034 B
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Death
Characters: Dorothy, Treize, Zechs, Noin.
Note: Chapter Six. Sorry for the late update, RL was a real pain this past week.
Summary: They were born into a world of soldiers and politicians, aristocrats and royalty. A world where there are two sides to every story, two faces to every person. Their childhood was stolen from them the moment they learned to reason, the moment they learned the benefit of a lie.
Chapter: Six: Treason
Chapter Summary: In which Noin aims at Zechs, Zechs listens, Treize is out of line, and Dorothy escapes lessons.
--
“I hate Instructor Halice,” Noin growls. Zechs looks up as she storms across the field and collapses next to him on the boulder. “Thirty laps,” she continues. She hurls a stone into the lake.
“You nearly took his head off throwing that knife,” he reminds her. Her glare focuses on him.
“Because you ducked.” He chuckles and she shoves him irritably. He continues to laugh from his position on the ground by her feet. “Did you start on mathematics yet?”
“I finished the first twenty problems but...” he trails off, looking at her. She smirks knowingly. “You are better at math.”
“I know.” She’s still smiling as she pulls out her notebook. “Zechs, can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” he replies. She nudges him with her foot and he smiles. “Yeah, okay, what?” He slides back onto the boulder, flipping through the workbook.
“How do you know Treize?” He stiffens beside her and she looks at him. “It’s just...what with Specials and all. I was just curious if that’s how you knew him.”
“No,” he answers slowly. “I met Treize a long time ago. When Specials was just an idle thought.” He finds the right page and frowns at the problem. “Any more questions?”
She hesitates again before looking back at her notebook. “Have you told your parents about Specials?”
“No.” He still doesn’t look at her and she sighs.
“Just one more?”
“Why not?” he mutters. She ignores his tone and presses her shoulder into his. “What is it?”
“Are you ever going to tell me more about yourself?”
He doesn’t answer and she frowns, wondering if he’s avoiding her question. Finally he takes a deep breath and turns to face her. His forehead is wrinkled and she knows he’s studying her. She tries to look unconcerned. He smiles faintly and shrugs.
“I...think I might,” he says finally. She rolls her eyes and he nudges her back. “Can we focus on math now?”
She looks ready to protest. He half expects her to if he’s honest. She sighs though and chews her eraser. “Fine,” she mumbles. “But I will learn more about you,” she warns. “Now, look, this is easy. All that’s needed is the square root multiplied then divided by the cubed root...”
He nods along, like he’s absorbing everything. But he watches her carefully, studying her face and listening to her words. By the time she’s done explaining he’s almost convinced himself that he might be able to confide in her someday. Maybe when he’s avenged his family, he thinks. She pokes his ribs with her elbow.
“Are you listening to me?” she demands irritably.
“Of course Noin, I always listen,” he answers. She grins in response.
--
The door bangs open roughly and her head snaps up in surprise. Monsieur Dupont’s head raises as well, his eyes extra-wide behind his glasses. She recognizes the footsteps as they stride from the door toward the front of the room. She recognizes the look of fright Monsieur is trying to hide. She suppresses a smile and raises the book slightly to cover the lower half of her face.
“My Lord!” Monsieur Dupont exclaims. He stands so hastily that his chair almost tips over. His thick fingers try to discreetly tug away the wrinkles in his shirt. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“You will have to excuse me Monsieur,” Duke Dermail barks roughly. Dorothy raises her eyes as her grandfather turns to look at her. “I have an important lesson to teach my granddaughter.” Monsieur Dupont looks ready to protest but bites his tongue just in time. Her grandfather’s eyes narrow around the corners and she shivers in anticipation. “I am sure your lessons are valuable, but there is only so much one can learn from a book.”
He turns on his heel, striding from the room. “Dorothy!” he calls at the door. She flashes a cold smile to her teacher before leaping nimbly to her feet and chasing after her grandfather. She slows to a walk once she catches up to him, making sure her shoulders are squared, her chin parallel to the marble floor beneath her feet.
“Where are we going Grandfather?” she questions finally. They exit the large front doors and stand on the front steps until the driver opens the door to the black car.
“After you, Dorothy.” Her grandfather still does not look at her and she frowns. She slides into the car carefully, smoothing her skirt nervously as he gets in next to her. She wishes the slamming of the car door didn’t sound half as ominous as it does. The car starts to move and she snaps her seatbelt in place. “Ah…Dorothy.”
Duke Dermail reaches for the liquor cabinet built into the car. She watches as he pulls out the bottle of cognac and a small glass. Her nose wrinkles as he pours the liquid into the tumbler before replacing it in the hidden compartment. He doesn’t say anything else for awhile, simply stares straight ahead and swirls the liquor around.
“Grandfather?” she questions softly. His eyes return to her and there’s a small smile at the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes though. “What is it?” She forces the tremble from her voice. “Has somebody else died?”
He chuckles at that, patting her head lightly. “No, no Dear. No one else has died.” He frowns though and she doesn’t believe him. “It is time you learned one of life’s lessons though.”
She frowns, not understanding. “Where are we going Grandfather?” she repeats.
“It seems that we have a traitor in our midst Dorothy. We are on our way to view his execution at the military base in Marseille.”
“Marseille?” she demands in surprise. Her eyes stare at him and he smiles fondly at her.
“That’s my girl,” he replies. “Not at all worried about witnessing an execution but about the time it’ll take you away from your studies.” She opens her mouth to respond, to explain that it’s really just that Marseille is so far from home and she hasn’t packed anything. “Don’t worry Dorothy,” he soothes. “We’ll just take a private jet there and back after this unpleasant business has passed. You’ll be home in plenty of time for supper.”
He pats her head again and she can’t help but feel a bit like a well behaved dog. She resists the urge to growl and instead turns her attention to the scenery passing by. She frowns at her reflection until the fear is erased from her eyes and her lip stops quivering. Her grandfather obviously thinks her mature enough to handle this; she doesn’t want to disappoint him.
--
“An unfortunate occurrence,” General Cavanaugh comments idly. He shifts slightly, watching as two orderlies lift the body of the traitor onto the waiting gurney. “It’s a shame, he had real potential.”
“Don’t they all?” Treize questions. Cavanaugh nods in assent. There’s a commotion from the observation deck across from them and Treize frowns. Cavanaugh turns to look as well. A young man in military dress is hurrying toward them looking anxious.
“You, soldier!” Cavanaugh exclaims. The young man stops, nearly tripping on his boots. Treize represses a smile; he knows the General can look intimidating. Cavanaugh stands to his full height, glowering down at the soldier, his red hair as wild and untamable as usual. “Where are you running off to?”
“Sir!” the soldier salutes. “I’ve been sent to fetch a doctor. A girl collapsed during the execution.”
“A girl?” Cavanaugh demands. “What’s a child doing at proceedings such as these?”
“I don’t know Sir. Duke Dermail brought her.” He shifts. “Excuse me.” He hurries off without waiting to be dismissed.
“What was Dermail thinking, bringing a child here?” Cavanaugh growls. He pushes through the crowd and Treize follows behind him. There’s a ring of soldiers and officers all murmuring. Dermail is standing on the side.
“Where the Hell is the doctor?” he barks.
“Dorothy!” Treize yells. He shoves through the crowd. “Let me through, that’s my cousin.”
“Treize.” His arm is seized roughly and he’s jerked back. He glowers as Dermail pulls him close. A doctor appears suddenly, kneeling next to her and feeling for a pulse. “Give her space Treize.”
“What is she doing here?” he demands. There are murmurs behind him and the lieutenant to his left coughs into her gloved hand. “What is she doing here?”
“She’ll be fine with some rest. We need a gurney here and some oxygen!” the doctor calls out impatiently.
“Thank you Doctor,” Duke Dermail murmurs. “I trust my granddaughter to you. Treize, come.” He drags his grandson from the observation deck and into one of the offices. “You,” he growls. “You have no say in this Boy. I am simply educating Dorothy to the best of my ability. Dorothy will be an asset, unlike you. Your mother let you go soft, a pity.”
“She’s eight,” Treize emphasizes. “She doesn’t need to see an execution, she saw her mother die!”
“You are out of line Treize,” Dermail yells. He stands up straighter, glowers down at his grandson. “I am going to the hospital with Dorothy. You are going back to Corsica.” He narrows his eyes dangerously. “You are dismissed.”
Treize bites his tongue as his grandfather shoves past him out the door. He closes his eyes and counts to ten and remembers what his mother said over the summer. Then he lets his face turn neutral before exiting the room. He reminds himself that in order to get his plan to work his grandfather must not suspect anything.
