Milliardo Peacecraft stared at the tabletop. It was slightly blurry, but he had discovered that if he focused on one of the impurities in the wood long enough, it would all become clear to him. Well, the impurity would anyway. Since his focus was all on the impurity, he couldn’t really speak for the rest of the table. A few strands of white-blond hair fell into his line of vision. He didn’t bother tucking them out of the way.

“You should cut your hair,” His companion said conversationally.

“Oh,” Milliardo said flatly yet quietly. After the brawl that had just taken place, everyone in the bar probably thought he was mad. Or drunk beyond reason. Or both. He didn’t want them thinking he was insane either, talking to someone only he could see and hear. “And why is that?”

“Because you look like a woman,” The other said, his tone of voice mild. “It looked fine the way you once wore it, but now....now you look like my cousin.”

“I can’t look like a Catalonia or a Khushrenada,” Milliardo grumbled. “My eyebrows are normal.”

“That was harsh.”

“Leave me alone, Treize,” Milliardo snapped irritably. It annoyed him that the other man could remain so calm under the circumstances, while his emotions were threatening to plunge him into a storm any minute. It was more then annoying; it was downright aggravating. Of course, this is Treize I’m talking to. When did he ever show any other emotions besides apparent calm?

“First of all, no, and second of all, I was a little...hurt...when I heard about your betrayal of OZ.”

“Stop reading my thoughts.”

“I’m not reading your thoughts. Anything you state in your mind I automatically hear. I can’t help it.”

“Damn you.”

“Thank you.”

Treize stirred a puddle of split beer with his gloved finger. Nothing happened to the puddle.

“I really, really wish you’d go away,” Milliardo muttered. He took another drink from his half empty beer mug. It felt good and made him feel warm in the freezing cold bar, but he lost all control of his sight. The table blurred again and moved to a 90-degree angle.

“You’re drunk,” Treize said without bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. “Do you know undignified that is?” Milliardo tried to roll his eyes, but it gave him a pulsing headache. He waited for his vision to clear and his head to stop pounding before retorting,

“You’ve just figured that out?”

“On the contrary; I’ve been well aware of it all night.”

“Fuck you.”

“Damned and fucked all in the same hour. Thank you, but I’d rather you didn’t.”

Milliardo counted to ten before saying anything. The urge to yell at the top of his lungs to a friend who, technically, wasn’t even here and who he really didn’t consider a friend anymore was becoming harder and harder to stifle. He weighed the possibilities. One was that he could scream and alert the whole bar and feel good, the other was that he could keep his mouth shut, sit in the dark corner in peace, and resist further. Either way I don’t want to get up.

“You probably couldn’t walk,” Treize remarked. Milliardo wondered if Treize was purposely trying to irritate him. It sure as hell seemed that way.

“I’m surprised you can still articulate s’s without slurring.”

Milliardo said nothing, choosing silence and beer over Treize and his smart-ass commentary.

“You know,” Treize said after a few minutes, “You probably should have continued to ignore that drunk. No one is going want to serve you now that you’ve gone - what is the term everyone is using now? - Zero on him. Yes, I believe that is what they are calling it.”

“I hate that term,” Milliardo muttered and took another drink.

“I find it fitting.”

“No one cares what you think. You’re dead.”

“My, aren’t we observant tonight.”

“That’s it,” Milliardo slammed the beer glass down on the table. A few people looked in his direction, but quickly went back to what they were doing. Nobody wanted to pick a fight. Noticing that he had drawn attention to himself, Milliardo lowered his voice to a whisper. “What do you want, Treize? Why are you here? Straight answers, damn you, and I don’t care if you are a figment of my “Zero” imagination.”

“It isn’t about me, Milliardo, it’s about you,” Treize said. He gestured at Milliardo in disgust, the way that a gentleman would gesture at a beggar in the street. “Look at yourself. Sitting alone in a dark corner in a bar, trying to drown out your misery in alcohol. You’re dirty. You haven’t had a hair cut in months. It’s pathetic and painful to bear. When, pray tell, are you going to move on with your life?”

“I have nothing left to live for,” Milliardo said without hesitation or emotion. “My kingdom is gone. That was all that I lived for.”

“What about your sister Relena?” Treize said. “Doesn’t she still mean something to you? Or was she just an excuse to regain something you had lost to make you feel better.”

“How dare you...”

“Well? That’s what it sounds like.”

“That is not true at all and you know that all to God damn well,” Milliardo hissed. He felt like smashing the beer glass against a wall. “Relena is my sister. I love her. She never was a pawn to begin with. If I could I would protect her with my life.”

“A life which you claim is worthless. That would not do Relena any good. And what about Lt. Noin? Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t have feelings for her.” Treize leaned forward. His ice blue eyes bored into Milliardo’s. “Tell me.”

Milliardo stared back and tried to deny it, but couldn’t. He looked away. Treize sat back.

“There. That’s two.”

“I still don’t see...”

“You do have a reason for living, despite what you claim. We’ve just proven that.”

“What are you suggesting then?” Milliardo begrudgingly felt the anger inside him subside. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t stay mad at Treize for to long. The man was to charming and...right. Even if he was a figment brought on by to much beer and not enough sleep.

Treize leaned forward again.

“Thank you for asking. This is my suggestion: first, take a shower and cut back your hair some. It looks like a forest. Self-destruct Epyon. Leave your past behind you and move on. You’re only twenty, after all.”

“I can’t get rid of Epyon.”

“Why not?”

“Personal reasons. How am I supposed to start over? Everyone hates Milliardo Peacecraft. Everyone thinks he’s dead. And I can’t go back to being Zechs Merquise. I refuse,” Milliardo said and ran a hand through his hair. He grimaced and decided that he really did need a shower.

Treize ignored the last comment, as if to suggest that what the public believed the status of Milliardo Peacecraft’s life was didn’t matter. Instead, he moved on.

“What do you know of the Preventers?”

“I’ve heard of them, but what I know is next to nothing.”

“It’s a start,” Treize said. Milliardo snorted and finished off the beer.

“Oh, I see what this is coming to. You’re saying that I should join this ‘Preventers’ organization as a way to make for the past.”

“I can’t think of anything more grand. Moreover, Lt. Noin is working with the Preventers. It’s run by Lady Une.”

“Who gives a fuck about Lady-” He stopped abruptly when he saw Treize glaring at him. Ducking his head, he stared into the beer mug.

“Sorry. Forgot.”

“How...? Never mind,” Treize sighed and waved it away. “It isn’t important.”

“Of course it is,” Milliardo mumbled. He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “But you were saying?”

“Yes, of course...”

Silence.

“Maybe I should,” Milliardo said a few minutes later. He looked up from the beer mug to face Treize. “What is it dedicated to?”

“Peace,” Treize said simply.

“Peace,” Milliardo repeated to himself. What did he remember of peace? His life before the fall of the Sank Kingdom. Happiness.

Treize heard this but said nothing.

And happiness isn’t such a bad thing, is it Treize?

“It is what I died for.”

Another round of silence.

“There has to be a catch,” Milliardo said eventually. “I know there’s some other reason why you want me to join these people, other then Noin. And I doubt Lady Une needs me in the least.”

“Now I’ve been caught,” Treize said. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop without making a sound. “There is a new threat to the Earth. It has yet to materialize fully, but as we speak it grows in power.”

“What is it?”

“My daughter.”

Awkward silence.

Treize laughed and waved a hand across Milliardo’s line of vision. Milliardo blinked and tried to focus.

“What daughter?” He said accusingly. “You never...”

“I was seventeen. Exploring new worlds, if you get my meaning. You weren’t a very innocent seventeen year-old yourself. That isn’t the point. The point is she’s a threat to the peace of Earth.” All humor left his voice. “She needs to be stopped.”

“And what about the colonies?”

“What I say now I say for my love of only Earth, but if it means something to you...then yes, the colonies are at stake as well.”

“I see. I join the Preventers and wash the blood from my hands, and at the same time protect the Earth. And what if saving Earth means killing this daughter of yours?” Milliardo said. “I hope you wouldn’t interfere.”

“I neither would nor could,” Treize said. “I’m not anymore capable of stopping what happens in this world then you are of preventing your own death. As for killing Mari-....as for killing her, then, for the sake of peace, let it be done.”

“Then I accept. Where should I go?”

“Brussels.”

“How can I find any of these Preventers?”

“In Brussels? Throw a brick, I should think.”

“I should leave then.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Err...I can’t walk.”

Treize reached across the table and placed his hand on Milliardo’s forehead.

“God speed, Milliardo Peacecraft,” Treize said. Then everything went black.

****

Milliardo opened his eyes and shook his head. He felt like he had been out for hours, but a quick glance at his watch told him it had only been a few seconds. He stood up and, to his surprise, could see clearly and think straight.

Treize, He thought. But he said he couldn’t do anything...ah, damnit all.

He fished the correct amount of money out of his pocket and left it on the table with the empty beer mugs. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, he walked out of the shadows of the corner and towards the exit. The other patrons watched him as he left, but he ignored them. It was better off if people didn’t recognize whom he was; disappear one day, return the next without any pit stops in people’s memories in-between.

The latecomer at the bar watched him walk out the door then turned to the bartender.

“Weird guy,” The customer said.

“Damn strait,” The bartender said gruffly.

“You didn’t stop him for not paying you,” The customer pointed out.

“I saw him put th’ money on th’ table,” The bartender said as he polished a glass. “An’ even if it ain’t th’ correct amount, well, hey, I don wanna pick a fight wi’ that there guy. Would ya?”

“No, I don’t think so,” The customer said.

“Good. Now shut ya trap and drink. That’s what ya payin’ me fer, not ta be ya conversation.”

Not long after, the customer left, leaving the bartender alone. And when it was time to leave, the bartender was the only one left to close the bar. By himself, the way he liked it. Alone.

In peace.

© Inaho 2001