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The Portrait

Part 13

"Alexander?!" Milliardo asked tentatively as he pushed the door to the attic open. "Are you alright?"

What a stupid question was that? the young man berated himself the moment the words had left his lips. How could he be alright after what he just heard?

"I'm so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel right now. There is probably not much I can do, but if nothing else…I'm here now and you don't have to be alone anymore."

Ghostly fingers ruffled his silvery tresses in a now almost familiar manner, and Milliardo smiled softly. "This might not be much but at least you do have a chance to get to know your great-grandson. He seems to be a pretty decent guy too, don't you think? By the way, he…Treize asked to read Octavian's diary and the letters you sent to him. I don't see any harm in it, but I want to make sure it is alright with you. After all, I know those things are precious to you, and very personal. So if you don't want me to take them downstairs let me know, somehow and I'll tell him I didn't find them."

As he waited for any kind of reaction, the diary that had been sitting on a trunk near the window suddenly shifted, as though it was picked up by an invisible hand. It hovered in midair for a second or two then moved toward the young man, until he could reach for it.

Milliardo took it that Alexander approved. "Thank you." He smiled softly as he reached for the small, leather bound book and the letters that were tugged between the pages. He turned to leave, but before he even set his foot onto the stair he heard a noise behind his back, a rustling and then a quiet thump akin to something falling to the ground. He turned his head to see a folded piece of paper at the foot of his grandfather's old writing desk. Another letter?

Curiously the young man turned back and bent down to pick it up. But before his fingertips touched the white paper it moved, just out of his reach. Frowning a little, Milliardo tried again, with the same result. He straightened, crooking his head in slight puzzlement. "You don't want me to take this one?"

Just as in confirmation the letter moved a tiny bit further.

"Then why did you show it to me? Oh, I think I understand now; this one is only for me?! Alright, then I'll come back for it later, after Treize has left."

#

"Sorry, I made you wait," Milliardo apologized to his guest as he entered the kitchen again. "It took me a while to find them."

"No problem at all. I helped myself to that second cup of coffee you promised, while you were gone." The older man smirked.

"I'm glad you did. Should I make more?"

"Oh, no I think I had all the caffeine I can take for one morning." Treize gazed at the diary in Milliardo's hand. "So that's the journal you spoke off?"

"Yes, it is. I put the letters inside not to lose them," the younger man confirmed as he put the book down in front of him.

"It's kind of strange," the professor admitted, letting his fingertips run over its soft leather binding. "Part of me is excited but at the same time I feel like I am about to intrude on someone's most personal moments and I ask myself if I have the right to do so."

Settling down at the kitchen table across from him Milliardo smiled. "I think it's alright; somehow I have the feeling they'd want you to read it."

"You think so?"

"I'm positive."

"Say," Treize suddenly looked up. "Your great-grandmother, her name wouldn't by any chance have been Olivia, would it?"

"Olivia?" the blond echoed. "No, why?"

"Just a silly thought. Amongst the things I found of my great-grandfather's, was a letter written by someone to inform Julian of his brother's death and asking where to send his personal belongings to. The painting I was talking about earlier was probably part of those 'personal belongings' and that's how it got into my family's possession. In any case," Treize continued, "the signature on the letter was illegible; the ink was completely smeared. I assume someone was crying while reading it. From what was left I always thought it said Olivia, assuming that it was the new woman in Alexander's life. The last name started most likely with a P and that's pretty much all I could tell."

Milliardo gave a semi-amused huff. "You might not be as far off as you think."

"How so?"

"That letter was probably written by my great-grandfather. His name was Octavian."

"Octavian Peacecraft, yes that could be it. The two of them were close?"

"Closer than you might think. Octavian was Alexander's lover."

"Lovers!?" Treize echoed, but he didn't sound as surprised as Milliardo would have expected. "Of course that makes perfect sense. It would explain a lot."

"Like what?"

"Well for one thing I figured that the letter writer had to be someone very close to my great-grandfather to have access to his most personal possessions. Like I said, I assumed it was a woman but the handwriting had a rather masculine touch to it. And that would also explain why he willed this house and most of his assets to your family. One time my grandfather found me going through Alexander's things again. I told him I was determined to find out who the woman was he had lived with. I asked if he wasn't curious, since she would have been pretty much like his step-mother. Grandfather laughed and said something like: 'Good luck, from what I've heard my father was not really a woman's man.' I assumed what he was trying to say was that Alexander was not a 'one-woman' man and I would probably have a hard time finding the right one. Say, Milliardo, you wouldn't happen to have a picture, would you; of your great-grandfather I mean."

"In fact I do." The young man rose and stepped over to the counter where he had put down the photo albums and boxes. After a few moments of searching he pulled out a little black-and white photo. "This was taken when he was about 18 or 19 years old."

"Fascinating," Treize studied the small picture. "He looks just like you. Well, except for the hair."

"Actually," Milliardo told him as he slipped back into his seat, "He used to wear his hair long once; his father made him cut it."

"Are you serious?" the older man cringed. "That's… terrible. Your father wouldn't do that, I hope."

Milliardo laughed quietly. "He tried. But after some muscle flexing on both sides, he agreed to accept my 'freedom of expression' as long as I would not permanently disfigure my body with tattoos or by putting holes into places god where didn't intend them to be."

"I take it you accepted his proposal," the older man chuckled.

"Umm…Let's just say I try not to let my father see me shirtless these days."

"Oh?!" Treize raised one curious eyebrow but didn't actually go as far as to ask why.

Milliardo checked his watch then looked at the professor. "I suppose you won't need me while you read these things," he gestured toward the diary still lying unopened on the table. "So, if you don't mind I'll jump in the shower very quick."

"Go right ahead," Treize nodded. "I'll be perfectly fine by myself. And take your time; this will keep me occupied for a while."

"Alright then. When I get back I'll show you the rest of the house, and the garden."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh yeah." The blond had already turned to leave but held his step just inside the kitchen door. "If anything… umm…strange happens, please call me."

"Anything strange?" the professor echoed slightly puzzled, but Milliardo chose not to elaborate.

#

Still sitting at the table, with his nose buried in the pages of the journal, Treize suddenly looked up and frowned slightly. For a moment there he could have sworn that he wasn't alone in the room. From upstairs he could hear the sound of water running through the pipes, indicating that Milliardo was still in the shower, and as far as he knew there was no one else in the house. Shaking his head in semi-amusement he flipped the page and went back to reading, but the feeling of being watched remained.

About ten or fifteen minutes later Milliardo returned, his towel dried hair still damp from the shower. The fresh smell of fruit and sandalwood surrounded him like a fragrant cloud.

"Was everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes, of course." The older man nodded. "Say, Milliardo, do you have a cat?"

"A cat? No, why?"

"Oh, nothing." Treize laughed it off, feeling somewhat silly. How was he going to explain that he thought someone was watching him without sounding like he was nuts. "I just thought I heard a noise," he lied instead.

"Hm…," Milliardo shrugged. "Who knows? Old houses always are noisy, right?"

"Right."

"So are you ready for me to show you the rest of the house?"

"Absolutely." As he rose to his feet Treize closed the diary on the table. "I was wondering," he asked, "Could I take the journal with me when I leave and finish reading it at home?"

Milliardo hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't trust the other man, and if it was up to him…These letters and the diary seemed to be very important to Alexander; he had watched over them for decades, and he didn't think the ghost would want them to leave the house. Luckily Treize understood just from the look on his face, and he didn't have to say anything.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. Just forget I asked, alright."

"Well then," the younger man nodded. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Milliardo let his guest first through the rooms downstairs and then the second floor. He avoided the attic, didn't see any reason to take Treize all the way up there.

"This house is beautiful," the professor remarked as they walked into the last of the upstairs rooms. "This…" he looked around; large build in bookcases on one wall, an ornate fireplace across from them, a double wide window to their right. "…must have been his study." A soft smile crossed his face. "I can see him spending a lot of time in here, sitting by the fireplace, reading with his dog by his feet. His desk was probably standing right beneath the window where he could sit and write in the warm afternoon sun."

"Yes, yes…" Milliardo agreed. "I can see that, too. In fact I was thinking of turning the room into a study again. It would be a shame to rip out those wonderful wooden bookshelves. I do want to get rid of the wallpaper in here but I like the wood floor. I'll probably just restore it. Which reminds me… do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

"Hmm… Not in particular, why?"

"I'll be heading downtown to pick up some paint samples and look at carpeting and such. If that doesn't sound too boring for you, would you like to come along?"

"I'd love to," Treize smirked. "I can't imagine anything to be boring together with you. In fact, let's leave early and grab lunch on the way, my treat. I found this little authentic Japanese restaurant… you like Japanese?"

"I'm afraid my knowledge of their food is pretty much limited to sushi, tempura and a couple of different kinds of sake."

"In that case we really have to check out the Sagami. Their sushi is great and they have a huge selection of sake, but also have the best soba I've had in a long time."

"I had no idea you are such an expert in Japanese cuisine."

"Far from an expert," Treize laughed modestly. "But I did develop a taste for it while I was stationed in Hokkaido."

"You were stationed in Japan? Interesting, you have to tell me about that… over lunch perhaps."

"I'm happy to."

#

Treize had to leave at 4 due to some prior engagements, so they decided to drive separately, Milliardo following the older man to the restaurant he had been talking about. After a long and absolutely delicious lunch the two men visited about a dozen paint and carpet stores.

"I'm sorry I have to leave," the professor said as he walked Milliardo back to his car afterward. "If I had known …"

"Don't worry about it. I had a great time, and we can always do this again, right?"

"How many more paint samples do you need?" Treize teased.

The younger man laughed. "I was talking about lunch."

"Of course, but I meant to ask… are you planning on hiring a company to do the painting?"

"Just for the façade, I think. There is no way I can do that myself. But the rest of the house will be a 'do-it-yourself' project."

"Do you need any help?"

Leaning against his car, Milliardo smirked. "Why, are you volunteering?"

"In fact I am. I'd love to help you paint. I'm sure it would be a lot of fun. Although I have never done anything like it before."

"Obviously not," the blond chuckled. "You know, painting is hard work and it can be a very messy affair."

"I'll pay you for any mess I make," Treize offered quickly.

Milliardo's chuckle turned into a deep, bubbling laugh. "Let me get that straight, you are offering to pay me for allowing you to help me. That's a new one. But seriously, I appreciate any help I can get."

"Wonderful," the older man beamed like a child that had gotten permission to open a Christmas present. "Let me know when you need me, and I'll be there."

#

Milliardo was still smiling when he walked through the front door, a few dozen 1x1 foot carpet sections and several paint sample charts under his arm.

"Alexander!" he called out excitedly as he headed into the kitchen and put them down on the large pinewood table. "I need you to help me decide what colors we are going to use for which rooms."

When he looked up, his gaze wandered out the large bay window and he noticed the empty spot on the shelf where Treize's orchid pot had been sitting when they left. His brows knitted in a mixture of surprise and displeasure. "Alexander!" he called out more firmly. "What happened to that flower…" he looked around. "…and the present I got from Treize?"

The lid of the trashcan popped open and sure enough right there in the middle was the orchid as well as the steak iron, box and all. His frown deepened. "You still don't like him; even though he is your great-grandson? Or…" Suddenly realization hit him. "Could it be that you are jealous at him?" There was no confirmation needed, because it was the only thing that made sense.

"Alexander," Milliardo's voice was firm but not angry. "Things can't go on like this. I am not Octavian, and Treize is not your rival. You need to learn to get along with him, because he will probably spend a lot more time here in the future. I think I really like him. Please, don't make me choose between him and you."

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Author's Note: