet for a third glass.
"Zechs. . . ?" Treize asked, not certain what his friend was doing.
"She might be underage, Sir, but I think a sip might do her good after hearing the news," he answered his superior with quiet confidence, ever formal in public, but not shifting his attention from what he was doing. //Let the others think it's to keep her from hysterics. /We/ know better, Treize--it's to keep her from trying to grab the throat of whoever is responsible.//
Treize did not inquire further.
A knock announced Dorothy's arrival even as Zechs set the third full glass on the small table beside his own. The knock was quickly followed by the butler ushering her in. "Miss Dorothy, Sir."
"Cousin, I thought I told you to stay off your feet! A fat lot of good /you/ are as a babysitter, Zechs. . . ," the twelve-year-old scolded sharply, hands on hips as she stalked closer. But then Dorothy recognized other faces present. "Lieutenant Shimmel? Where is Father, then? What's going on?"
//I wish we knew for certain ourselves,// Zechs sighed softly, an impassive statue.
All the soldiers looked expectantly at Treize. The new leader of the Specials closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before turning to Dorothy, sympathy and his own anguish in his eyes. "Dorothy. . . He's been assassinated," he stated quietly, but gently.
Dorothy's eyes grew large, and her hands flew to her mouth to cover a gasp of breath. No other sound emerged--but tears shook her eyes until they slid free, trickling down her cheeks.
Using his cane, Treize stepped closer, and wrapped his arms about the girl. "I'm sorry, Dorothy. . . "
She buried her face into his chest, shaking. "But. . . oh, Father! Who. . . ? Who. . . !" Sobs of pain turned quickly to sobs of rage, demanding that she be told.
The other soldiers shifted uneasily, and Lieutenant Shimmel turned away, breathing harsh. Zechs took the chance of their distraction to unbend his formal pose, slipping up to the pair to rest a hand on Treize's shoulder and give him the glass of brandy for Dorothy, a silent gesture of support.
"We don't know yet," Treize answered softly, offering the girl a sip before setting the glass aside, wrapping his arms back around her, and closing his eyes again. Growling, he added, "But I intend to find out. I'm going to investigate it personally. . . "
//I will help,// Zechs added silently, determined. //I may not show it much, but. . . you all mean a lot to me.//
Lieutenant Shimmel seemed taken by surprise by Treize's decision, however. He may have known General Catalonia, but not the rest of the family--at least, not more than enough to greet during major functions or on the phone. "Sir. . . ? We have good men on it, Sir. They'll find those responsible."
Without letting go of Dorothy, Treize's head jerked up, eyes napping open to fling a glare at the man. "I'll leave in an hour, Shimmel. But I /will/ see to this investigation myself! Damn it, the man's been like a second father to me, and I will not be sitting on the sidelines, waiting for some unknown incompetent to find justice for him!"
"Take the cat," Zechs suggested firmly, voice little more than a whisper. //I'm coming. And I can probably do more than any damn search-dog. . . or guard-dog. They may well be after you, too, Treize! And I won't let them take /you/--never! You, Dorothy. . . Relena. . . You're the only family I have left, and the only family I can guard. Relena--I daren't go near her, even to protect her.//
Treize looked at Zechs blankly, confused. "Cat?"
Dorothy pulled back from Treize's embrace, tear-stained face full of fiery anger and a restlessness that matched her cousin's. "Yes, Cousin--take Silver with you!" she commanded sharply.
//"Silver"?!?// Zechs nearly choked on the name, and eyed the girl sharply from behind his glasses. //Heck, that's almost as bad as "Spot" is for a dog!//
Catching Zechs's gaze, Dorothy could only shrug slightly and try an apologetic smile, though not much of one could get past her grief.
Treize looked from one to the other as if not certain there was some kind of conspiracy going on between the pair of them, undecided.
"He was /my/ father, Cousin!" Dorothy pointed out, establishing her rights. "If you're going to hunt his killers--take Silver with you! I won't have you taken by them as well!"
The corner of Zechs's mouth quirked slightly. //Oh, Dorothy, you and I think very much alike here. . . I won't let anything happen to him! You can rest assured.// "She has a point, Treize," Zechs added wryly.
"The. . . cat. . . Very well, I'll take him with me, Dorothy. If you and Zechs would be so kind as to bring him to me, and tell Jensen to prepare things for our departure in an hour. . . " Trailing, the young General took a step towards the library door as if to start the procession out. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to pack a few vital things. Tell them I'm coming to--where was he assassinated, Shimmel?"
"Corsica Base, Sir." The man saluted smartly. "I'll let them know, Sir."
"Tell them I want everything they have, they found, they know, and as much untouched as possible. With that, I leave you, gentlemen."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
"'Silver'. . . ?"
"It was the first thing that came to mind, Zechs!"
"It's. . . boring."
"I could have said 'Spot'."
A shudder. "'Silver' is better, thank you."
"Are you sure a leash is a good idea? I won't forgive you if you turn out as useless for Cousin Treize as Father's guards were for him!"
"Unleashed would be a bit too suspicious. . . Chain would be best--it's generally used for large cats--but I'd rather not be choked, thank you. You're sure you have that kind of clasp here somewhere?"
"The dog Father had when I was really little was a well-trained guard dog. He said a leash it couldn't lose when necessary made the poor animal's training utterly redundant."
"Hmmm. . . " More of a grunt than a sound. He didn't approve of dogs, as a rule.
"Oh, stop it. Miti was a good dog."
"'Mighty'?"
"Military Intelligence Trained It. MITI."
A soft chuckle.
"Ah, here it is. I've the rest of the stuff. Ready. . . ?"
A sigh. . . "Yes. Two things while I still can talk, however. . . "
"Yes?"
"One--tell this to Treize: Shimmel's uniform smells of blood."
Surprise. "You can tell? You're sure!"
"Yes. . . And two--be very, very careful, yourself. I rather doubt you're as much a target as Treize, but that doesn't mean you're not one all the same. . . And I would rather not lose the only family I have left."
She snorted. "You needn't worry on that score. I'll be careful--I'm not a fool."
"We know. . . " Amusement in those few words, speaking on Treize's behalf as well. Then, "I won't be back until we find and deal with those responsible. You'll have to make excuses for me."
A laugh. "They won't cross me, Zechs. Now stop fretting and go change. I still have to fit this mess on you, even if it's only for show."
A chuckle. . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few minutes later, Treize was sitting on his bed beside a hastily-filled duffle bag, wiping his sidearm with an oily rag for the last time, just done cleaning it. //Carrying the cleaning rags and oils would be pointless. I'm sure they have some there, and probably someone to even do it for me, though I'd rather do it myself, with my own equipment. . . if only this last time.//
A knock.
"Come in." He tucked the revolver into the leather holster at his side, turning to look at the door, rising carefully to his feet and reaching for his cane.
Dorothy brushed the door open with a rough shove, stalking into the room. . . with something on a chain following behind carefully so as not to knock her down with sheer bulk.
A cat. Zechs had never taken his cat form in daylight, not since his escape from those who had forced that form onto him. Privately, Treize attributed it to the younger man's shame at being a killer, at his unwanted, wild, inhuman side. But now, seeing him.
//My. . . God. . . // It was hard to hold his ground as that large feline paced languidly closer--as long as Zechs had been tall, which was now more than Treize's own height, and seeming twice as graceful. Long fur that fit the human description of "platinum blonde", the tips were just a shade darker in places to accent the animal's "feathering" along long legs, mane, and tail, as well as emphasizing those icy blue eyes, and hinting of dappled markings in the rest of his coat. //He's. . . No, he's not /quite/ a snow leopard, but the similarity is there! He's. . . amazing.//
The large feline sat neatly on the carpet in front of him, head higher than Treize's waist, and watched him expectantly, seemingly oblivious to the chain Dorothy held. Treize's eyes followed the steel links to a strange pincer-clasp nearly hidden in the thick ruff, to the handsome collar of woven silver links.
"So, what do you think, Cousin? He'll pass?" Dorothy asked, stepping up beside Zechs. "Do you think they'll accept the story that 'Silver' here is some kind of pet?"
//Pet?// Treize had to smirk at the very idea. //Hardly. . . Though all we have to convince them of is his tameness towards me. I /think/ we can manage that much, though.// "It'll still take some convincing, I suspect. I think they're expecting a housecat, actually," he chuckled, sitting back down on his bed.
Zechs snorted, eyes narrowing, as if to say that for the publicly dignified Treize, trailing a simple tabby on a string to a murder investigation was ludicrous.
Shaking his head and smiling gently, Treize dared to reach out, and cup that massive head in both hands, looking firmly into those alluring icy eyes, trying to plead with his own into them. //I don't want you risking yourself like this. If someone suspects who--/what/ you are. . . // "Zechs. . . You're sure about this?" Treize asked quietly, almost hoping there would be second thoughts, yet. . . //I want him near, though. I need him.//
Those uncanny cat-eyes bore back into his, determined, then the head nodded slowly but firmly. Yes.
"Cousin. . . ," Dorothy added after a moment.
"Hmmm?" Treize looked up, letting Zechs go. //I can drown in those eyes if I'm not careful. . . //
She was frowning worriedly at them both. "Zechs said. . . while he could still talk. . . to tell you that he smelled blood on Lieutenant Shimmel."
Treize looked back at the cat, who nodded to confirm it. //You've that good a sense of smell even when human? Still. . . that means he was either there when Uncle Catalonia died, or killed him himself.// Thoughtfully, he murmured, "Thank you both for the warning. . . We'll have to be very careful, Zechs."
"Silver," Dorothy corrected firmly. "He's the pet cat now. If you slip up, Cousin. . . " She let the warning hang threateningly--no need to finish it. They knew.
"Silver," Treize accepted, fixing the name in his mind firmly. //I'd better not mess that up!// Again, he stood, using his cane to support his aching leg.
"Here," Dorothy murmured, handing him the end of the chain. "And don't worry for him--the clasp opens if he pulls hard enough, we tested it, and the collar is /real/ silver, easy enough to break if he needs to."
//That's a relief.// Treize sighed, feeling tension leave him at that reassurance. //I wouldn't want him restrained, even willingly.// "Good. I'm sorry you have to bear it at all. . . Silver."
A soft rumble was the only answer he received, as the cat got up, and curled around to stand at his weaker side, powerful shoulders slipping under his hand--and bumping him.
//What's this. . . ?//
Blue cat-eyes lifted to regard him, then a paw tapped his cane, before strong shoulders arched insistently under his hand again.
//Ah, you're offering that I can lean on you if I need to. Thank you, Zechs.// Obediently, Treize tangled his fingers--and the chain in their grip--in that smooth, silky fur. Unbidden, he remembered soft tendrils-- exactly the same, silky, lovely--tickling his skin as he supported the young man--was it only a year ago? //I've wanted to touch you for a long time,// Treize realized. //Thank you. . . for a wish granted, even unknowingly.// "Thank you, Silver," he murmured.
Looking towards the door, Treize sighed, squaring his shoulders. "Well, armed as you've made us, I think your champions are ready to go, Dorothy. Let's move, Silver. Time to hunt."
With that, the new leader of the Specials lifted his cane and began walking, feeling power rippling the muscles under the fur in his hand as the cat kept pace with him--and marveling at the headiness of what it meant.
//Such power. . . ! And. . . the cat. . . is mine. Willingly.//
Glancing at the white fur and the chain in his left hand, Treize smiled, touched. //My Silver.//
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued.
Treize was hurt when instructing cadets on L1, according to Heero's Episode Zero (Heero shoots at Noin's mobile suit, and Instructor Treize steps between, gets hit. . . ). I'm assuming that's after Relena's Episode Zero (when she and Zechs meet during a training thing between Instructor Treize and him), because General Catalonia's still alive during that. Also, all dukes get addressed "Your Excellency", so I'm assuming both General Catalonia and Treize Kushrenada are already dukes in their own right. ;)