He doesn’t think that will be hard to accomplish.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Death
Characters: Dorothy, Treize, Zechs, Noin.
Note: Chapter Six. Sorry for the late update, RL was a real pain this past week.
Summary: They were born into a world of soldiers and politicians, aristocrats and royalty. A world where there are two sides to every story, two faces to every person. Their childhood was stolen from them the moment they learned to reason, the moment they learned the benefit of a lie.
Chapter: Six: Treason
Chapter Summary: In which Noin aims at Zechs, Zechs listens, Treize is out of line, and Dorothy escapes lessons.
--
“I hate Instructor Halice,” Noin growls. Zechs looks up as she storms across the field and collapses next to him on the boulder. “Thirty laps,” she continues. She hurls a stone into the lake.
“You nearly took his head off throwing that knife,” he reminds her. Her glare focuses on him.
“Because you ducked.” He chuckles and she shoves him irritably. He continues to laugh from his position on the ground by her feet. “Did you start on mathematics yet?”
“I finished the first twenty problems but...” he trails off, looking at her. She smirks knowingly. “You are better at math.”
“I know.” She’s still smiling as she pulls out her notebook. “Zechs, can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” he replies. She nudges him with her foot and he smiles. “Yeah, okay, what?” He slides back onto the boulder, flipping through the workbook.
“How do you know Treize?” He stiffens beside her and she looks at him. “It’s just...what with Specials and all. I was just curious if that’s how you knew him.”
“No,” he answers slowly. “I met Treize a long time ago. When Specials was just an idle thought.” He finds the right page and frowns at the problem. “Any more questions?”
She hesitates again before looking back at her notebook. “Have you told your parents about Specials?”
“No.” He still doesn’t look at her and she sighs.
“Just one more?”
“Why not?” he mutters. She ignores his tone and presses her shoulder into his. “What is it?”
“Are you ever going to tell me more about yourself?”
He doesn’t answer and she frowns, wondering if he’s avoiding her question. Finally he takes a deep breath and turns to face her. His forehead is wrinkled and she knows he’s studying her. She tries to look unconcerned. He smiles faintly and shrugs.
“I...think I might,” he says finally. She rolls her eyes and he nudges her back. “Can we focus on math now?”
She looks ready to protest. He half expects her to if he’s honest. She sighs though and chews her eraser. “Fine,” she mumbles. “But I will learn more about you,” she warns. “Now, look, this is easy. All that’s needed is the square root multiplied then divided by the cubed root...”
He nods along, like he’s absorbing everything. But he watches her carefully, studying her face and listening to her words. By the time she’s done explaining he’s almost convinced himself that he might be able to confide in her someday. Maybe when he’s avenged his family, he thinks. She pokes his ribs with her elbow.
“Are you listening to me?” she demands irritably.
“Of course Noin, I always listen,” he answers. She grins in response.
--
The door bangs open roughly and her head snaps up in surprise. Monsieur Dupont’s head raises as well, his eyes extra-wide behind his glasses. She recognizes the footsteps as they stride from the door toward the front of the room. She recognizes the look of fright Monsieur is trying to hide. She suppresses a smile and raises the book slightly to cover the lower half of her face.
“My Lord!” Monsieur Dupont exclaims. He stands so hastily that his chair almost tips over. His thick fingers try to discreetly tug away the wrinkles in his shirt. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“You will have to excuse me Monsieur,” Duke Dermail barks roughly. Dorothy raises her eyes as her grandfather turns to look at her. “I have an important lesson to teach my granddaughter.” Monsieur Dupont looks ready to protest but bites his tongue just in time. Her grandfather’s eyes narrow around the corners and she shivers in anticipation. “I am sure your lessons are valuable, but there is only so much one can learn from a book.”
He turns on his heel, striding from the room. “Dorothy!” he calls at the door. She flashes a cold smile to her teacher before leaping nimbly to her feet and chasing after her grandfather. She slows to a walk once she catches up to him, making sure her shoulders are squared, her chin parallel to the marble floor beneath her feet.
“Where are we going Grandfather?” she questions finally. They exit the large front doors and stand on the front steps until the driver opens the door to the black car.
“After you, Dorothy.” Her grandfather still does not look at her and she frowns. She slides into the car carefully, smoothing her skirt nervously as he gets in next to her. She wishes the slamming of the car door didn’t sound half as ominous as it does. The car starts to move and she snaps her seatbelt in place. “Ah…Dorothy.”
Duke Dermail reaches for the liquor cabinet built into the car. She watches as he pulls out the bottle of cognac and a small glass. Her nose wrinkles as he pours the liquid into the tumbler before replacing it in the hidden compartment. He doesn’t say anything else for awhile, simply stares straight ahead and swirls the liquor around.
“Grandfather?” she questions softly. His eyes return to her and there’s a small smile at the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes though. “What is it?” She forces the tremble from her voice. “Has somebody else died?”
He chuckles at that, patting her head lightly. “No, no Dear. No one else has died.” He frowns though and she doesn’t believe him. “It is time you learned one of life’s lessons though.”
She frowns, not understanding. “Where are we going Grandfather?” she repeats.
“It seems that we have a traitor in our midst Dorothy. We are on our way to view his execution at the military base in Marseille.”
“Marseille?” she demands in surprise. Her eyes stare at him and he smiles fondly at her.
“That’s my girl,” he replies. “Not at all worried about witnessing an execution but about the time it’ll take you away from your studies.” She opens her mouth to respond, to explain that it’s really just that Marseille is so far from home and she hasn’t packed anything. “Don’t worry Dorothy,” he soothes. “We’ll just take a private jet there and back after this unpleasant business has passed. You’ll be home in plenty of time for supper.”
He pats her head again and she can’t help but feel a bit like a well behaved dog. She resists the urge to growl and instead turns her attention to the scenery passing by. She frowns at her reflection until the fear is erased from her eyes and her lip stops quivering. Her grandfather obviously thinks her mature enough to handle this; she doesn’t want to disappoint him.
--
“An unfortunate occurrence,” General Cavanaugh comments idly. He shifts slightly, watching as two orderlies lift the body of the traitor onto the waiting gurney. “It’s a shame, he had real potential.”
“Don’t they all?” Treize questions. Cavanaugh nods in assent. There’s a commotion from the observation deck across from them and Treize frowns. Cavanaugh turns to look as well. A young man in military dress is hurrying toward them looking anxious.
“You, soldier!” Cavanaugh exclaims. The young man stops, nearly tripping on his boots. Treize represses a smile; he knows the General can look intimidating. Cavanaugh stands to his full height, glowering down at the soldier, his red hair as wild and untamable as usual. “Where are you running off to?”
“Sir!” the soldier salutes. “I’ve been sent to fetch a doctor. A girl collapsed during the execution.”
“A girl?” Cavanaugh demands. “What’s a child doing at proceedings such as these?”
“I don’t know Sir. Duke Dermail brought her.” He shifts. “Excuse me.” He hurries off without waiting to be dismissed.
“What was Dermail thinking, bringing a child here?” Cavanaugh growls. He pushes through the crowd and Treize follows behind him. There’s a ring of soldiers and officers all murmuring. Dermail is standing on the side.
“Where the Hell is the doctor?” he barks.
“Dorothy!” Treize yells. He shoves through the crowd. “Let me through, that’s my cousin.”
“Treize.” His arm is seized roughly and he’s jerked back. He glowers as Dermail pulls him close. A doctor appears suddenly, kneeling next to her and feeling for a pulse. “Give her space Treize.”
“What is she doing here?” he demands. There are murmurs behind him and the lieutenant to his left coughs into her gloved hand. “What is she doing here?”
“She’ll be fine with some rest. We need a gurney here and some oxygen!” the doctor calls out impatiently.
“Thank you Doctor,” Duke Dermail murmurs. “I trust my granddaughter to you. Treize, come.” He drags his grandson from the observation deck and into one of the offices. “You,” he growls. “You have no say in this Boy. I am simply educating Dorothy to the best of my ability. Dorothy will be an asset, unlike you. Your mother let you go soft, a pity.”
“She’s eight,” Treize emphasizes. “She doesn’t need to see an execution, she saw her mother die!”
“You are out of line Treize,” Dermail yells. He stands up straighter, glowers down at his grandson. “I am going to the hospital with Dorothy. You are going back to Corsica.” He narrows his eyes dangerously. “You are dismissed.”
Treize bites his tongue as his grandfather shoves past him out the door. He closes his eyes and counts to ten and remembers what his mother said over the summer. Then he lets his face turn neutral before exiting the room. He reminds himself that in order to get his plan to work his grandfather must not suspect anything.
He doesn’t think that will be hard to accomplish.