Never Again 2

By the end of his ordeal, Treize had _definitely_ sobered up a good deal.

The sun was peering over the horizon by the time Une had finished molesting his weary body. Now he ached all over, a particular soreness in one area nagging him more than the rest -- but by far, his head was what ached the most. His hangover must have been delivered by Old Reg himself. For that matter, the whole damned evening from all points past Zechs' departure must have been the works of a corroboration between various bored archangels.

With no little amount of disgust, he pushed Une's sleeping (unconscious?) body off his. He had tried to fight her off earlier in the evening (morning?), but much to his mortification, he found that he didn't fight well while drunk and trying *not* to hurt his opponent, and that Une _really_ needed to cut her nails. He was truly reluctant to hurt one of his most loyal soldiers, even thought she had always showed a frightening fascination with him.

But as Treize pulled on his pants and boots, his hands shaking so furiously that he couldn't manage to do up the buttons of his linen shirt, he was in no mood for such deep philosophy. "Oh fuck it," he choked out uncharacteristically, normally sweet voice ragged, and staggered from the room, leaving his loose white shirt open and untucked, simply wanting to get as far from *her* as possible.

The guards in the hallway wondered what was going on as their perfect, self-controlled, iron-willed leader bolted from his quarters, one hand shielding his eyes from the unyielding light, the other being used as more of a bracer as he managed into the elevator, stumbling as he ran. They tried to follow, but his distress brought unmatchable adrenaline that demanded to be used.

Thus Treize retraced the steps Zechs had helped him take the night before, falling occasionally, but moving too fast for the concerned guards to catch him. One of them radioed another soldier up ahead, to get him to intercept their seemingly mentally unbalanced leader, but it was in vain. Treize ducked into his office and sealed the door behind him before the man could even start down the hall.

Quickly, leaning heavily against the wall, he barred as many people as names he could remember from his office. /Damndamndamn…/

Breathing unevenly, he staggered to his desk, falling once, nearly not making it into his chair. His breaths came painfully as his chest shuddered. /It did not happen… I will hear my alarm very soon, and wake up *alone.*/ But, Treize knew he was extremely awake, and that very soon, someone would likely break into his well barred office in an attempt to 'help' him.

Any movement past the shaking was a calculated effort, and he pulled his heavy jacket from the back of his chair. The room was kept cool because he normally wore his jacket when in there (and to keep as many people out as possible), so it was fairly uncomfortable to be wearing only a linen shirt.

Slowly, he drew his legs up under him, curling languidly into his chair, and with a shaking arm, drew his uniform jacket over his body. His body trembled convulsively as he buried his face in the stiff material, trying to calm himself down, to force himself into his normal semblance of amused derision. An inexplicable tightness was forming in his chest, and he tried to will it away -- it worked for the moment. He sat like that for at least an hour, mind blank, trying to pull himself back to his normal, calculating state of mind.

But it wasn't working. Treize couldn't call up the perfectly controlled, sardonic, arcane, aristocrat that he normally was. His control was admittedly shattered, as was his self-preserving sense of stubborn self-denial.

/I do not know what is worse… the hang over, or what Une did to me…/ The night before was blurry to him, very blurry, but he remembered with a slight wince that Une was a sadist. And not in the casual sense of the word: she actually got off on pain -- not her own, of course. /My dear, trusted Lady Une raped me,/ he thought mordantly. /So much for all the good my power did for me. My trusted aid… harmed me…/

It was not the pain that bothered him -- but the fact that Une crossed the professional barrier of good manners, and descended into something Treize could have her executed for. But he couldn't have her killed for doing that to him -- he realised that he loved the ideals she stood for, and that he could never bring himself to do anything to her. That he could not do anything to any of his favoured officers, or even some of the enemy forces.

/Because I have set them on the pedestal that they deserve./ And Une, with all that she stood for, was on the highest pedestal he had.

Treize took another deep breath, afraid that he would have to speak to anyone today -- one reason was because of the skull splitting headache, and the other was that he wasn't sure his voice even worked. As painful to admit as it was, he had pleaded himself hoarse trying to get Une to stop.

His Dear Lady Une only became all the more intractable, as if his pleas urged her on.

/Gott, I don't even know if I'm presentable… haven't shaved, haven't washed up…/ The great Treize Khushrenada un-curled from the chair, and slipped the jacket over his open shirt. His hands were still shaking, but he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a few things: Slit-throat razor, mirror, a small container of water (rarely ever touched) and a screw-top metal canister.

Willing his muscles to stop shivering, he reined himself back under his normal perfect control, and set the small mirror up on his desk. Not yet looking into it, he poured some water onto his hands and wet his face, wincing as the cool water hit his face, then picked up the razor.

A soft string of guttural words escaped him when he saw his appearance. To start, his pallor was far worse than he could _ever_ remember it being; a deep scratch ran from the outer edge of his eye to the bottom of his ear -- it looked like it might need stitches. On the opposite cheek, another similar mar, running straight down from just below his eye, curving under his chin. And on his bottom lip, a vertical crust of dried blood had formed. He considered brushing away the dry blood, but he didn't want any scarring on his face.

Treize was the first to admit it -- he knew he was extremely vain, and an absolute hedonist. He didn't care about his life -- in fact, he would willing sacrifice it for the cause -- but he did care about his appearance.

A depressed sigh escaped him, and he carefully shaved his face with the razor, long-time practice making it possible for him to do so with little trouble, and no new cuts.

/Une always wonders what I keep in my desk, with all the paperwork on it,/ Treize thought, pulling out a roll of gauze, and a roll of thin medical tape.

Treize paused before dressing his cuts, and opened the canister. He shook out three or four pills (why bother to count them) and swallowed them dry. They were powerful, and he felt his headache begin to dull -- not go away, but dull was quite good enough for him.

The com. into his office beeped. "Sir?" came the voice of a guard. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Fine," Treize managed to rasp out, throat hurting to speak.

~~~~

Outside the door, a small crowd had gathered, consisting of Lady Une, Lucrezia Noin, Zechs Marquise and a handful of guards.

"Why won't he answer?" Lady Une asked aloud, perhaps not aware that she had said it aloud.

"He did Lady Une, but I barely heard him…" the guard said. He had heard stories about Lady Une, and after seeing her leave Treize's rooms after Treize had… Treize certainly had very good reasons for running like a pack of dogs were on his heels. The 'good' lady had already ordered him to break in, but he was unwilling to do so -- he really did like his job, and wanted to keep it.

Une's pretty face was creased with concern. /Maybe I pushed him too far… maybe he really _didn't_ want to…/ She tapped her code into the keypad, only to have access denied.

"I can get in," Zechs said, gently pushing past Noin and Une. /I'm always the last person he'd remember to forbid from a room./ He tapped his entry code into the keypad, and was greeted with a soft click, as the door unlocked.

"Thank you, Zechs," Une said, as she began to move past him; a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Only people with approved access codes are allowed to enter," the guard nearly sneered. He liked being able to rightly challenge a higher officer, especially Une. He stepped aside, pulled Une with him, to allow Zechs to pass. Zechs entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Une stood in front of the locked doors, completely baffled.

~~~~

"Sir?" Zechs asked softly, knowing that after drinking like that, Treize would probably be nursing the hangover from hell.

Treize raised his head slightly, a small piece of gauze in one hand. He set it down on his desk. /Well, I knew someone would get in… now to try to explain myself./ "Yes?" he replied in a smooth voice, that held a faltering undertone. The hope-giving light in his sapphire eyes had dulled considerably, as if all the tightly restrained world-weariness was trying desperately to escape through those heavy-lidded orbs.

Zechs' brow furrowed beneath his mask. /What the _hell_ happened to him after I left?/ "What--" Zechs began, then amended himself, knowing that Treize was not one to give a straight answer when pressed. No need to embarrass Treize by making him have to come up with some false excuse for the painful looking gashes on his handsome, aquiline face. Zechs walked over to Treize, kneeling beside his chair. The young officer looked as startled as Zechs had ever seen him, as Zechs picked up the gauze and cut a piece with the razor. "Would you like me to help you, sir?"

Treize sighed, suddenly feeling like a very small child, not the proud army officer with the commanding presence that he was normally. He didn't respond to Zechs' simple, harmless question, but neither did he flinch when Zechs took the small piece of gauze, dampened it with water from the container, and wiped carefully at the split in his bottom lip.

With the blood cleaned away, the cut didn't look as serious as it had at first glance. He cut another piece of gauze with the razor, and wet it. Tentatively, he cupped Treize's ashen face in one hand. Treize's languid blue eyes had drifted closed by now, and he unconsciously leaned into the touch, forcing himself not to wince was Zechs wiped at the cut running from eye to ear.

Treize didn't move, didn't open his eyes while Zechs paid gentle attention to his wounds as only a dear friend could, until Zechs carefully pushed his open jacket and shirt off to his sides.

"What happened to you?" Zechs murmured softly, studying the gashes running down Treize's rangy form.

"Nothing," he breathed, as Zechs touched his lean torso with wary hands, not wanting his movements to border on insubordination, while Treize tried to not embarrass himself further. /Of all the times to realise why I just don't do well with women… Such horrid timing…/

The back of Zechs' mind warned him that if he wasn't careful, Treize would become suspicious; surely the only reason he was accepting the careful ministrations he was currently being given was because he didn't want to have to handle the fuss his appearance would cause in the med-centre. If Treize did become suspicious, he might do something rash, like reassign Zechs.

