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The Portrait

Part 7

Opening the front door very slowly to avoid any squeaking noise, Milliardo sneaked into the house on tiptoes. Alright, this might be silly. Is it even possible to sneak up on a ghost? he wondered, as he made his way into the kitchen. Nevertheless, he had even parked his car all the way on the other side of the block just to make sure.

The young man moved the little cake out of its plastic case and onto a paper plate – since the only real dishes he had were still dirty from breakfast. He even had remembered to buy some candles; one had to do, the cake wasn't big enough for much more. After putting the hyacinth pot next to the cake and lighting the candle he smiled softly. I wonder if he likes it.

"Alexander?!"

Milliardo could feel the rush of cold air that had become almost familiar now, and his smile widened. "Happy Birthday, Alexander! I am not quite sure how old you actually are, but I guess once you hit a hundred it doesn't matter anyway," he grinned. "Too bad you can't taste the cake; it's quite delicious. But…well, make a wish."

A brief moment passed before the candle flickered and died. Even though Milliardo couldn't see his ghostly housemate, he could almost feel his presence by his side. The hyacinth flower swayed slightly, perhaps from the gentle breeze coming through the open kitchen window, or maybe under someone's gentle touch.

"There is more," the young man announced. "I know you enjoy mysteries and you seemed to like the Sir Arthur Conon Doyle novel Octavian gave you, so I figured we could make it a movie evening, watch some Sherlock homes videos together… I assume you know what a movie is?" He started to unpack his last shopping bag, lining the movies up side by side on the table. "The Sign of Four…Terror by Night… The Hound of the Baskervilles…The woman in Green… That's all they had at the video store. Why don't you decide which ones you want to watch first, while I get everything ready?"

Milliardo actually had to rent a VCR, too, since most of the old movies hadn't made their way onto DVD yet. He disappeared into the other room to set up the machine and turn on the fireplace. By the time he returned into the kitchen, the videos had been moved around and put into a different order, starting with 'The Hound of the Baskervilles.' "I see you made your choice."

#

With a lazy yawn Milliardo stretched his limbs and pushed away his blanket when the credits started to run over the TV screen. They had watched three of the four movies already, stopping only once for him to make dinner.

"I'm afraid you will have to watch the last one on your own, Alexander," he said as he got up to replace the videotape. "I'm working tonight, so I'll have to leave soon to get ready. But I'll be back tomorrow morning, I promise."

The young man squatted down in front of the little dresser that served as TV stand, pressed the eject button on the VCR and waited for the tape to pop out. "I'll put the last tape in and get it started. It will turn off by itself when the movie is finished. As for the TV, I'll show you how to turn it off before I leave."

The last word had barely left his lips when the screen went black with a quiet click.

"Showoff," Milliardo gave an amused snort. "I guess you have been around long enough to pick up a few things here and there." He paused for a moment, starting down at his feet, and turned serious. "I'm not exactly sure what happened between you and Octavian and how things ended," his said, his voice somber and quiet. "But the one thing I do know is that he loved you very much, probably never stopped loving you till the day he died.

A gentle breeze ruffled Milliardo's hair, Alexander's way of saying 'thank you'. The young man cleared his throat as he finally rose to his feet.

"I really should be going, or I won't make it to work on time. You enjoy your movie."

###

"I swear, you look more handsome and beautiful, every time I come home, Octavian."

"I've told you before; you do not need to flatter me, Alexander."

Once again Milliardo found himself in the middle of a dream about Octavian and his lover; with him in the role of his great-grandfather. Or perhaps those weren't dreams after all, but rather Alexander's memories he was reliving.

"But I am not; I'm only observing. And right now, I'd swear I observe a bit of frustration in your voice." Suddenly he felt Alexander's fingers under my chin, raising his face up gently. "Would you care to talk to me about it?"

"I'm sorry, I got into another fight with Father this afternoon," he heard himself say.

"What was it about this time?"

"I really don't want to visit my problems on you, Alexander, and spoil what little time we have together."

"But I don't mind. Please talk to me, Dear."

