The Lightning Arc 7 - My Rose
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: M/NC-15 for m/m relationship
Pairing: Zechs and Treize
Warnings: m/m love, some swearing - if you are hoping for explicit scenes though, you are likely to be disappointed.
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories.
Summary: see Chapter 1.
xxx
Chapter 5 - Dark Pools
Zechs dropped into the softness of his bed even as his mind spiralled further from reality, delving into memories as though he meant to drown in them. Noin pulled off his shoes and socks and lifted his legs onto the bed. This was not the time to get undressed, wet or not – the bath towel wrapped firmly around his shoulders and head would have to do. Later perhaps, when he would be conscious enough to swallow properly, some hot tea would stave off an impending cold.
She knew enough of those episodes to deal with them as they came, and she had gotten rather good at this. Pull comforter over his slack body, flannel his hair, this impossibly long, beautiful hair that splayed in a soggy mess about his head, while he was too out of it to resist her care. Cry a few bitter tears in silence, while he was not listening. Whisper a few curses while Treize was with him, in his dreams, and not elsewhere...
Let it run its course, Une had said, there's nothing else we can do now. He has to grieve. Just hope and see. Une, griefstricken herself, refusing to be crushed, and so very close to the same fate... yet they had so much work, the task Treize had burdened them with too great to allow for proper mourning...
Treize had always tended to believe in their strength. Without the shred of a doubt. Had demanded nothing and asked too much...
She sat on the overstuffed suede chair by Zechs' bedside that had become cuffed from use, the armrests slightly shiny where the velvety leather had begun to wear away. The book on the nightstand open, on its face. War and Peace, a gift from Treize to his young friend. No, she would not touch it again, not since reading the single line written in Russian, in a neat, firm hand onto the inside of the hardcover: To my eternal friend. With love. Treize.
A few sparse words that had cut her harsher than steel. Cast, like a lightning bolt, into merciless relief what she had been trying to ignore for so many years. She did not want to tell Une, but somehow the older woman seemed to know. And strangely, bear no resentment any longer against Zechs, or Noin, or Relena. As if she regretted something...
Life slipping away in an instant... too short for regrets... Noin let her hand rest in Zechs' hair, caressing slightly. Tracing the contours of his brow and profile, his lips that tightened into a hard line... even in his dreams. Did he know that, in his sleep, he was crying? Endless tears, a silent trickle over scarred skin... shallow scars from the burns he had suffered, mended skilfully by the doctors with skingrafts and laserwork, to preserve his handsome features. A pretty hull, a twenty year old body, healthy and recovered to full strength, with a wreck for a mind and a bleeding hole for a heart...
How cruel having to live like this, she mused tiredly, and how unashamedly glad she was he had made it.
It was better for him to believe he was sweating too much, and that the damp stains on his pillows were from fever. Better, for now, to imagine her touch to be someone else's... he had always needed much more patience than anyone else...
xxx
Zechs was dreaming of this touch. Treize tucking him into this soothing homeliness, the bed bulging around him like so many clouds, sailing off into dreamland with him as their lone passenger. Perhaps it had all been a particularly vivid nightmare – he had listened too often to his father discussing the dangers of their war-torn world with his mother. Just as Madame Khushrenada and her husband, Colonel Khushrenada of the Federation Air Force, were doing that night in the drawing room. Hushed conversation, choked whispers. The fire gone out, ashes cooling on the hearth, half-empty cups of tepid tea among papers strewn over the long table at the centre of the room.
Treize had slipped out when he believed the child asleep, and Zechs knew he had gone eavesdropping. Always inquisitive, always eager for any scrap of information – Treize was an inveterate collector with a phenomenal memory even then. He would collate, link, stash away bits of knowledge, catalogued and filed neatly, with labels and notes as to possible further use, his brain a giant library.
Treize had left the drapes open that hung to either side of the window that was set deeply into the wall, from a low sill to a high, dark panelled ceiling. Through rain-splattered panes shone the vague light of clouds, shrouding a pallid dawn. Darkness giving way to the morning as unwillingly as the child that hid beneath the mountainous down cover in the cold room.
xxx
Zechs groaned as the stillness of the house was roused by the clapping of the huge front doors and the roaring of a jeep that grew weaker and more distant, until it faded entirely from the tapestry of sounds. The murmur of the rain, steady and low. A rushing like the breaking of the sea on a rocky shore, but later he realised it was the wind skimming through the autumn forest. The clanking about of someone beginning to clean the numerous fire places in the house, and the distant wickering of horses...
"Sleep," he muttered groggily and tried to turn onto his side, but a slim, firm hand on his upper arm held him back.
"Drink," Noin ordered, tugging him up, and held a lidded cup to his lips.
xxx
He had fallen asleep after all, and woke up to the strong aroma of tea and toast, set on a silver tray by his bedside, and to Treize's smile.
