It was one of those bizzarre dreams in which the dreamer was well aware of being dreaming.

Zechs sat up on the psychiatrist’s couch and looked, blinking, at what should have been the psychiatrist.

It was Howard.  Sunglasses, Hawaiian shirt, sandals and all.

“Hey, Milliardo, man.  Long time no see,” he greeted in his laidback manner, slouching in his chair.

“Zechs, Howard.  You know me as Zechs.”  It was a dream, right, so he was allowed to be illogical and less than polite, wasn’t he?

“Don’t get touchy, man,” Howard chided.  “They’re both you, right?”

“Right…”

“You told me once that Zechs Merquise was dead,” Howard ventured.

“I’ve said a lot of stupid things,” Zechs retorted.

Howard laughed his rasping laugh.  “Haven’t we all?”

Zechs wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.  He was pretty sure nothing Howard had said could touch “to eliminate wars, we must eliminate earthlings…”

“So… how’s that nice little Noin chick?” Howard interrupted that train of thought, trying to make conversation.

“She’s fine,” Zechs answered.

“Marry her yet?”

Zechs blinked.

“You know she won’t wait forever.”

He blinked again.

“Fine, so she will, but that doesn’t mean you should make her.”

“Howard…”

“All right, we’ll change the subject…again,” Howard conceded.

Zechs laid his head back against the couch for a moment.  When he looked up, Howard was gone.

“Hello, Zechs, my friend,” Treize greeted politely.  “Or perhaps you’d prefer ‘Prince Milliardo’?”

Zechs’eyes narrowed.  “You’re as terrible at staying dead as I am,” he accused.

“That’s a warm greeting,” Treize commented mildly.  “And, not quite.”

“Not quite what?”

“As bad at staying dead as you are.  After all, you’re fast asleep, flesh and blood, and I’m only a figment of your imagination.  Freud would have a field day.”

“I think I preferred Howard,” Zechs retorted sourly.

“There’s no need to be unkind, Ze-“ Treize interupted himself.  “You never told me what you wanted to be called,” he pointed out.  “Do you prefer the blood-stained hero or the vengeful prince?”

When he was a child, Zechs Merquise was the boy how entered the military academy, to keep the name Peacecraft clean.  He knew that it didn’t actually change anything.  He was the same person – Milliardo had still betrayed the ideals of the father he worshipped.  But the name Peacecraft wouldn't be heard in connection with the Earth Sphere Alliance that had destroyed the Sanq Kingdom.  When he left Oz, he still had the name Milliardo Peacecraft – one unmarked by scandal and dubious fame – to fall back on.  And after White Fang… after Libra… Zechs was the comparatively unblemished name.  Zechs was the name that didn’t make people avert their eyes so he couldn’t see their fear.  Names, after all, are for the convenience of others, and his identity wasn’t tied up in either of them.

“Call me whatever you like,” Zechs told him, looking up to meet Treize’s eyes.

But Treize had gone.  Zechs was sorry – firstly that he hadn’t been kinder to his friend while he was there, and secondly, because of who had replaced him…

“Mr. Milliardo,” Dorothy gushed,  “as magnificent as ever.”  Her pale violet eyes swept over his form sprawled on the couch.

“Dorothy,” he said dryly, somewhere between a greeting and a statement of fact, rubbing his temples.

“I must say I am disappointed in you.  You had such a beautiful, moving death.  It’s a pity you couldn’t do the thing properly.”

“Properly?” Zechs asked incredulously.

“Suicide wouldn’t do at all… I suppose I could kill you… Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

Zechs sat up straighter, alarmed.  “What?!”

“How lovely and tragic!  Now you will take it well, won’t you?” she asked, pulling out a fencing foil.  “Don’t fight too much, or you won’t look as beautiful in your coffin as you do now.  Miss Relena and I will mourn for you!  Now hold still Mr. Milliardo!”

Dorothy lunged, and Zechs dodged, diving off of the couch.

“It’s a dream,” he assured himself, heart racing as he lay facedown on the floor.  “When I look up, she’ll be gone…”

He looked up.  The psychiatrist’s office had gone back to being Relena’s darkened living room, where he was laying in a tangle of sheets on the floor beside the couch.

After the incident with his heart, he wasn’t supposed to be driving.  So to facilitate transportation, he was staying with Relena.

As he was extricating himself from the sheet, he saw the light click on in the hallway and heard soft footsteps.

“I heard a thud,” Relena whispered, poking her head into the living room.

He tried to laugh.  “I must’ve rolled off the couch.”  The girl had good ears, not to mention being a light sleeper.

“Are you okay?” she asked, coming the rest of the way into the room.

“Fine.”

“Is the couch too small, or… you know you can have my room.  It wouldn’t take five minutes to get clean sheets, and…”

“It’s fine Relena.  There’s nothing wrong with the couch.  I just had some bizarre dream.”

Her expression grew stricken.  “Another…”

“No. Not… like the others.”  He laughed.  “Dorothy was trying to stab me, and I dodged a little too well.”

Relena made a face.  “Most people would categorize that as a nightmare,” she stated.

“I wouldn’t.”   Oh God… it was bad enough that he had to dream them… did he have to remember then when he was awake, and see them so vividly again?  His own little childish hands of thirteen, perhaps fourteen years ago, on the armrests of Libra’s command chair, booted feet dangling far from the floor as he watched the heavy gray cloud spread over Earth’s blue-green face…

That one wasn’t as bad as the other that began so mundanely – as a memory of when he was an OZ officer.  His shift was over, and he was tired.  He’d returned to his quarters, and was about to pull off his mask to wash his face...

And it wouldn’t budge.  He suppressed his panic instinct for as long as he could, but soon he was tearing at it, his fingers soon stained as crimson as his uniform by his vain efforts, and the silver slippery with blood.

It was his, wasn’t it?  Who else’s could it be?  He couldn’t even put a name to all the people whose blood he’d spilled…

“Milliardo, I’m worried about you,” Relena said, her voice soft and earnest, cutting through his rather morbid musings before he got a chance to dwell on the worst of the dreams.

“Dear little Relena…”

“Not so little anymore,” she pointed out, sitting down on the floor beside him.

“No,” Zechs concurred, smiling affectionately.

“I haven’t seen that much of you since you’ve been here,” she stated, looking away.  “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, but…”

He knew what the “but…” was.  He’d been spending most of the time out of the conference with Noin.

“It’s not like you two don’t usually see each other every day,” Relena continued quietly.

“Nor is it as if you don’t usually see Heero every day,” he pointed out.

Relena blushed.  “So we’re even.”

“I am sorry if I’ve been ignoring you, though…”

She shook her head.  “You haven’t.  I have been busy. By the way… when do I get to plan a wedding?” she asked, grinning.

“Relena,” he admonished.

“Well, it’s a valid question,” she said defensively.

“You tell me then.  When are you getting married?” he retorted sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”  She heaved a theatrical sigh, a mischievous glint in her eye.  “A princess of Peacecraft couldn’t get away with shacking up with an Imperial Guard…”

“Relena!” Zechs said, sounding shocked, but keeping his voice down, so as not to wake the Imperial Guard in question.  “You know very well that I… that we…”

Relena giggled.

“Noin and I are not living together,” he stated seriously, trying very hard to ignore how red his face was getting.

“You’re fun to tease,” she laughed, shaking her head.

He made a face at her.  “I think that Maxwell boy is a bad influence on you.”