Where the Road Ends
Disclaimer: I don't anything, neither Code Geass nor James Bond.
Warning(s): dark themes, AU, an amalgamation of several verses, a certain quality of 'half-original'. Other warnings would include: implied rape, implied child abuse, and mentions of a character death.
Dedication: For Aki1 - who's been lovely in many ways I could never recount, and who makes me believe that my writing does hold some candle's worth.
***
It's supposed to be like any other mission. In fact, as Schneizel gives Suzaku the file, their hands not even brushing, he thinks it's the sort of mission that he'd gladly have more of: just a bit of tracking down, catching the culprit and then handing him over to the Crown.
Easy enough. A Christmas gift for one of his best agents.
"I expect you to give me daily reports on your progress - I'll be in New York as well," Schneizel says as Suzaku has already taken the file, accepted all the details of the mission, and looks ready to leave. His thumbs run against the file, fingertips lightly tapping.
His eyes don't meet Schneizel's.
Schneizel sighs. "It can be just every two days. Or -" he says, lips curving to a bitter smile, "in the case of an emergency."
Suzaku looks up then, nods, and flashes him a polite smile. "I'll be sure to report."
But Schneizel just chuckles, remembering all the troubles he had with his agent in the past. "Don't promise: I know you won't. Just don't get yourself killed."
A clock ticks in the background, and then there's the sound of a phone beeping, but Schneizel ignores it, just watches Suzaku carefully, "Any questions, 007?"
Suzaku shakes his head, and fully turns towards the door. "No, no questions, M. Everything is clear."
With that, he just murmurs a barely audible 'goodbye' before walking towards the door. Schneizel hears the turning of the knob and chuckles.
"No holiday wishes, Suzaku? How cold."
Suzaku pauses, his hand still remaining on the knob. "I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, M."
He turns the knob then, opens the door and then, once he's out of sight, clicks it shut.
Shaking his head, Schneizel just swivels the chair back into the direction and switches the screen of his computer back on.
He won't dwell on the fact that Suzaku didn't say his name. It doesn't matter anymore.
There is something splendid about spending Christmas on his own in New York City.
Snow falls down on the window pane, the frost of winter fogs up the glass, and Schneizel nearly believes he can hear the soft thud of a flake as it hits the cement ground below.
It sounds a bit like rain, though not as soft, and lacking the drip-drip-drip. Not that it matters; blood pooling out a wound sounds the same.
Schneizel sighs, and rubs his eyes. The fire in the hearth burns, the sound of the ember sparking breaking through the silence, and Schneizel closes his eyes, feeling relaxed and at peace.
Hectic and bustling with energy as New York usually is, something magical takes over the city at Christmas time: maybe it's the lights and decorations making even the dullest corner come to life, or the big Christmas trees - not only the one at Rockefeller Centre - but in all the other unseen corners.
Schneizel loves it, loves New York even if he's cooped up in his private mansion, and his agent - his best and most precious one - is currently tracking down one of the most dangerous assassins in the world.
"He's probably enjoying the exercise," Schneizel mutters to himself, imaging how Suzaku wouldn't mind the frost and cold, but just keep on running. Determination and stubbornness were skills he already possessed before training, and Schneizel smiles again, pride welling in his chest.
But he doesn't dwell on it, instead getting up to turn over some of the wood in the hearth.
Euphy texts him an hour later.
It's a shame you're not here, brother. Gilbert has made us some eggnog, and Cornelia is already tipsy - she's singing :D
Schneizel chuckles, looking at the phone display with clear affection shining in his eyes. He can imagine her voice, the girlish glee behind it, even though she's left behind first loves and innocent whispers in pink bedrooms behind her forever. And yet, when he receives texts like these, he still finds it hard to believe that she's already married and has given birth to her first child a few months ago - making him an uncle and even godfather, although he failed to appear at the hospital on that day.
He doesn't text her back even now, though.
Even if it makes him a Scrooge, Schneizel doesn't feel like wasting this quiet day on pointless and nonsensical text messages circling around Christmas ballads, promises he'll break anyway, and the guilt he can't wash away - just like the blood on his hands, forever staining his hands red with the sin of murder and the scars on his chest, evermore there to remind him of what he once was.
His sin and his past are things that have no place in a happy family gathering, where every song reminds him of what he once had and can never regain.
Schneizel places the phone back on the table, knocking back another shot of scotch. It burns in his throat, but he likes it - it's the only thing that warms him up, these days.
At some point, Schneizel dozes off, his head falling back against the soft pillow, and he dreams. Dreams of soft sighs, and warm hands running down his back while he whispers promises: promises he knows he'll never keep, but still wants to utter.
Maybe because, as the saying goes, things that you've said can never be taken back.
(Don't leave me, Suzaku whispered into his ear, holding him tightly, and Schneizel kissed his neck, and said, yes, yes, I won't' -).
Schneizel wakes up with a start, sweat breaking down his neck, and he sits up, groaning at the crick he feels there, trying to tell himself it's not the pain in his chest.
He also tries not to dwell on how it soothes him that spoken words are maybe better than promises because, as they can never be taken back, they can't be broken, either.
He hears the doorbell ring and gets up before the sound has even died out.
He knows it can only be one person.
Only one person knows his address.
Schneizel only gave it to one person, ever:
The only person he ever wanted to see.
When he opens the door, Suzaku practically stumbles into his arms, trembling and whispering in broken sentences and a flood of words, incoherent yet terribly coherent at the same time.
But now is not the time to ask him for details, and so Schneizel just lets the door fall shut with a loud thud as he wraps his arms around Suzaku and tells him everything will be alright.
Water trickles down Suzaku's cheeks, and Schneizel isn't sure if it's just melted snowflakes.
Suzaku shivers as Schneizel pulls him closer to the hearth, pushes him down into the chair, and runs a hand through his cheek. "Stay put, I'll get you something warm - tea or coca?"
He pretends not to see the fresh scars on Suzaku's arm.
Suzaku gives him a look, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. "Do I seem like a child to you?"
For a second, Schneizel wants to roll his eyes: this exchange nearly reminds him of a scene in the past, more than decades ago now.
(A little boy, soaked to the skin, giving him an angry glare and trying to look intimidating, but failing because a boy of ten looked more like an angry kitten than a lion when wrapped up in a blanket."I'm not a baby; I don't need coca." He coughed.
Schneizel just sighed. "Here, drink up, brat."
Lelouch drank up, and then smiled. "Will I get my present later?" He coughed again, and trembled some more.
Schneizel smiled. "No you won't; naughty boys don't get Christmas presents."
It was only supposed to be a joke, but sometimes Fate can be cruel and Lelouch, the little boy who wanted to grow up and become a pirate, died just an hour later as the fire in the hearth burnt out.)
The memory rouses something uncomfortable in him, and Schneizel moves his hand away, just sighing. "Fine, I'll get you some vodka."
He doesn't need to think of ghosts of the past.
"You can't go back to London for the next few days," Schneizel says a few minutes after he's taken his place opposite Suzaku's chair.
Suzaku keeps his eyes trained on the window for a few moments. When their eyes meet, Schneizel is struck by how empty and lost the expression in Suzaku's is.
"I know," Suzaku says silently. "Even if he's dead -" he pauses for a second, his hand clenching to a fist, "the other members of the organisation will be looking for me."
Schneizel sighs. "And we don't know where they are, and it's best if you stay low for now, until we find who they are and how we can defeat them."
He wants to add, as well, 'rest until your scars have healed', but he doesn't. Instead, he just leans forwards, and pours more vodka into Suzaku's glass.
Suzaku accepts the gesture wordlessly, and raises the glass to his lips after Schneizel has withdrawn. His sleeve reveals even more fresh scars.
Schneizel decides to get up, and throw more fuel into the fire.
"It's two nights before Christmas Eve," Suzaku whispers after half an hour, his voice distant, but also wistful, musing, "and you've neither got a Christmas tree nor do I see any decorations." He tilts his head to the side, peeking around Schneizel's study, as if he hoped to be proven wrong.
Schneizel sighs. "I don't celebrate Christmas."
"Why?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't believe in any religion, have no desire to spend time with my family right now, and it's a waste of money."
"I see," Suzaku answers, and he looks away, his gaze drifting back to the window. But the look on his eyes that Schneizel caught was that of sadness, and maybe, disappointment.
His stomach churns, and the words are on his lips before he can even process the one idle thought. "Would you like to celebrate it? I can make an exception for you."
Schneizel doesn't know what kind of answer he expected, but it definitely wasn't Suzaku looking at him, and then smiling - maybe not brightly, but still sincerely - before whispering, softly, "I'd love that."
Schneizel doesn't say anything when Suzaku curls up beside him in the bed that night, nor when Suzaku places his head on his shoulder and falls asleep.
From the view that his large balcony windows offer to the outside world, Schneizel can see the snow covering the small patch of land attached to the mansion, and he smiles wistfully, running his hand through Suzaku's soft hair.
A long time ago, Suzaku asked him whether he liked snow. The truth is that he does; he loves snow-covered trees and icicles hanging down from branches in the morning, but he also loves this, the huge tree overlooking his mansion and that patch of land looking bright as snowflakes fall and the street lamp beside the tree makes it all appear like a part of some fairy tale.
Schneizel finds himself dozing off, and, for the first time in years, he doesn't dream of gunfire or memories of the past that leave him feeling empty once he wakes up.
Six hours later, Suzaku is tugging at his wrist, impatience lacing his words."We need to do some Christmas shopping."
Schneizel's eyes snap open, and he blinks. Blearily, he sits up, and looks at Suzaku. No trace of tiredness shows on his face, and, with the morning light shining down on him like this, making his eyes appear brighter, there's something boyish about Suzaku. Something that reminds Schneizel of the street-rat he first set eyes on.
Suzaku smiles. "It's better to do errands in the morning," he says, still tugging at Schneizel's wrist, "less stress."
"Alright, alright," Schneizel replies, running his fingertips against Suzaku's arm. "We'll go - I just need some breakfast and a good cup of tea."
Suzaku lets go of his arm, and chuckles. "I took care of that, but you'll need to get on your feet. I'm not bringing you the food to the bed." He tiptoes around Schneizel, and then brings a pair of red slippers and a nightgown to Schneizel. "Come on, don't be a lazybones."
"Shame. For a second, I nearly thought you'd indulge me."
"Indulge you?" Suzaku says, laughing tentatively, nearly carefully but still laughing, "Me? Never."
And Schneizel would say something back, but he doesn't, merely gets up and wishes he could recapture this moment: Suzaku's laugh is one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard.
He would kiss him, but instead Schneizel decides to prepare himself for the day.
"I like that your mansion has so many windows," Suzaku says conversationally at the breakfast table later, taking a sip from his steaming cup of tea. "It -" he smiles warmly, "makes it appear so bright. I wonder why you're here so rarely, and spend most of your time in dreary, rainy London."
Schneizel chuckles. "London is my home, even if it is a dirty, rainy city."
"So -" Suzaku licks his lips, his eyes directly boring into Schneizel's, "you'd never like to stay here for longer? Like, after you retire?" The expression in his eyes appears to be hopeful, even if the emotion is ever so carefully guarded.
The grandfather clock in the sitting room ticks merrily; the sound of melted ice drops against the window pane. Schneizel sighs.
"I'll never retire."
Suzaku just nods, and Schneizel pretends he doesn't see the disappointment that every fibre of Suzaku's being spells out - not just his eyes, but the way he bites against his under lip, the way he's stiffened and the way he finally gets up, and takes their empty tea cups into the kitchen without saying another word.
Maybe, Schneizel should have lied, maybe he should have reassured him in some shape or form.
But he doesn't.
There's no place for hope and happiness when your life belongs to the Crown.
New York sucks the life out of you, people say, and Schneizel can't help but agree when, after a full hour of Christmas shopping, his legs already hurt, his head throbs, and they're still nowhere done. He wishes this ordeal could end already, and he could go home, sit by the fire and thumb his fingers against the heavy bindings of a good book.
And yet, and yet -
Despite the cold air blasting right into his face and the cold his warm coat doesn't quite protect him from, an inexplicable surge of vitality rushes through him.
But it has nothing to do with the shops, the people or the tall skyscrapers surrounding him. Or the energy in the air.
It has everything to do with that one brief moment when Suzaku pauses in front of a store, and smiles at Schneizel when he points out a singing Santa Claus in the shop window at him.
"The tree is too big - it won't fit into any cab," Schneizel says, eyeing the monster of a Christmas tree with his eyebrows knitted. It'll fit into his mansion, he's sure of it, and Suzaku seems quite convinced of that too, his mind probably already envisioning the decoration and lights it should be dressed with.
He looks excited, and rubs his hands together excitedly. "Hmm, but it would look so good with-"
Schneizel waves his hand. "I said: it's too big."
Suzaku sighs quietly, but then just says, "It's alright: we can do with a smaller one." And he moves away from the tree, ready to look for others.
It would all be fine if he didn't look that let down. Schneizel swears under his breath, and catches Suzaku's gloved hand.
"No wait, I'll just have it delivered some other way."
Even if he tries to hide it, a bright smile makes its way across Suzaku's mouth. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Schneizel says, even if he ends up paying more money for a Christmas tree than he ever should have.
But the trouble turns out to be worth it when Schneizel catches Suzaku smiling at him on the cab ride home.
Schneizel raises an eyebrow. "I really don't have time to cook." Well, it's a lie: he simply doesn't want to. Cooking is dull: all the clanging pots and dealing with ingredients.
"But I can't, and I'm already in charge of the cleaning up and decorations," Suzaku says, frowning as he eyes all the plastic bags and cartons they've brought home. He points at finger at Schneizel. "You should do something as well." He chuckles then. "If it ends up inedible, we'll just improvise - and come on, you're dealing with an agent. I've survived on cookies before."
A sigh escapes Schneizel's lips. "Fine, fine."