Treize's muscles twitched unintentionally; it had been a long time since someone had laid such gentle hands on him, maybe even years.

/Lucky number seven,/ Zechs thought with a wince, as he moved to bind the final gash that he could see; it ran at a strange angle, and he placed a hand on Treize's waist, pulling him forward slightly. Treize allowed Zechs to move him that tiny bit, not wanting to be an active participant, not wanting to open his eyes for fear that it was simply a hallucination, that Une was the one making such mollifying movements. But the calluses on the pads of Zechs' long fingers that brushed his skin as they worked to bind that particularly nasty gash, told him it wasn't a hallucination. Still… He didn't want to open his eyes, for he knew that when stirred to any sort of emotion, his too-old eyes nearly screamed what he was thinking. Zechs' didn't need to see such things as he was currently thinking in his Sapphire eyes. Zechs had no idea what his nessacary touches were doing to his superior officer. And Treize certainly wasn't going to say anything to Zechs. Not only would it be admitting to emotions that he had long put behind him (or so he claimed), but it would also run the risk of causing Zechs leave.

And, though Lady Une was on a pedestal, Zechs truly held a place in the young officer's heart. The younger man's friendship was vital to Treize, whether Treize wished to admit it or not.

Everyone should be familiar with the rush of adrenaline that comes when you're _scarcely_ getting away with something that you want to do so badly, because you've been wanting to do it for so long. And Zechs was riding high on that adrenaline rush, trying to keep his hands steady, as his azure eyes caught sight of a deep cut that disappeared below the line of Treize's trousers. He leaned back from Treize for a moment, to cut another piece of gauze, then repositioned himself, unsteady hands moving undo the buttons below the lean, iron-hard stomach.

A small sound of surprise escaped Treize, as he felt Zechs' hands so close to… He forced his eyes to open, and willed himself back under control, reaching out a hand to grasp Zechs' wrists.

As Zechs felt those slim, yet unexpectedly strong fingers close over his wrist, he looked up at Treize's placid face.

/Caught./

Zechs once more thanked every god he could name that he still wore his mask, and that to Treize, his face would look like nothing more than his normal stony expression, or at the worst, a scowl.

"Do not, Mirialdo," Treize murmured, voice laced with something unidentifiable to Zechs -- it definitely had a melancholic edge to it. He released Zechs' wrists, and Zechs stood up once more, bringing his heels together sharply, and saluting.

"Sir," Zechs said.

Treize made a dismissive hand gesture, the one he made when he didn't wish for Zechs to call him sir, and sighed softly. He was not sure it was having his wounds -- disgraceful, really, in Treize's mind, to call such things wounds -- cleaned, or simply Zechs presence, but he was much calmer than he had been when he entered his office. "Thank you, Mirialdo," Treize said, glad to finally have remastered his normal voice: cultured, and resonating. It still hurt to talk, but an improvement was an improvement, no matter how slight. "You are free to leave, if you wish it." /And I hope you do not leave. Even if all you do is pry into what happened, your company is worth suffering through an interrogation./ He turned his head away for a moment, and winced as he felt a muscled in his back spasm painfully. /Ah, such are the burdens of office./

Zechs caught that, and walked behind Treize's chair. He placed an ungloved hand on the back of Treize's head, resisting the urge to run his fingers through the golden-brown locks, and pushing forward ever-so-carefully. He worked his other hand down beneath the jacket and linen shirt, fingertips of that hand seeking out the tight muscles, and coaxing them into relaxing with firm kneading. "Is that better, Treize?" Zechs asked, gently tugging off Treize's jacket and shirt.

From the back of Treize's throat, a little moan escaped. "Gott yes…" he purred, while Zechs slid firm fingers to work on either side of neck.

A beep sounded in the room. It came from Zechs' contact com. He regretfully removed his hands from Treize and turned it on. "Zechs Marquise," he answered coldly.

"Zechs, you're supposed to aid Colonel Treize in the inspection today, scheduled for two. It's ten thirty now, and you've got other duties to att--" Noin's voice was cut short, as Zechs tapped it off.

"So sorry, sir," Zechs murmured apologetically, "but it appears I have to leave."

Treize's eyes appeared to turn inward, as he searched for something. "I…If you would not mind continuing where you were, you would be excused from those duties. Une can easily handle them, or even Lt. Noin," Treize suggested. "If it is not a bother to you, friend."

"Not at all," Zechs said, and handed Treize his contact com. when Treize put out an open hand for it.

Treize tapped it a few times, so it would contact the person that last contacted Zechs. "Lucrezia, Zechs will not be reporting for any duties before the inspection," Treize said, his words holding the implication that Noin was to take Zechs' duties. And Noin brightened to this, glad to take on higher jobs, menial as they were. Treize turned it off once more, and smiled slightly as Zechs once more placed strong hands on his shoulders.

/Providence be damned./