His smile. His eyes, sky blue, alert, compassionate. Never missing anything, as though the entire world were made of glass, transparent to this effortless gaze... had I fallen for him already? At that age? We spent the day trying to find clothes for me among his cast-offs, and making this room comfortable with books and pictures. He did all the work, walking back and forth, smiling instead of talking apart from the occasional 'do you like this?' when he had put up a framed painting... flowers. All those pictures were of roses, and he finished by putting one single white rose into a crystal vase on my desk. My room. My desk.
My rose...
Clad in anklelength black silk, Madame Khushrenada shared the table with them at dinner. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her posture straightbacked and unyielding. They hardly spoke, he hardly ate until Treize simply fed him. He let it happen, glad that someone took the intitiative for him. It was as if a load had rolled off his shoulders, to be caught by those sure hands that held him – one arm around his shoulders, the other one guiding the spoon with soup between his lips until the plate was empty.
It was never said that he would be staying. No one mentioned that night of terror. Madame Khushrenada asked him how he would like to be called, and when he stalled, she suggested the name to him that should become like his second skin. Zechs Marquise, a number and a title. Anonymous, not him. But instead of shedding his old self, they had wrapped it into a cocoon that had at first felt safe, then restrictive, later suffocating. And later still, it had become empty, not entirely without his doing. A mask, snug, shiny and cold.
Treize had taken on his load back then. Readily, willingly. Treating him with the affection one would afford a younger brother, and he had come to realise that Treize sometimes felt alone in that great house. Amid the vast estate, among an all-adult world of winter balls, business and politics, family intrigues and rare, splendid visits to the opera in Moscow and galleries in St Petersburg. A succession of discreet, strict private tutors precluded the company of other youngsters, and Treize was used from an early age to take care of himself. Carefully groomed, trained to strive for excellence in all he did, be it Latin or fencing, riding, mathematics or Russian poetry...
They need not have pushed him. Treize always wanted perfection.
And he realised that for the Khushrenadas, haughtiness was something reserved for their dealings with their peers, and the obligations of nobility were no hollow dictum but a deeply absorbed principle of their way of life.
Their silence about that night that ended his true life allowed him to close his soul to those memories for a merciful while. He went numb in that place that should have been screaming out his pain. The thirst for life too strong in the body of a child than to drown in the adult notion of self-harm, and Treize showed him life at the estate at its most glorious. A time of wild, untamed freedom, a deep breath of fresh air before they were caught in the unavoidable web of duties and intrigue...
If Cinq had lived, could I have become like him? Yet I never understood why so much effort was put into creating so much beauty, only to sacrifice it all on a bloodsodden altar... honour, pride, courage, all destroyed for a trifle... because this peace is no more than that, a trifling interlude in this theatre of strife... this endless waltz of blood and murder. Earth was not worth it. Nothing, no one was worth Treize's life.
And I would give it all to have him back.
Zechs crunched his eyes shut and bit his lip to suppress the tiny sound that pressed against his teeth, even as pain wrenched through him, with breathtaking violence. His hands were trembling as his head went light and his body heavy, sinking into agony.
No, I could never have been like him.
xxx
"True," Noin agreed quietly, helping him sip the hot, bitter tea. Weakly, he tugged at the towel, she unwrapped it and dropped it in a crumpled heap on the floor. "And I am glad because you would have been dead like him."
"I hate this," he rasped, clutching at his spinning, throbbing head.
"Yes," she said, watching him shift uncomfortably until he had found a semi-inclined position, the pillow stuffed against his back, that allowed him to look out of the window. A grey day. Still raining. The faint smell of burning apple wood laced through the stuffy air of his room; someone had lit the fire in the drawing room, and the smoke drew through the chimney that passed behind his fireplace too. She knew this gaze, empty and uninterested. He would sit like this for hours now, unmoving, dead to all but his dreams, withdrawn to a place he utterly refused to leave.
There was no more she could do now, she was tired and hungry, and so she bent to kiss his forehead, and he even tilted his head back a little and reached for her hand as he closed his eyes to receive her kiss. He had softened to her, but she believed it was the need for some kind of hold rather than true affection. Surely not closeness, that had been and still was reserved for someone else. Someone who stubbornly refused to truly die and go away.
"Do you want something to read?"
Knowing the answer before it was given, in a flat monotone, "No, thank you." A small pause, then, "I am sorry that I am such trouble."
Noin shook her head. "Your sister is worried."
"I will telephone her. Later." Never. He did not go near the 'phone. He burned letters unread. The large television screen in the library had been disconnected, and he had forbidden any newspapers and even radios in his presence. Relena relied on Une and Noin for news about her brother's wellbeing. It made the strain of trying to govern a lot harder on her, and Noin knew about lonely nights of tears and despair. But Relena could not remember as clearly as Zechs, and that was a blessing. She was able to move on. He was stuck.
As stuck as the ex Gundam pilots, Noin thought as she picked up the teacup and the towel and made her way downstairs to the large kitchen at the back of the house. Duo Maxwell had approached her first, asking for Zechs. How did he know? Heero... ah, of course, Heero Yuy who was still close to Relena. Too acute to have missed the changes in the girl's moods, even beyond her carefully controlled public persona. They were too well trained to miss that sort of thing.
It bothered her how interested they seemed, even if they tried to play it down. Yuy had cuffed Maxwell up the head and called him a baka before giving her his version of a smile – a frightening, dark grimace that did not reach his eyes – and dragging the braided youth off, berating him in an intense, quiet voice.
How odd. It had been worth telling Une, but the older woman did not appear surprised. Let it go, she had instructed Noin, just track them closely.
A silly little game of cat and mouse with rather interesting results: Yuy and three of their pack – Barton, Chang, and Maxwell – had been fiddling around in the archives for a considerable period of time already, accessing files with a security clearing several levels above theirs, trying to find... what were they searching for? Further checking told her that their payroll did in no way account for their shopping habits – flash clothes, eating out, getting smashed in the most expensive places in town – and that their other ex team mate, young Winner, kept them liquid. And in spite of Hilde and Sally who showed more than plain interest in Maxwell and Chang respectively, the five young men always seemed to cling together in their tight, closed little group.
As if afraid... or on a mission.
And then she came across a data analysis run by Yuy, and realised what she had suspected: they were looking for Zechs, and Treize...
Une received her report placidly. Let them seek; it will keep them busy. They need to do something, and I need to keep an eye on them. It would not do to have them run loose at the moment, the situation is not in favour of ex mercenaries, let alone gundam pilots.
That applied to Zechs, too.
So Une had them grounded in a pointless mission. Noin felt too washed out to ask any questions. Une's gaze had begged for trust, and the younger woman had agreed to tag the young pilots whenever possible.
She washed the cup in the large porcelain sink. The kitchen lay abandoned, her steps echoed on the black and white tiles of the floor as she moved about to fetch some bread from the larder and made herself breakfast. No point trying Zechs, he would not eat anything until the evening, and then it could be porridge or junk, he would hardly notice. He had been wasting away as though he was trying to starve himself to death, and it had taken her a while to understand why he did not just take a bullet – he did not want to betray his sister. He was caught between not finding the strength to live properly, and the obligation to hang around.
All it took was someone telling him he would do Relena a favour, Noin mused, and a cold shiver ran through her. There were enough folk who tried to damage her, the war barely over, the old squabbles springing up again, albeit muted and much more cautious... people had enough of bloodshed for a while, but they were forgetting fast. They were always forgetting fast. Good thing Zechs refused to let any news reach him. Someone would take pleasure in telling him he was a liability for Relena; Zechs would try to do the only thing he believed to be right, and that's why Noin was here now.
When she wandered back into the vestibule and to the main doors, she found the stillness of the house too oppressing to stay inside. She stepped out onto the wide stairs, tipped back her head and let the rain wash over her face. Cold, hard rain, and lots of it. She was soaked within minutes.
And almost died of a shock when a warm, heavy hand settled on her shoulder and she heard Zechs say, "You'll catch a cold out here."
xxx
"I'm not cold."
Treize cast off his furcoat with the same flourish with which he had swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped into his room. No, it was my room... or was it? Can't I even remember this?
When Zechs climbed inside, he was received with a warm embrace and a fierce kiss. "Miliusha," Treize murmured then, enfolding him again.
Zechs stood still, realising he was already a little taller than his friend. It was a startling discovery for he had become used to looking up to Treize. "Let it be my birthday today." He sounded sulky, his tone veering between begging and demanding as he fumbled down between him and Treize. He was caught by Treize's swift, warm grip before he could slip his fingers where he wanted them.
Treize sighed, his breath stirring a few strands of hair behind Zechs' ear. The window still stood ajar, frosty winter air washing into the chill room. From downstairs they heard the music and chatter of the Christmas ball from which they had escaped earlier, to spend the afternoon on horseback, in the snowbound forest. Since Treize had returned on a few precious days of leave from his latest posting, they had wanted nothing more than have time for one another – there was so much to tell...
No, not really. There was but one thing.
"Fine," Treize consented quietly at last. "So be it."
They did not speak while they undressed and slipped under the duvet.
He was so warm... no, hot, his skin burning. Hands everywhere, sure, calm and yet... and yet, he was trembling. I could feel it, and it made me nervous, and of course he noticed. He always did.
Before Treize could say anything, Zechs pulled him on top, cradling him between his legs, holding him tight, worried that he might balk. Treize leaned down, smiling, to close his mouth with a kiss, this one firm but surprisingly tender as though savouring the moment while one of his hands slipped under the duvet to do something Zechs could not see. Then he felt Treize shift, bracing one thigh to either side of Zechs' hips, lips still sealing his mouth, gently demanding, one arm slipping behind his shoulders to lift him up a little until they sat amidst billowing down covers, bodies flush, Treize in Zechs' lap, his legs framing the younger man.
But...
Shhh...
And then Zechs sank into a heat that made his mind go white and his body burn up.
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Tre...
I love you too... but you know that, don't you?
But I... it should have been me...
Not yet, Miliusha. Patience, just a little longer. A few years, what are they to us? Nothing but dust dancing in the wind...
How right he had been, and now the dust had gone, the storm had settled.
There was nothing left of them.
xxx
Next chapter: Treize's Soldiers