It had been such a gloomy day. Since first light, dark clouds had hung over the city of Venice, blotting out any hope of joviality for its citizens. Even Treize, as he sat in his makeshift office, sparse flames flickering behind him in the fireplace, watched the scene through the large windows that spanned an entire wall and couldn’t help but sigh. The work which had consumed his day was futile. He knew that. These letters he scribbled out and sent off to presidents and prime ministers would do no good. War was brewing, and now that he had gotten the ball rolling on it there was nothing that could stand in its way. They were all hungry for blood, and he could do nothing but point them in a suitable direction for it.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he spoke up to be heard, turning his gaze on the polished wood as the knob turned and Zechs entered. He had shaved again, a dark gray suit and white cravat hidden partly by the same old trench coat. That white hair fell freely down his back, unbound by the ribbon that had tied it for the past few days. He moved to Treize’s desk, sitting on the end of it, looking vacantly down at his lap. Then, after a few moments, he spoke.
“So why didn’t you come looking for me?”
There was a hint of a smile in Treize’s eyes as he opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider. “I couldn’t,” he said finally. “If I went for you, it would destroy everything. You and I would cease to be what we are. There are certain things people can do, and things they can’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Zechs turned those pale blue eyes to Treize’s.
“You had to come back to me,” he shrugged with his reply. “If I went to find you, it wouldn’t work. You would have run even further, and you knew that. Do you remember the bird, Zechs?”
“No,” the platinum-blonde soldier said shortly.
“Do you, Milliardo?”
“Vaguely.”
Treize’s smile extended then to his lips. “We were so young. I was sixteen, and how old were you? Eleven? Mother bought me that bird. You would have thought with her worrying about my… habits, she would have got a big dog or parrot or something, but she bought that little myna bird. All day it sat in its cage, singing that same song and cringing when anyone came near. So what did I do?”
“You opened the cage door one day when your mother had put it outside,” Zechs replied gruffly, now propping himself up with his palms against the desk’s surface. “You were always too trusting, trying to give it some fresh air. And what did it do? It flew away.”
“It did,” Treize continued. “It did. I opened the cage door and the bird, as one would expect, flew away. But I think you may have forgotten part of that story. Not two days later, do you know what I heard tapping at my window one morning when I awoke?”
“The bird came back,” Zechs slowly remembered. “Stupid animal. It got freedom and it flew back to its cage.”
“But it never left my side after that. I used to take it outside with me, no cage in sight, and it would sit there on a tree or branch near me and come when I called it. I haven’t cried since the day that bird died. I think that makes it meaningful, don’t you?”
“You’re always looking for meaning in all the wrong places,” Zechs bated. “Look for it where you know it is; in the streets, not in a forest.”
“So much like Dorothy,” Treize laughed lightly. “Sometimes I believe you’re her brother and not Relena’s. How is she, anyway?”
“Which one?” he closed his eyes partly. “Relena’s in Switzerland, still trying to maintain Sanque. She won’t give up on that, even though I think she realizes how fruitless an endeavor it is. Dorothy, on the other hand, I haven’t seen in years. How about you? Talked to Une lately?”
“I’m always in contact with her. She’s running our operations in the Americas. Never have I met a more capable woman than that one. She asked about you, you know. About us.” The slightest contact was made as Treize’s fingers brushed Zechs’s hand, neither moving for a minute in silence before Treize relinquished it. “So why are you dressed up?”
“I’m going out for a little while. It seems like you have a few friends who need to hear back from you, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to be your messenger.” Treize laughed again.
“No message will get through to them short of a bullet through the skull.”
“That’s sort of what I had in mind.” Another silence.
“Alright. Any idea when you’re coming back?”
“Not really,” Zechs pushed off from the desk, taking self-assured strides toward the door. “It shouldn’t really take long, though. I’ll call when something happens.”
“Milliardo,” Treize called just as Zechs had stepped over the threshold into the hall. He turned, a few long strands of that hair covering his left eye. “Take care of yourself.” In another instant he was gone, the door closed behind him. This was how it should have been all along.
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