---Shades Of Grey---
Chapter 8--I'm Not That Sure Anymore
**This conspiracy is over. . . for now. But it's clear His Excellency has some enemies to be wary of in the Alliance. Someone knows the plan. . . Someone else knows Zechs's secret, though! How do you know who to trust, in the face of such danger? Dare you trust anyone? Do you even have a choice?**
AC 192, evening/night. . .
"There is fine enough--now get out," Treize commanded sharply, kneeling beside the stretcher on the carpet of the sitting room of his quarters, eyes unable to leave the occupant.
"But Sir--you'll need help--" Lieutenant Une protested behind him.
//Zechs, you're so quiet. You must be in a lot of pain. . .// Angry, Treize wrenched his gaze from his feline friend and glared at Une over his shoulder. "I said get out. Now. I will deal with him," he growled defensively.
"The medic should be here shortly, Your Excellency. . . It looks like Silver needs stitches, and you need to be seen, too," she reasoned quietly.
"I gave an order, Lieutenant--carry it out!" he snapped back scathingly. But his mind whirled along lines similar to her words. //Zechs /does/ need stitches--he's still bleeding a lot. And he's breathing too fast, he's not moving much. . . But how can I let a medic deal with him in this form? If he were human, they could help him more--give him blood, something. . . !//
Icy eyes opened and met his even as Une retreated, closing the suite's main door behind herself. They were tired, pained, but patient, calm. . . reassuring. . . sad, in a tragic kind of way.
"Zechs," Treize whispered, hand straying to smooth those alert ears before reaching to undo the collar, letting it clatter to a crumple on the carpet. The chain was forgotten somewhere in the mess of the mess hall, and the least of his concerns. //I can't treat him like this. I don't know what to do with an injured cat!// "Change, please. I don't know how to help you like this. . ."
Those blue eyes stared back at him, worried. . . frightened?
Treize stroked those ears gently, meeting that unblinking gaze. "Do it. Please. . . ," he pleaded softly.
Zechs nodded faintly, closing his eyes. . . His claws extended in pain as the change rippled through his body like a liquid shudder sliding down his spine. Fur sank away beneath pale blood-soaked skin, limbs straightened from inhuman positions. . . To Treize's eyes, however, it was a discomforting sight, a painful process from the way Zechs arched his spine and curled his fingers into the cloth of the stretcher beneath him until the shudder passed--an instant in time, but one that hurt to watch.
//That scientist was right--it hurts them to change. But by God, he doesn't need more pain right now,// Treize mused, feeling helpless yet wishing he could do something to make it easier. //One thing at a time,// he admonished himself, as Zechs lay panting under his hand, face obscured by bloody bangs. //One thing at a time--the injuries first.//
He only had that instant for musing. The next thing he knew, Zechs had flung himself sideways to his knees, arms wrapping around the nearby decorative garbage can to drag it close, and shoved his face into it. . . retching for all he was worth, his long hair falling around him like a the bloody veil of a massacred bride.
"Zechs!" Treize breathed in horror, lurching to his side. //Good God, is he. . .? This can't be good!// With a sweep of one hand, he collected that long pale hair out of the way, the other supporting the younger man about the shoulders, taking some of his weight from shaking arms. "Hold on. . . Try and relax," he suggested lamely.
Those shoulders were shaking in his hands, those cat-eyes closed. . . but after that sudden nausea, Zechs had the respite to gasp a few breaths. "Can't. . . Can still taste. . . taste. . ." With a faint shake of his head, he ducked again to surrender a bit more of his lunch to the metal can's depths.
//Blood--he can still taste their blood in his mouth! I'm sorry, Zechs. . . God, I'm sorry. . .// All Treize could do was apologize, and hold that shaking body against his side, bracing him up against bouts of nausea. "I'm sorry, Zechs. . . I should have guessed--this shouldn't have happened- -you shouldn't have had to--"
"Only. . . the only way," Zechs whispered, panting for breath now that this second bout was over. "Guess. . . Guess I really am. . . a monster now. . ."
"Don't say that! Don't say that. . . ," Treize snapped, before muffling his face against the back of the shoulder nearest him, ignoring the metallic scent of blood in favor of the close contact. //That's right--he never killed anyone like this before, not ripping their throat out. . . But he's NOT a monster--he's NOT!// "Don't believe that. . ."
"Then why. . . why do I feel so foul?" Zechs whispered, shaking in Treize's supportive hold. "So much blood. . . everywhere. . . Good God. . . What have I done, Treize?" It sounded almost like the question of a horrified child to Treize's ears, and cut into his heart painfully. But then he was forced to brush that plaintive question aside as Zechs began heaving again, retching until the older man began to wonder if he was about to bring up more than just stomach contents, but stomach itself in the bargain.
//I should have realized he'd have to kill that way. . . God, no wonder he never wanted to do it for those scientists!// Feeling helpless, the young Oz Specials leader could only gently rock his companion from side to side until the heaving stopped, the soothing motion oddly giving himself a faint bit of comfort as well. Softly, reassuringly, he murmured, "Hush. . . Shhh. . . It's over. . . We'll get you cleaned up and stitched up and go home."
/That/ made the younger man stiffen and lift his head abruptly, still panting from his last bout of sickness, panic in his icy eyes. "No. . . !" he breathed. "One more--the planter! He wasn't there, Treize! Shimmel didn't plant those shells!"
Grimacing, Treize reached blindly behind himself for the remains of his uniform jacket where it lay on the stretcher, taking a corner to wipe at the blonde's mouth. //Hell. It would be just our luck that one got away! But we can't do anything about it right now. . .// "We'll worry about him later," the new Specials Commander decided firmly. "Lieutenant Une can go chase some leads and give us some breathing space."
The younger man flushed at getting his mouth wiped like a sloppy child at dinner, eyes flicking closed at the touch of the ruined wool. Faint tremors still shook his frame, but those panting breaths were easing off a bit.
The stained blue cloth wasn't meeting Treize's demands by cleaning away the drying blood fast or thoroughly enough. //Best get him cleaned quick--it will certainly lessen the shock he's going through--but this won't cut it. Soapy water, then, and kiss those lovely towels goodbye--they're not going to survive this.// Thoughtfully, he appraised Zechs a moment, uncertain. . . //There's no way I can drag him into the bathroom, though. Even if my leg were whole, it would be difficult--he's bigger than me now. Ah well-- if you can't get the man to the bathroom, get the bathroom to the man, eh?//
"Can you hold up on your own for a moment?" Treize asked worriedly. "I need to get a few things."
A slow nod answered him, though the younger man didn't look up. A bloodied hand reached up to hold long hair out of the way and set Treize free.
//I'd best hurry.// "I'll be back in a moment," the young General murmured reassuringly, before scrambling for cane and feet, limping quickly through the bedroom to the bath.
A little hunting under the sink rewarded Treize with a bucket, and a swing of his arms cleared the towel-rack in an instant. A squirt of liquid hand- soap later, he had the whole combination foaming under the tub faucet and two dry towels over his arm. Silently, he wished the bucket would fill faster. //This should do it. . . God, it's taking too long. Is he still alright out there? I don't want him bleeding to death. Relax, Treize-- can't be that bad. . . But--God!--I'm no doctor.//
When he emerged from the bedroom, Treize immediately saw Zechs still sitting on his knees by the garbage can, head hanging heavily over braced and shaking arms, stained hair a swirl over one shoulder. Blue eyes were closed, every breath carefully concentrated on, controlled.
//He's trying not to be sick,// Treize mused grimly. "I'm back," he murmured gently, setting the bucket down before carefully going to his knees beside the injured man. "Zechs? Maybe you should lie down again. . ." //But where? That stretcher's a mess already.//
The main door clicked open suddenly, and before either could turn, two people entered, closing it quietly behind themselves--
Zechs hissed softly, every muscle tensing, and glared over his shoulder, teeth bared in an unhealthy rage.
Treize jumped, whirling into a half-sitting position, grabbing his cane with intent to use it. //Shit! They've seen--!//
"Your Excellency, I've my intern Sally with me to. . . Oh." The elderly, almost frail-looking man who had entered first trailed off, blinking behind his spectacles like an owl, dropping his black bag at his feet as if suddenly it was too heavy for his hand.
"Sally", just a pace behind him, stood a head taller with her blonde hair in twists, and eyes wide to stare, a hand going to her mouth in surprise.
Even as Treize watched, a familiar blur began to make Zechs's long bangs shiver--
"NO!"
Treize leapt at the younger man, catching Zechs about one shoulder and neck, flattening that longer body in a tackle before he could start his deadly leap.
The injured man cried out in pain as the head of the Specials flattened him to the ground beneath his considerable weight, stopping the change, and went limp, gasping for breath. But blue eyes glared murderously at the two who had just entered, a growl thrumming his throat audibly, long fingers digging deep into the carpet. One look at him gave the two medical professionals no doubt that only Treize was keeping him from attacking.
"Let me--let me--We can't--!" Zechs's words were almost a wail of frustration through a haze of pain.
"No! No. Listen to me--you can't, you shouldn't," Treize whispered urgently, not relaxing his hold. //There have been enough deaths today! I know you're afraid, Zechs, but I can't let you kill them, too! Listen to me, please. . .//
"S-sir?" the elderly man asked hesitantly, clearing his throat bravely, as Sally backed a step towards the door silently. "Perhaps we should come at a better time?"
Treize almost wanted to slap the man for such a suggestion at this time--he felt Zechs surge beneath him up onto his arms, snarling, and marveled at what adrenaline did to the injured man he was trying to hold down.
"You're--you're the doctor, right?" the young General demanded to know urgently. //Damn it, if they try to leave /now/, he's desperate enough to throw me off and hunt them!//
"Ah, yes?" the elder admitted, uncertain.
"Dr. Hollender," Sally supplied carefully, freezing as baleful icy eyes shifted to her.
Her mentor nodded, adding warily, "I was called here because of. . . a feline, I was told. . . but. . ."
The pair of medical professionals flushed hotly.
//They think we're doing something kinky. . .?// Treize could only stare in surprise. But then anger dug its claws in. //How /dare/ they think I would hurt any lover of mine like this! There's blood /everywhere/!//
Zechs collapsed beneath him again, the rush of adrenaline spending itself out finally, his breath wheezing painfully, tears escaping to streak the blood on his cheeks. Those blue eyes closed with a breathless moan.
//Damn--my weight's too much for him, must be hurting him. . .// That realization flushed the anger from his system, letting worry flow in to replace it. Scrambling up to his hands and knees to sit at the younger man's side, Treize snapped at the doctor, "He /is/ the feline. Damn it, don't just stand there--help me!"
"He's the cat?" Sally repeated quietly, expression completely lost in confusion.
Frowning slightly, the elderly doctor stooped to snag his black bag, then moved closer to join Treize on the carpet. "Where exactly--?"
//Good. At least now we're getting somewhere.// "Down here--the bandages," Treize pointed out quickly. "Most of the blood isn't his."
"Ah." With that, Dr. Hollender snapped open his case and began pulling on gloves before reaching for a knife. "Sally, get over here and help clean him up."
She blinked, then nodded, obviously gathering her courage before joining them.
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He was embarrassed and afraid. He couldn't help it--he was very afraid, and knew it probably showed in the way he shook, the way he jumped at the slightest touch.
//What if they try blackmail? What if they want to test me? I can't go back--I WON'T go back!!!//
Zechs could feel the bandages being sawed through, the trickle of blood running down his side at the release of that pressure, the sting of air and antiseptic. He tried to hold still, tried to ignore the pain. . . but the pain made him try to crawl away anyway.