"Father told me to cut my hair. He insists it doesn't go with business attire. I'd never be taken serious in the firm looking like this."

Alexander seemed shocked. "Your beautiful hair? But surely he can't be serious."

Ding dong….ding dong….

It took Milliardo a few moments to realize that the chiming sounds were not part of his dream but rather the sound of the doorbell. His eyes snapped open with a start. He blinked and gazed at his watch, cursing silently when he realized that he hadn't slept more than an hour.

"I'm coming!" the young man slipped a T-shirt over his head as he shuffled to the door. It's Saturday morning, for god sake, this better not be some kind of pusher or salesman.

"I'm awfully sorry to disturb you," the young man out on the front steps said, and Milliardo could only stare at him in complete disbelieve.

"Alexander?!" he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Indeed, aside from the fact that he was wearing 21st century clothing, the man standing before him looked like he had just stepped out of his grandmother's painting, all the way down to the tendrils of ginger-blond hair that had fallen onto his forhead.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You look like you have seen a ghost."

Milliardo shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I'm…fine. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh, I really hope so," the man nodded. "I was wondering if I could use your phone. You see I left my briefcase in the taxi and didn't realize it until it was too late. Luckily the driver gave me this…" he showed Milliardo a little yellow and black business card, "before he drove off. I guess I got lucky; for a moment I was afraid nobody was living here."

"Well, technically nobody is."

"Oh?!" The stranger raised one eyebrow as he looked at him questioningly, and Milliardo realized how it might have sounded.

"Oh no, it's not like that. I'm not a squatter or anything," he assured the man quickly. "The house used to be my grandmother's, you see. But she passed away and my father was thinking of selling it, but it's been in the family for a long time and I kind of like the place, so I decided we should fix it up and keep it and…" Why in the world am I telling him all this? "Sorry, I'm rambling. I don't have the land line turned on yet, but you can use my cell phone. Why don't you come in, Mister…?"

" Khushrenada, Treize Khushrenada."

For the second time in a row Milliardo's yaw nearly dropped. I don't believe it. "Umm…this way, don't mind the disarray. Like I said, I'm still in the middle of getting things organized."

The other man looked around as he followed Milliardo into the kitchen. "It's a beautiful house."

"Thank you. That it is," the blond agreed. "Let me get the phone." He disappeared into the other room and was back in no time.

"There you go." He handed the device to his visitor then excused himself and left to give the man some privacy. When he returned a few minutes later Treize had already finished his call.

"Thank you so much."

"Any luck?" Milliardo asked.

"Yes and no, I guess. The driver found my bag, but he is taking a passenger all the way to Northwood, which I have been told is at the other end of town. So, he won't get back here for at least thirty minutes or so. Once again, I appreciate your help. I probably should leave now."

"And go where?" Milliardo ask. "You just said, the taxi won't come for half an hour."

The older man shrugged. "I'll just take another walk, I guess."

"But that's ridiculous. Why don't you stay right here? I'll make us a cup of coffee."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to bother you any more than I already have." Treize replied. "You seemed to have still been sleeping when I…"

" But I'm awake now." Milliardo made a dismissive gesture. "Besides, sleep is highly overrated. To think that we actually sleep almost 1/3 of our lives away… and all the things we might be missing in doing it. And not to mentioned, I make a mighty good coffee, or so I have been told."

The other man laughed. It was a soft and pleasant sound. "Well, if you put it that way. How could I possibly say no? Not to mention," he added with a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "I really love a good cup of coffee."

"Well then, why don't you have a seat?" the blond offered. He was glad that he had actually washed the dishes last night and didn't have to serve his guest coffee from a paper cup. "Earlier you said you had been hold that Northwood is at the other side of town," he said as he readied the coffee maker. "Does this mean you are not from around here?"

"No, I just moved here two days ago."

"Really?" Now that's interesting. "Where do you live, if you don't mind me asking?"

"At the moment still at the Hyatt, I haven't had time to look for a more permanent residence." Treize told him. "Actually it's one of the reasons I came here this morning. I've heard old town is a beautiful place, I thought maybe I could see a for-sale sign or two on my walk around Kensington Plaza."

"You know, they have something called the internet these days," Milliardo replied teasingly as he put two cups and a carton of creamer on the table. "You can check out real estate on your computer, without ever having to leave your desk. I do assume the Hyatt has internet access."

"Oh I'm sure they do." The older man chuckled again. "But call me old fashion. Buying a book or cd over the internet is one thing, but shopping for a house…I don't know."

"And, did you have any luck house hunting?"

"I'm afraid not." He shrugged. "The one house I had really set my heart one seems to be not available."

"Sorry, to hear that." Milliardo said as he broke out the rest of the birthday cake from the night before. "Can I get you something sweet with your coffee?"

"Birthday cake?!" Treize raised one eyebrow. "Should I be congratulating you?"

"Not me, no." the younger man smirked. "It's leftover from…a friends' birthday yesterday." I'd tell you more, but I don't think you'd believe me if I said I was celebrating with your… what is Alexander to you anyway; your great grandfather? But that would presuppose that Alexander had at least one child. I really still don't know much about him, do I?

"Ah, I see. Well maybe a small piece," his guest smiled.

"As you wish." Milliardo nodded as he cut the cake and poured the coffee. He settled down in the chair across from his guest. They talked small, about everything and nothing in particular and he couldn't help but think that Treize's charming and amusing manner reminded him very much of the way his great grandfather had described Alexander in his diary. And his eyes…They were just as…no even more mesmerizing than in the painting. Piercing but deep blue like the water in a bottomless lake, he thought. One could easily drown in them.

###

Milliardo woke slowly. He yawned and pulled his cover tighter around his body without ever opening his eyes. It was Saturday and he had nowhere to be, so there was no reason for him to leave the warm comfort of his bed quite yet.

What a dream, he thought. He had almost gotten used to the strange visions about Alexander and his great-grandfather every night, but never before had there been other people in his dreams. He was an interesting character, though. And not to mentioned quite handsome. I wouldn't mind having some more 'intense' dreams about him. Milliardo grinned softly. Still, I don't know where this came from. They say dreams are a mixture of memories and imagination, but it's pretty sad if I can't do any better than imagine having coffee with a hot looking guy like that.

Milliardo was still trying to decide if he should go back to sleep for a while longer when his phone on the nightstand rung. Reaching for it blindly he flipped it open and pushed the speak button. "Yeah?!"

"Hi there; did I wake you?" Wufei's voice came from the other end of the line.

"No, not really, what's up?"

"Duo wanted to know if you need us to come over today."

"No, that's fine. I won't be moving anything else at the moment; just in case my father decided to drop by. He doesn't know I'm actually 'living' here already. He insists on sending some kind of building inspector in first, to make sure the roof won't fall onto my head one night while I'm sleeping."

"I see."

"Talking of sleeping, I have had the strangest dream last night."

"How so?" the other youth wanted to know.

"Well, actually I have been having strange dreams ever since we opened that diary, always about Alexander and Octavian. But this time it was different. I actually dreamed of meeting one of Alexander's descendents…" Milliardo outlined his dream about the stranger who called himself Treize Khushrenada for his friend. "Weird, isn't it?"

"Hmm… I'm no Sigmund Freud, but could it be that you are… attracted to Alexander?"

"Wha…" Milliardo snorted. "I might find him interesting, yes, but… Besides, he was my great grandfather's lover and is about a hundred years older than me, and…what am I forgetting? Oh yeah! He is DEAD."

"Exactly." Wufei replied calmly.

"Exactly?" the blond echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"All those reasons don't apply to the guy bin your dream, right?"

"Hmm…I didn't think about it that way." Milliardo admitted. "Well anyway, if you guys want to come over to hang out that's fine. I'll be around all day."

After he hung up the young man finally rolled out of bed and got dressed. Maybe I should call Father later and tell him I made up my mind about this place.

With another lazy yawn Milliardo shuffled into the kitchen, or at least he was about to, but stopped dead in his tracks at the door. His brows knitted into a puzzled frown, as his eyes fell onto the table. Two cups?! But that would mean...

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T.B.C.

Author's Note: