Divide by Zero
It was funny in a way, how quickly everything had fallen away from him. It was too soon. He had hardly begun again, but now it was already over, and there was nothing more for him to do.
The sky behind him was gold and orange, like fire, like the fall. The sun cast long shadows before him, the silhouettes of the steel girders and his own lanky form. The breeze was only slight, and the world didn't seem like it was really there. If he listened carefully, he would be able to hear the quiet murmuring and the footsteps of construction workers as they abandoned the site for the night. There were cars in the distance, late-comers of the evening rush. Further away, there was the soft roar of aircraft and the whistles of workers directing military convoys and trucks. The world was there; the truth was actually that he was just trying to pretend it wasn't.
It surprised him just how long he had been able to delude himself into thinking that he was doing the right thing, that everything he had done was justifiable, and that this would change the world. In retrospect, it seemed so easy to think otherwise. Or maybe it was just that slowly, bit by bit, he had become exactly what he had always loathed but had been too blinded by his own self-righteousness to see any of it. Irony left a bitter taste in his mouth. He swallowed, but it didn't go away.
He had sacrificed everything for nothing at all. He had sold his soul to the devil, and he had stolen others' as well. There were a million people that believed in him, and every one of them was a misguided fool, as he probably was. Zero was for Nunnally's sake, but Nunnally had never needed him, had never even wanted him. In the end, it was he that had discriminated against the weak more than anyone else. It had been his belief that they needed saving because they were helpless on their own. And Britannia? Britannia had to know that the weak were actually strong, or else she would not have tried so hard to oppress them. He swallowed again, but the taste was still there.
Nunnally was both safe and happy. Without him. Without him, she was walking in her dead sister's (who had been the one to kill her?) footsteps with her sister's ideals that he had called naive (would he kill her as well?). Without him, she was stronger than she had ever been, and she was working towards her own better world (and it's so different from his own). How could he not have known that before? Or if he had known, why had he so blatantly ignored it? How could he have thought that Nunnally would be happy in a world he had built on the bodies of their dead siblings? Euphemia had only wanted peace. Cornelia would have followed her. And it was easy to believe now that maybe he had been wrong about Clovis all along. His brother had begged him not to kill him. He had begged and pleaded and he had pulled the trigger anyway.
The shadows before him lengthened as the sun continued its descent on the horizon. The wind was picking up, and the noises in the background were growing louder. People going about their lives. Britannians that he was so content on ignoring the needs of because it was so easy to lump them in with those he despised. He had been willing to sacrifice everything, but who was he to decide who could be sacrificed anyway? Shirley's father had probably been a good man whose only crime, being loyal to his country, wasn't really a crime at all. He had no right to use anyone, to judge anyone. It seemed so obvious now. Suzaku had been right all along.
He had been holding the small gun for several long minutes now, and the handle was warm and moist in his hand. The steel nozzle was cool against his skin though, and the liquid certainly just as potent. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew. There weren't even that many memories in the past he wanted to hold on to. After all, he had been dead from the day he had been born to the day he had sold his soul, and selling his soul hadn't exactly been a ticket to life. Thinking about those days, his mind was tainted with all the things he knew now. The siblings he had played with were dead (because he had killed them). Suzaku was not his friend (because they had betrayed each other). Nunnally did not need him (and she never really had).
It would make more sense for him to be holding a real gun. This world did not need him anymore. Zero had been for Nunnally's sake, and Lelouch had not really existed before Zero. Neither had had any other purpose beyond what had already failed. Who would miss him when he was gone?
He had always been a coward who had fought so hard to live. Maybe if he thought long and hard enough, he would realize that Nunnally had just been an excuse for his own self-serving actions. Maybe if he sat there long enough, he would realize all the ways he had been a despicable person. It was funny that all the reasons he had had for not dying had become the very reasons for why he deserved to die now. Besides, if he were dead, his father would have no bait with which to lure out C.C. It would be his one final act against everything he had ever fought against.
He swallowed again, trying to wash away the dry bitterness in the back of his mouth. Zero could already be considered dead -- when exactly the rest of the world realized that didn't matter. Lelouch vi Britannia had always been dead, and most of the world "knew" that to be true. But Lelouch Lamperouge did not have a gun on him today, having ventured out with no intent on protecting himself from any harm; once again, the irony was just too much. The cold metal nozzle against his arm would only be temporary relief, if even that. When the narcotics faded and when his body purged away the poisons, the world would still be there. That was okay though. He had always had high standards for himself and for others, but for this, for today, if he could forget for even a little while, then that was good enough.