Then Treize was at his head, a wet towel in hand, trying to clean the blood from his face and hair, murmuring soothingly. "Easy, easy--they're only trying to help."
//I know--I'm trying to remember that--but it hurts! And I'm so afraid. . .// Zechs yowled, clawing at the carpet with his fingers as something was poured onto the wound--it BURNED! Oh, God, and it didn't stop when they stopped pouring that stuff! He writhed desperately, practically sobbing. It felt like acid, eating away at the wound!
"Can't you give him anything for the pain?" the Oz General bellowed over his shoulder at the doctor angrily.
"Only if I'd some sort of medical background to go on," the man replied with a sigh. "You tell me--a dose for a cat, or for a man?"
"There's a difference?" Treize asked, surprised and sarcastic.
"Animals have a lower tolerance for sedatives," Dr. Hollender answered with a firm nod. "And quite often the anesthetic can kill them. I would rather not risk it in this case. . . So, unfortunately, this will hurt."
"At least the shot skipped off his ribs. We don't have to do any serious surgery, only sew it up," Sally added quietly.
Zechs moaned at the idea. //Ohhhhh no! I'm /not/ letting either of you perform surgery on me! This is only a minor wound! I'd hate to think what a serous one would feel like under your care! They were never this bad at the facility. . . though they /did/ have sedatives for us.//
"Shhh. . . ," Treize whispered, wiping the damp towel over his hair and down his back. "They're almost done."
Something covered his legs, a soft fall of warm cloth. "There. . . Your Excellency Sir?" Sally tossed something over Zechs's head.
Scooping it out of the air, Treize frowned back at the girl.
"To keep him warm. Half his shivering is shock, and for that he needs to be warm," she answered the unasked question.
"Right." With that, warm cloth covered his shoulders. Zechs could feel Treize's hands gently stroking his long hair out over it, and closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms, trying to focus on the soothing touch.
//Keep doing that. . . please. When you're touching me, I can drive out the fear, fight the pain. . .//
"Sir? If I could ask a question. . . ?" Dr. Hollender began, snipping something.
//Just tell yourself that's not a needle likely in his hand, Zechs. And that there is no stench of blood in the air. Pretend Treize is just toying with your hair, like last night. . .// Gentle rubbing tugged at the lengths, working out the mostly-dried blood, an amazingly comforting feeling, rather like someone else washing it with the most gentle of care. . .
"Yes?" Treize finally murmured.
A couple faint pricks. . . tugging at Zechs's side. . . "Ah. . . How exactly can he be the feline, if I may ask?" the doctor continued, sewing the wound up.
"I don't know," the young Specials leader returned quietly. "If I knew. . . I would undo it."
"The old legend, Sir? Getting bitten?" Sally tried, curiosity starting to get the better of her original uncertainty.
"No," Treize growled. A peek through heavy eyelids told Zechs that he was glaring at the two medical professionals over his shoulder, but those hands didn't stop their gentle motions and he shut them again. "Doctors. . . like you. Some crazy experiment. . . If one word escapes this room on the fact that such as he exists, however, you will be lucky to say another word on /any/ topic after it."
There was no mistaking the warning in the man's voice. Treize would use anything in the considerable resources of the General of the Specials to keep such information quiet. That probably meant assassination, too.
//He sounds so very protective. . . ,// Zechs mused, feeling a stirring of warmth in response that didn't come from the towels draped over his body. //Treize. . . just don't leave me here alone with them. Please.//
"Sally. . ." A final snip. Then, "Thank you. New gloves, please. Now, Your Excellency, I like to think such information as that this young man. . . If I might have a name for him, Sir--?"
"Zechs Merquise," Treize supplied tersely.
"As I was saying, such information that Mister Merquise here has a feline side to his personality. . . Or is it the other way around--?"
"No. He was a man first."
"Open that up please, Sally. . . Thank you. Well, in any case, Sir, such information falls under the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality. I am hardly about to give any such information out, fascinating as it sounds," the bespectacled doctor finished quite seriously.
//Which means. . .?// Zechs wondered, curious and suspicious, seeking the loopholes in this logic.
"And if someone asks you about His Excellency's pet Silver?" Treize asked quietly, carefully.
A rough laugh from the elderly doctor. "A cat or a man, a patient is a patient! You will have no worries from me. However. . ."
Zechs's ears perked, and his eyes flicked open, narrowing angrily. //Now it comes. . .// "However?" he growled softly.
Treize's hands left his hair and smoothed it firmly against his upper back, stroking. "Shhhh. . . Let me handle this," he assured. Then he snapped at Dr. Hollender, "However what?"
There was amusement in the old man's voice. "A blood sample. I have no doubts there will be future calls for me--or possibly Sally here after I'm long gone--but anesthetics, medications, even testing methods for various illnesses, they will all have to be tested and altered for his differences, you see. What works for a cat may not for a man, and vice versa, with potentially harmful results. And from your earlier response, even you don't know how different his blood is, or how differently his body reacts to such."
"We need it to work on such things," Sally added. "Without knowing how different he is, we could easily overdose, under dose, or essentially poison him by mistake."
"I. . . see," Treize stated grimly. "So we have no choice but to trust you, you are saying."
//No, we can't. . . We can't trust anyone, except perhaps Dorothy. . . The risk. . . ! We /can't/!// Growling, Zechs glanced up at Treize, trying to convey his disapproval of that notion without words.
Soothing strokes continued to smooth his hair gently, wringing the last dampness out into the towel on his back. "What do you want from all this?" the older man wanted to know, voice dangerously soft.
Dr. Hollender snorted, cheerfully returning, "Sir. . . do you know what kind of a challenge this is? What a mystery exists in deciphering the changes, what each change means, how each change could have been made, seeing how each affects him? It's better than any detective-novel ever written! I know doctors who would drool at the opportunity. . . and lucky for you, I am one of them, and I know Sally is another."
A glance at the young woman found her nodding and smiling shyly in agreement.
//They find experimenting like that. . . fun?// Zechs blinked.
"Very well," Treize acceded. "But not until he is better."
//But--!// Zechs wanted to protest, uncertain still.
But soothing hands continued to stroke gently, and Treize sent him a reassuring look, so he stifled his protest and tried to relax, closing his eyes again.
Hands closed on his ribcage, gently pulling up so they could wrap bandages around his sides--
Zechs coughed, and wrenched free with a gasp for breath. //Hurts! Damn ribs!//
A sigh from the doctor. "Broken? Brace yourself now, young Mister Merquise--this will hurt even more, then."
The young man whimpered faintly in anticipation. //I know. . .// He remembered how it felt to break them. . .
The doctor wasn't kidding. When they pressed on his ribs with careful hands, probing to find just /how/ badly broken and where, he tried to scream. . . The only reason Zechs didn't was because his voice couldn't hit such notes, even in agony. But it wasn't from lack of trying.
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Treize sat on the edge of the bed, still gently smoothing long pale hair, eyes full of concern. //At least it's over now. He can rest, recover. I've sent Lieutenant Une a message about hunting the last man involved in the assassination and she found a few leads in papers the others left behind--so that's as good as done. . . The doctors have gone to come up with some kind of anesthetic that he doesn't have to swallow to get relief from, and there are arrangements for us to go home tomorrow. It's finally over.//
Blue eyes stared back at him, still so uncertain, still full of pain. Bandages were layered thickly over cracked, broken--thankfully not terribly shattered--ribs, one side of his waist wrapped thickly over the bullet wound, Treize's warm robe wrapped over those, and blankets and pillows packed all around. Zechs could hardly move, they had tucked him in so neatly on his better side. They also had made Treize promise to help the younger man shift more to his front or back every few hours. But right now, Zechs could have been anything, he was so padded in cushioning cloth.
//And for that, I'm glad. If anyone else barges in, they might not notice he's human. In fact. . . if I keep him well-wrapped and get those two doctors to help, we can smuggle him home without him having to change. I really don't think that's good for broken bones. . . !//
"Treize," Zechs whispered softly, hesitating.
"Yes?" he asked, bending to place a peck on the fringe of those long bangs. //I hope you don't have a call of nature until morning. They said you can likely move under your own power by morning, if painfully--that you'll have recovered from the blood loss by then. . . but until then. . . I can't carry you--my knee's torn again.//
"I. . . I'm sorry."
Treize blinked in surprise, then frowned slightly, straightening from the kiss. "For what?"
"For. . . failing to catch the last one. For causing these problems. . ." Those blue eyes closed, a faint flush touching those pale cheeks. Ashamed.
Slipping his hand from those silky tresses, Treize stroked a cheek with his thumb. "None of it's your fault. You did more than I could have ever asked of you, Zechs," he whispered, trying to warm the younger man with voice alone. "There is nothing to be sorry for. We did it, and it's over."
Icy eyes opened under his stroking, and a tentative, shy smile peeked from beneath those pale bangs like a rising sun. Such expressive eyes, now that Treize knew how to read them.
//He needs more than words to reassure him,// the older man decided, feeling his hear melting under that gaze.
So again he bent down, and this time captured those lips in a light, affectionate kiss. A faintly metallic taste entered his mouth, but the warmth of the other against his own, the familiar and enticing flavor of his true target, both overshadowed it, urging him to make this more, to wrap his arms about the source and get closer, much closer. . .
//Not now, not yet. He's hurt, and that would hurt him more.//
Reluctantly, Treize drew back a little, just enough to disengage, letting the younger man catch his breath. "You're amazing, Zechs," he murmured huskily. "All I could dream of and more, so much more. You don't believe it now, but someday, someday I will show you, prove it to you, somehow."
Flushed cheeks became a shade darker at his words. "I want to believe," Zechs admitted. "I'm trying. . ." But he knew that so far, he couldn't, and his voice echoed with failure.
"Shhhh. . . Just rest. We have time." With a playful peck on the nose, Treize straightened again, reaching for his cane with a sigh. //There is too little space here for me, too. I have to get to the other side of the bed.//
A hand snagged the one still on the bed to stop him. "Wait. . . Please."
"Yes?" He smiled down at those pleading eyes.
Zechs hesitated, something very vulnerable as visible in his gaze as if pressed against a glass window. "Stay here," he finally begged, voice so soft that Treize could barely hear it, having to almost read those lips he had kissed only moments ago to know what was said.
Dark blue eyes appraised the remaining bed space, and a thoughtful hand brushed mussed ginger hair back. //It will be tight. . . ,// he decided uncertainly. "I might roll onto you," he warned.
"You might from the other side, too, if last night was any example," Zechs returned, a little louder than before, a wry, almost playful smile on his lips. "But then, I can shove you off, too, if it becomes too much."
Treize chuckled softly. "True enough. Well, if you hear me thump onto the floor in the middle of the night, then it's all your fault."
Zechs snorted indelicately. "And /how/ pray-tell? I don't think I can move /that/ much, wrapped up like this! The three of you have practically bound me in a cocoon!"
//You might if I hurt your ribs again, though,// Treize sighed to himself. But he reached out and pulled the covers aside, carefully maneuvering himself into place against the younger man, trying not to jar the bed or occupant. "I tend to roll, if you're in here," he pointed out.
"Only until you find me, it seems," came the faint whisper, as a blonde head tucked to fit under Treize's chin.
"Are you comfortable?" Treize asked worriedly.
"As much as I can be," Zechs returned against his throat softly, sounding content.
"Good." Pulling his head back to look into the younger man's eyes again, Treize dove in for another soft kiss, a short one, even as he reached back to flick off the light. "Good night."
The way those icy eyes shone back, even as the light went out, the older man could have sworn that they glowed with far more than their normal luminescence. . . "Good night, Treize."
//I love you, Zechs. . .//
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- To be continued.
