Zechs sighed as he entered his apartment after a long day at Oz, not bothering to switch on the lights as he hung his coat up and took off both his physical and mental masks. Rubbing the back of his hand tiredly against his forehead he closed his eyes, relishing in the silence and darkness of the empty room. He was tired. Tired of this never ending war that seemed to go constantly in circles, of living day after day uncertain of whether he would be alive the next, but above all, tired of the continuously growing guilt that mounted with each strike, with each raid. The death rate of this damned war was rising steadily and Treize wasn’t the only one who felt the heavy burden.
Opening his eyes he stared down at his hands. The setting sun that had filtered through a nearby window had turned the shadows in the room hues of red, in the process staining his hands crimson.
*Always red. Always so much blood*
Although his mind was pleading for him to turn away, to turn on the lights and try and leave the horrors of the war behind him at least until the morning, he found himself almost hypnotically drawn to those hands. Smooth and delicate, with long sleek fingers and manicured nails, they were hardly the hands that looked like they were responsible for the death of hundreds.
Or was that thousands? Unlike Treize he had lost count a long time ago...
He laughed softly, but his voice was devoid of any humour. How the great Milliard Peacecraft had fallen. In the beginning he had been so sure, so confident that joining Oz was what was the best for the colonies - what was best for everyone. Now he was so ashamed of his participation that he had to hide like a coward behind a mask, too scared to reveal his true identity to those in the organisation or even to himself. It wasn’t Milliard who was responsible for the attacks, for the deaths. No, it was the cold, calculated Zechs. But self denial only seemed to work in the daylight hours - at least for him anyway. With dusk brought the loneliness, the pain, but worst of all, the truth. HE was responsible for everything that was going on, it was HIS fault that innocent people were dying in a war they didn’t understand nor want.
Blood. And always on his hands.
"I know your hands are interesting Milliard, but surely you have more entertaining things to do with your evenings than to stare at them all night"
Snapped out of his trance, Milliard spun around to face the intruder into his peace, a calm and blank expression settled on his face.
"Lucrezia" He stated, tilting his head at her, his voice emotionless.
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"
Ignoring the harshness of his words Lucrezia smiled gently in response.
"I knocked, but no-one answered. I was just making sure you were ok"
"Of course I’m ok, why wouldn’t I be?" he scoffed in reply, rolling his eyes slightly. Lucrezia in turn simply raised an eyebrow elegantly.
"I’m fine" he stressed before turning his back on her.
"Fine as I can hope to be" He added softly, trying to ignore the sob that was trying to work its way up his throat. He HAD to be fine - there was no other option.
He stiffened slightly, before relaxing as Lucrezia gently wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"We are all sick of the war Milliard" she gently spoke.
"Even Treize would end the war tomorrow if he could"
Turning so he was facing Lucrezia he gazed into her eyes, searching for any form of relief from his inner torment.
"If we hate it so much, then why do we persist?" he questioned, his eyes begging for an answer.
"Because it is what we believe in" She replied, neutrality in her voice.
"But is it?" He pushed, desperation seeping into his voice.
"Do we want colonies who are ruled by fear, by hate? Is all this destruction, all this DEATH worth it?!"
Lucrezia meet his slightly wild eyes with ones that reflected the sorrow and torment that was hidden so deep within his soul. But mixed with all the pained expressions caused by the war was a gentleness and a spark of hope that the war had yet to rob her of, and it was these expressions, along with a deeper and unreadable one that were prominent as she gently lifted a hand and placed it softly over his heart.
"Only you can decide that Milliard" She said quietly.
"Look inside your heart - it will provide you with the answers you so desperately pursue"
Smiling down softly at the smaller woman, he placed his own hands over her one on his chest, dwarfing it.
"You always know what to say to me don’t you Lucrezia?" He said huskily.
"My heart seems confused at the moment, it can see the valid points of both sides of the war. However it IS sure about one thing"
"Oh?" Lucrezia replied, breathless at the emotions that were beginning to show in his eyes.
"Mmhmm" He simply replied, reaching out and tilting her chin up gently, before lightly brushing his lips against hers, then regaining her mouth in a deeper and more passionate kiss. Gasping slightly as they pulled apart Lucrezia grinned up at him.
"You should listen to your heart more often" she teased, before gently capturing his hands and kissing their knuckles.
"The war is not your fault" She stated quietly, serious suddenly.
"The blood you seem to believe is on your hands? It is no different to that on my own" Milliard stared down at her, shock and disbelief written clearly on his face.
"Those deaths are not your fault Lucrezia! You were only following orders, doing what you felt at the time was right ...." His voice started to drift off as what he was saying began to sink in. He turned his wide eyes down onto Lucrezia face.
"It’s ... not .... our ... fault ..." Lucrezia smiled in reasurance, wrapped her arms tightly around him as then, and only then, did the tears finally start to fall.
fini!