Happy holidays everyone!
Chapter 8--I'm Not That Sure Anymore
**This conspiracy is over. . . for now. But it's clear His Excellency has some enemies to be wary of in the Alliance. Someone knows the plan. . . Someone else knows Zechs's secret, though! How do you know who to trust, in the face of such danger? Dare you trust anyone? Do you even have a choice?**
AC 192, evening/night. . .
"There is fine enough--now get out," Treize commanded sharply, kneeling beside the stretcher on the carpet of the sitting room of his quarters, eyes unable to leave the occupant.
"But Sir--you'll need help--" Lieutenant Une protested behind him.
//Zechs, you're so quiet. You must be in a lot of pain. . .// Angry, Treize wrenched his gaze from his feline friend and glared at Une over his shoulder. "I said get out. Now. I will deal with him," he growled defensively.
"The medic should be here shortly, Your Excellency. . . It looks like Silver needs stitches, and you need to be seen, too," she reasoned quietly.
"I gave an order, Lieutenant--carry it out!" he snapped back scathingly. But his mind whirled along lines similar to her words. //Zechs /does/ need stitches--he's still bleeding a lot. And he's breathing too fast, he's not moving much. . . But how can I let a medic deal with him in this form? If he were human, they could help him more--give him blood, something. . . !//
Icy eyes opened and met his even as Une retreated, closing the suite's main door behind herself. They were tired, pained, but patient, calm. . . reassuring. . . sad, in a tragic kind of way.
"Zechs," Treize whispered, hand straying to smooth those alert ears before reaching to undo the collar, letting it clatter to a crumple on the carpet. The chain was forgotten somewhere in the mess of the mess hall, and the least of his concerns. //I can't treat him like this. I don't know what to do with an injured cat!// "Change, please. I don't know how to help you like this. . ."
Those blue eyes stared back at him, worried. . . frightened?
Treize stroked those ears gently, meeting that unblinking gaze. "Do it. Please. . . ," he pleaded softly.
Zechs nodded faintly, closing his eyes. . . His claws extended in pain as the change rippled through his body like a liquid shudder sliding down his spine. Fur sank away beneath pale blood-soaked skin, limbs straightened from inhuman positions. . . To Treize's eyes, however, it was a discomforting sight, a painful process from the way Zechs arched his spine and curled his fingers into the cloth of the stretcher beneath him until the shudder passed--an instant in time, but one that hurt to watch.
//That scientist was right--it hurts them to change. But by God, he doesn't need more pain right now,// Treize mused, feeling helpless yet wishing he could do something to make it easier. //One thing at a time,// he admonished himself, as Zechs lay panting under his hand, face obscured by bloody bangs. //One thing at a time--the injuries first.//
He only had that instant for musing. The next thing he knew, Zechs had flung himself sideways to his knees, arms wrapping around the nearby decorative garbage can to drag it close, and shoved his face into it. . . retching for all he was worth, his long hair falling around him like a the bloody veil of a massacred bride.
"Zechs!" Treize breathed in horror, lurching to his side. //Good God, is he. . .? This can't be good!// With a sweep of one hand, he collected that long pale hair out of the way, the other supporting the younger man about the shoulders, taking some of his weight from shaking arms. "Hold on. . . Try and relax," he suggested lamely.
Those shoulders were shaking in his hands, those cat-eyes closed. . . but after that sudden nausea, Zechs had the respite to gasp a few breaths. "Can't. . . Can still taste. . . taste. . ." With a faint shake of his head, he ducked again to surrender a bit more of his lunch to the metal can's depths.
//Blood--he can still taste their blood in his mouth! I'm sorry, Zechs. . . God, I'm sorry. . .// All Treize could do was apologize, and hold that shaking body against his side, bracing him up against bouts of nausea. "I'm sorry, Zechs. . . I should have guessed--this shouldn't have happened- -you shouldn't have had to--"
"Only. . . the only way," Zechs whispered, panting for breath now that this second bout was over. "Guess. . . Guess I really am. . . a monster now. . ."
"Don't say that! Don't say that. . . ," Treize snapped, before muffling his face against the back of the shoulder nearest him, ignoring the metallic scent of blood in favor of the close contact. //That's right--he never killed anyone like this before, not ripping their throat out. . . But he's NOT a monster--he's NOT!// "Don't believe that. . ."
"Then why. . . why do I feel so foul?" Zechs whispered, shaking in Treize's supportive hold. "So much blood. . . everywhere. . . Good God. . . What have I done, Treize?" It sounded almost like the question of a horrified child to Treize's ears, and cut into his heart painfully. But then he was forced to brush that plaintive question aside as Zechs began heaving again, retching until the older man began to wonder if he was about to bring up more than just stomach contents, but stomach itself in the bargain.
//I should have realized he'd have to kill that way. . . God, no wonder he never wanted to do it for those scientists!// Feeling helpless, the young Oz Specials leader could only gently rock his companion from side to side until the heaving stopped, the soothing motion oddly giving himself a faint bit of comfort as well. Softly, reassuringly, he murmured, "Hush. . . Shhh. . . It's over. . . We'll get you cleaned up and stitched up and go home."
/That/ made the younger man stiffen and lift his head abruptly, still panting from his last bout of sickness, panic in his icy eyes. "No. . . !" he breathed. "One more--the planter! He wasn't there, Treize! Shimmel didn't plant those shells!"
Grimacing, Treize reached blindly behind himself for the remains of his uniform jacket where it lay on the stretcher, taking a corner to wipe at the blonde's mouth. //Hell. It would be just our luck that one got away! But we can't do anything about it right now. . .// "We'll worry about him later," the new Specials Commander decided firmly. "Lieutenant Une can go chase some leads and give us some breathing space."
The younger man flushed at getting his mouth wiped like a sloppy child at dinner, eyes flicking closed at the touch of the ruined wool. Faint tremors still shook his frame, but those panting breaths were easing off a bit.
The stained blue cloth wasn't meeting Treize's demands by cleaning away the drying blood fast or thoroughly enough. //Best get him cleaned quick--it will certainly lessen the shock he's going through--but this won't cut it. Soapy water, then, and kiss those lovely towels goodbye--they're not going to survive this.// Thoughtfully, he appraised Zechs a moment, uncertain. . . //There's no way I can drag him into the bathroom, though. Even if my leg were whole, it would be difficult--he's bigger than me now. Ah well-- if you can't get the man to the bathroom, get the bathroom to the man, eh?//
"Can you hold up on your own for a moment?" Treize asked worriedly. "I need to get a few things."
A slow nod answered him, though the younger man didn't look up. A bloodied hand reached up to hold long hair out of the way and set Treize free.
//I'd best hurry.// "I'll be back in a moment," the young General murmured reassuringly, before scrambling for cane and feet, limping quickly through the bedroom to the bath.
A little hunting under the sink rewarded Treize with a bucket, and a swing of his arms cleared the towel-rack in an instant. A squirt of liquid hand- soap later, he had the whole combination foaming under the tub faucet and two dry towels over his arm. Silently, he wished the bucket would fill faster. //This should do it. . . God, it's taking too long. Is he still alright out there? I don't want him bleeding to death. Relax, Treize-- can't be that bad. . . But--God!--I'm no doctor.//
When he emerged from the bedroom, Treize immediately saw Zechs still sitting on his knees by the garbage can, head hanging heavily over braced and shaking arms, stained hair a swirl over one shoulder. Blue eyes were closed, every breath carefully concentrated on, controlled.
//He's trying not to be sick,// Treize mused grimly. "I'm back," he murmured gently, setting the bucket down before carefully going to his knees beside the injured man. "Zechs? Maybe you should lie down again. . ." //But where? That stretcher's a mess already.//
The main door clicked open suddenly, and before either could turn, two people entered, closing it quietly behind themselves--
Zechs hissed softly, every muscle tensing, and glared over his shoulder, teeth bared in an unhealthy rage.
Treize jumped, whirling into a half-sitting position, grabbing his cane with intent to use it. //Shit! They've seen--!//
"Your Excellency, I've my intern Sally with me to. . . Oh." The elderly, almost frail-looking man who had entered first trailed off, blinking behind his spectacles like an owl, dropping his black bag at his feet as if suddenly it was too heavy for his hand.
"Sally", just a pace behind him, stood a head taller with her blonde hair in twists, and eyes wide to stare, a hand going to her mouth in surprise.
Even as Treize watched, a familiar blur began to make Zechs's long bangs shiver--
"NO!"
Treize leapt at the younger man, catching Zechs about one shoulder and neck, flattening that longer body in a tackle before he could start his deadly leap.
The injured man cried out in pain as the head of the Specials flattened him to the ground beneath his considerable weight, stopping the change, and went limp, gasping for breath. But blue eyes glared murderously at the two who had just entered, a growl thrumming his throat audibly, long fingers digging deep into the carpet. One look at him gave the two medical professionals no doubt that only Treize was keeping him from attacking.
"Let me--let me--We can't--!" Zechs's words were almost a wail of frustration through a haze of pain.
"No! No. Listen to me--you can't, you shouldn't," Treize whispered urgently, not relaxing his hold. //There have been enough deaths today! I know you're afraid, Zechs, but I can't let you kill them, too! Listen to me, please. . .//
"S-sir?" the elderly man asked hesitantly, clearing his throat bravely, as Sally backed a step towards the door silently. "Perhaps we should come at a better time?"
Treize almost wanted to slap the man for such a suggestion at this time--he felt Zechs surge beneath him up onto his arms, snarling, and marveled at what adrenaline did to the injured man he was trying to hold down.
"You're--you're the doctor, right?" the young General demanded to know urgently. //Damn it, if they try to leave /now/, he's desperate enough to throw me off and hunt them!//
"Ah, yes?" the elder admitted, uncertain.
"Dr. Hollender," Sally supplied carefully, freezing as baleful icy eyes shifted to her.
Her mentor nodded, adding warily, "I was called here because of. . . a feline, I was told. . . but. . ."
The pair of medical professionals flushed hotly.
//They think we're doing something kinky. . .?// Treize could only stare in surprise. But then anger dug its claws in. //How /dare/ they think I would hurt any lover of mine like this! There's blood /everywhere/!//
Zechs collapsed beneath him again, the rush of adrenaline spending itself out finally, his breath wheezing painfully, tears escaping to streak the blood on his cheeks. Those blue eyes closed with a breathless moan.
//Damn--my weight's too much for him, must be hurting him. . .// That realization flushed the anger from his system, letting worry flow in to replace it. Scrambling up to his hands and knees to sit at the younger man's side, Treize snapped at the doctor, "He /is/ the feline. Damn it, don't just stand there--help me!"
"He's the cat?" Sally repeated quietly, expression completely lost in confusion.
Frowning slightly, the elderly doctor stooped to snag his black bag, then moved closer to join Treize on the carpet. "Where exactly--?"
//Good. At least now we're getting somewhere.// "Down here--the bandages," Treize pointed out quickly. "Most of the blood isn't his."
"Ah." With that, Dr. Hollender snapped open his case and began pulling on gloves before reaching for a knife. "Sally, get over here and help clean him up."
She blinked, then nodded, obviously gathering her courage before joining them.
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He was embarrassed and afraid. He couldn't help it--he was very afraid, and knew it probably showed in the way he shook, the way he jumped at the slightest touch.
//What if they try blackmail? What if they want to test me? I can't go back--I WON'T go back!!!//
Zechs could feel the bandages being sawed through, the trickle of blood running down his side at the release of that pressure, the sting of air and antiseptic. He tried to hold still, tried to ignore the pain. . . but the pain made him try to crawl away anyway.
Then Treize was at his head, a wet towel in hand, trying to clean the blood from his face and hair, murmuring soothingly. "Easy, easy--they're only trying to help."
//I know--I'm trying to remember that--but it hurts! And I'm so afraid. . .// Zechs yowled, clawing at the carpet with his fingers as something was poured onto the wound--it BURNED! Oh, God, and it didn't stop when they stopped pouring that stuff! He writhed desperately, practically sobbing. It felt like acid, eating away at the wound!
"Can't you give him anything for the pain?" the Oz General bellowed over his shoulder at the doctor angrily.
"Only if I'd some sort of medical background to go on," the man replied with a sigh. "You tell me--a dose for a cat, or for a man?"
"There's a difference?" Treize asked, surprised and sarcastic.
"Animals have a lower tolerance for sedatives," Dr. Hollender answered with a firm nod. "And quite often the anesthetic can kill them. I would rather not risk it in this case. . . So, unfortunately, this will hurt."
"At least the shot skipped off his ribs. We don't have to do any serious surgery, only sew it up," Sally added quietly.
Zechs moaned at the idea. //Ohhhhh no! I'm /not/ letting either of you perform surgery on me! This is only a minor wound! I'd hate to think what a serous one would feel like under your care! They were never this bad at the facility. . . though they /did/ have sedatives for us.//
"Shhh. . . ," Treize whispered, wiping the damp towel over his hair and down his back. "They're almost done."
Something covered his legs, a soft fall of warm cloth. "There. . . Your Excellency Sir?" Sally tossed something over Zechs's head.
Scooping it out of the air, Treize frowned back at the girl.
"To keep him warm. Half his shivering is shock, and for that he needs to be warm," she answered the unasked question.
"Right." With that, warm cloth covered his shoulders. Zechs could feel Treize's hands gently stroking his long hair out over it, and closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms, trying to focus on the soothing touch.
//Keep doing that. . . please. When you're touching me, I can drive out the fear, fight the pain. . .//
"Sir? If I could ask a question. . . ?" Dr. Hollender began, snipping something.
//Just tell yourself that's not a needle likely in his hand, Zechs. And that there is no stench of blood in the air. Pretend Treize is just toying with your hair, like last night. . .// Gentle rubbing tugged at the lengths, working out the mostly-dried blood, an amazingly comforting feeling, rather like someone else washing it with the most gentle of care. . .
"Yes?" Treize finally murmured.
A couple faint pricks. . . tugging at Zechs's side. . . "Ah. . . How exactly can he be the feline, if I may ask?" the doctor continued, sewing the wound up.
"I don't know," the young Specials leader returned quietly. "If I knew. . . I would undo it."
"The old legend, Sir? Getting bitten?" Sally tried, curiosity starting to get the better of her original uncertainty.
"No," Treize growled. A peek through heavy eyelids told Zechs that he was glaring at the two medical professionals over his shoulder, but those hands didn't stop their gentle motions and he shut them again. "Doctors. . . like you. Some crazy experiment. . . If one word escapes this room on the fact that such as he exists, however, you will be lucky to say another word on /any/ topic after it."
There was no mistaking the warning in the man's voice. Treize would use anything in the considerable resources of the General of the Specials to keep such information quiet. That probably meant assassination, too.
//He sounds so very protective. . . ,// Zechs mused, feeling a stirring of warmth in response that didn't come from the towels draped over his body. //Treize. . . just don't leave me here alone with them. Please.//
"Sally. . ." A final snip. Then, "Thank you. New gloves, please. Now, Your Excellency, I like to think such information as that this young man. . . If I might have a name for him, Sir--?"
"Zechs Merquise," Treize supplied tersely.
"As I was saying, such information that Mister Merquise here has a feline side to his personality. . . Or is it the other way around--?"
"No. He was a man first."
"Open that up please, Sally. . . Thank you. Well, in any case, Sir, such information falls under the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality. I am hardly about to give any such information out, fascinating as it sounds," the bespectacled doctor finished quite seriously.
//Which means. . .?// Zechs wondered, curious and suspicious, seeking the loopholes in this logic.
"And if someone asks you about His Excellency's pet Silver?" Treize asked quietly, carefully.
A rough laugh from the elderly doctor. "A cat or a man, a patient is a patient! You will have no worries from me. However. . ."
Zechs's ears perked, and his eyes flicked open, narrowing angrily. //Now it comes. . .// "However?" he growled softly.
Treize's hands left his hair and smoothed it firmly against his upper back, stroking. "Shhhh. . . Let me handle this," he assured. Then he snapped at Dr. Hollender, "However what?"
There was amusement in the old man's voice. "A blood sample. I have no doubts there will be future calls for me--or possibly Sally here after I'm long gone--but anesthetics, medications, even testing methods for various illnesses, they will all have to be tested and altered for his differences, you see. What works for a cat may not for a man, and vice versa, with potentially harmful results. And from your earlier response, even you don't know how different his blood is, or how differently his body reacts to such."
"We need it to work on such things," Sally added. "Without knowing how different he is, we could easily overdose, under dose, or essentially poison him by mistake."
"I. . . see," Treize stated grimly. "So we have no choice but to trust you, you are saying."
//No, we can't. . . We can't trust anyone, except perhaps Dorothy. . . The risk. . . ! We /can't/!// Growling, Zechs glanced up at Treize, trying to convey his disapproval of that notion without words.
Soothing strokes continued to smooth his hair gently, wringing the last dampness out into the towel on his back. "What do you want from all this?" the older man wanted to know, voice dangerously soft.
Dr. Hollender snorted, cheerfully returning, "Sir. . . do you know what kind of a challenge this is? What a mystery exists in deciphering the changes, what each change means, how each change could have been made, seeing how each affects him? It's better than any detective-novel ever written! I know doctors who would drool at the opportunity. . . and lucky for you, I am one of them, and I know Sally is another."
A glance at the young woman found her nodding and smiling shyly in agreement.
//They find experimenting like that. . . fun?// Zechs blinked.
"Very well," Treize acceded. "But not until he is better."
//But--!// Zechs wanted to protest, uncertain still.
But soothing hands continued to stroke gently, and Treize sent him a reassuring look, so he stifled his protest and tried to relax, closing his eyes again.
Hands closed on his ribcage, gently pulling up so they could wrap bandages around his sides--
Zechs coughed, and wrenched free with a gasp for breath. //Hurts! Damn ribs!//
A sigh from the doctor. "Broken? Brace yourself now, young Mister Merquise--this will hurt even more, then."
The young man whimpered faintly in anticipation. //I know. . .// He remembered how it felt to break them. . .
The doctor wasn't kidding. When they pressed on his ribs with careful hands, probing to find just /how/ badly broken and where, he tried to scream. . . The only reason Zechs didn't was because his voice couldn't hit such notes, even in agony. But it wasn't from lack of trying.
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Treize sat on the edge of the bed, still gently smoothing long pale hair, eyes full of concern. //At least it's over now. He can rest, recover. I've sent Lieutenant Une a message about hunting the last man involved in the assassination and she found a few leads in papers the others left behind--so that's as good as done. . . The doctors have gone to come up with some kind of anesthetic that he doesn't have to swallow to get relief from, and there are arrangements for us to go home tomorrow. It's finally over.//
Blue eyes stared back at him, still so uncertain, still full of pain. Bandages were layered thickly over cracked, broken--thankfully not terribly shattered--ribs, one side of his waist wrapped thickly over the bullet wound, Treize's warm robe wrapped over those, and blankets and pillows packed all around. Zechs could hardly move, they had tucked him in so neatly on his better side. They also had made Treize promise to help the younger man shift more to his front or back every few hours. But right now, Zechs could have been anything, he was so padded in cushioning cloth.
//And for that, I'm glad. If anyone else barges in, they might not notice he's human. In fact. . . if I keep him well-wrapped and get those two doctors to help, we can smuggle him home without him having to change. I really don't think that's good for broken bones. . . !//
"Treize," Zechs whispered softly, hesitating.
"Yes?" he asked, bending to place a peck on the fringe of those long bangs. //I hope you don't have a call of nature until morning. They said you can likely move under your own power by morning, if painfully--that you'll have recovered from the blood loss by then. . . but until then. . . I can't carry you--my knee's torn again.//
"I. . . I'm sorry."
Treize blinked in surprise, then frowned slightly, straightening from the kiss. "For what?"
"For. . . failing to catch the last one. For causing these problems. . ." Those blue eyes closed, a faint flush touching those pale cheeks. Ashamed.
Slipping his hand from those silky tresses, Treize stroked a cheek with his thumb. "None of it's your fault. You did more than I could have ever asked of you, Zechs," he whispered, trying to warm the younger man with voice alone. "There is nothing to be sorry for. We did it, and it's over."
Icy eyes opened under his stroking, and a tentative, shy smile peeked from beneath those pale bangs like a rising sun. Such expressive eyes, now that Treize knew how to read them.
//He needs more than words to reassure him,// the older man decided, feeling his hear melting under that gaze.
So again he bent down, and this time captured those lips in a light, affectionate kiss. A faintly metallic taste entered his mouth, but the warmth of the other against his own, the familiar and enticing flavor of his true target, both overshadowed it, urging him to make this more, to wrap his arms about the source and get closer, much closer. . .
//Not now, not yet. He's hurt, and that would hurt him more.//
Reluctantly, Treize drew back a little, just enough to disengage, letting the younger man catch his breath. "You're amazing, Zechs," he murmured huskily. "All I could dream of and more, so much more. You don't believe it now, but someday, someday I will show you, prove it to you, somehow."
Flushed cheeks became a shade darker at his words. "I want to believe," Zechs admitted. "I'm trying. . ." But he knew that so far, he couldn't, and his voice echoed with failure.
"Shhhh. . . Just rest. We have time." With a playful peck on the nose, Treize straightened again, reaching for his cane with a sigh. //There is too little space here for me, too. I have to get to the other side of the bed.//
A hand snagged the one still on the bed to stop him. "Wait. . . Please."
"Yes?" He smiled down at those pleading eyes.
Zechs hesitated, something very vulnerable as visible in his gaze as if pressed against a glass window. "Stay here," he finally begged, voice so soft that Treize could barely hear it, having to almost read those lips he had kissed only moments ago to know what was said.
Dark blue eyes appraised the remaining bed space, and a thoughtful hand brushed mussed ginger hair back. //It will be tight. . . ,// he decided uncertainly. "I might roll onto you," he warned.
"You might from the other side, too, if last night was any example," Zechs returned, a little louder than before, a wry, almost playful smile on his lips. "But then, I can shove you off, too, if it becomes too much."
Treize chuckled softly. "True enough. Well, if you hear me thump onto the floor in the middle of the night, then it's all your fault."
Zechs snorted indelicately. "And /how/ pray-tell? I don't think I can move /that/ much, wrapped up like this! The three of you have practically bound me in a cocoon!"
//You might if I hurt your ribs again, though,// Treize sighed to himself. But he reached out and pulled the covers aside, carefully maneuvering himself into place against the younger man, trying not to jar the bed or occupant. "I tend to roll, if you're in here," he pointed out.
"Only until you find me, it seems," came the faint whisper, as a blonde head tucked to fit under Treize's chin.
"Are you comfortable?" Treize asked worriedly.
"As much as I can be," Zechs returned against his throat softly, sounding content.
"Good." Pulling his head back to look into the younger man's eyes again, Treize dove in for another soft kiss, a short one, even as he reached back to flick off the light. "Good night."
The way those icy eyes shone back, even as the light went out, the older man could have sworn that they glowed with far more than their normal luminescence. . . "Good night, Treize."
//I love you, Zechs. . .//
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- To be continued.
Happy holidays everyone!