He has to keep himself from smirking though.
One thing Suzaku never learnt about him, and couldn't know is that Schneizel is a more than capable cook, but that's fine: Schneizel can't wait for the surprise on Suzaku's face when he learns it.
That night Suzaku crawls into bed with Schneizel as well.
"He had so many knives," Suzaku whispers, his hand drawing circles on Schneizel's chest. "I've never seen someone with such a variety of knives or with such an uncanny ability to know how to use them."
Schneizel doesn't say anything, just waits for Suzaku to either continue or fall silent.
"He called me a doll, said I was so beautiful that he just wanted to carve some words into me," Suzaku says then, softly, and sits up. "Do you want to see what he carved into my skin?"
Schneizel feels disgust churning inside of his stomach, but he nods, and Suzaku sits up, straddling his lap. He turns the lamp on.
Illumination breaks into the room, casting it with a sickly light, but Schneizel doesn't care, merely waits for Suzaku to peel off his shirt, which he does slowly, bit by bit, revealing tanned skin that Schneizel kissed once, touched before -
He decides not to think about it. Those memories belong to the days of the past, and the only thing that matters now is the present.
And, right now, he only has to focus on Suzaku: he's stripped the shirt off, and it lands on the floor. He takes a deep breath, grips Schneizel's hand and directs it to a place right underneath his abdomen. "Here," he whispers, pressing Schneizel's hand against that place, "here."
Schneizel's breath hitches as he touches Suzaku like this. Warm, he thinks, so warm.
(Just as warm as that one night when Suzaku gave himself to him fully, and Schneizel told the greatest of all lies.)
"Look," Suzaku says, and Schneizel stops thinking, removes his hand, and looks. His blood freezes in his veins.
Doll is etched on Suzaku's skin in Mandarin dialect characters, Schneizel instantly recognising the bloody scratchings. Disgust lodges inside of his throat, but he can't help admiring the pure beauty of the design: the perfect symmetry, even if literally carved into Suzaku's soft skin, and still raw, still red. It'll heal eventually, but those scars will forever remain there, forever in the shape of that word..
Suzaku chuckles bitterly. "He disinfected it, but he sure took his time carving it while he fucked me, over and over again."
"I'm sorry," Schneizel whispers, running his hand gently down Suzaku's hip. A series of scars lies scattered there too. He doesn't touch them, but traces his fingertips against places that Bradley spared, his touch just a flutter, barely there.
Suzaku smiles sadly. "Don't be. It was worth it. It was worth letting him desecrate me for the sake of the Crown."
And even if Schneizel would love to agree, he can't because the smile on Suzaku's face looks fragile, as if any further word would tilt it upside down, and his eyes -
Schneizel has never seen such haunted, hollow eyes before.
Sunlight streams into the room as he wakes up next morning. Suzaku lies sprawled out on top of him, his weight comfortable, and Schneizel chuckles. He runs a hand through Suzaku's hair, humming contentedly.
A long time ago, he held Suzaku just like this. Back then, things were easier, his goals more defined, and he didn't feel as conflicted as he does now when he replays the events of last night in his mind.
The scar. All the other little wounds scattered over Suzaku's chest, his arms, his tummy...all the wounds that the mission left behind in Suzaku's mind, heart and soul. Wounds that will heal slowly - if at all; wounds that leave shards behind; shards that an already broken person will need a long time to put back together again.
So yes, Suzaku might have solved the case, but Schneizel isn't sure if victory can be celebrated when it makes his best agent scream at night.
"Mmm." Suzaku shifts closer, the sunlight falling into the room more insistently now: the shadows that danced at night pushed and shoved back into a corner, giving room to the dust motes. Suzaku groans, and hugs Schneizel tighter. "Don't want to get up. Not bloody yet."
Schneizel shakes his head, and he kisses Suzaku on the forehead. Still the same brat.
They settle into a routine after breakfast. Just as Suzaku promised, he takes over the duty of cleaning the house, even if that was, strictly speaking, not necessary.
But Suzaku takes to his duty with earnest determination. To the point that Schneizel raises an eyebrow as he sees 007, usually more renowned for managing to look elegant while fighting, cleaning his window. Not only wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt, but actually with a kerchief wrapped around his forehead to keep strands of hair falling against his forehead.
He chuckles, amused.
"You don't have to take it that seriously. I really don't think it's even worth it. The windows will fog up-"
Suzaku interrupts him, pausing for a moment, pressing the sponge. "Typical of you; you only do things halfway. If you build a house, you don't just construct and paint the walls, but you need to furnish it as well. Otherwise, it'll never be a home."
Schneizel would point out that they sell houses unfurnished, but Suzaku goes back to work.
Good. Schneizel decides it's time to do some last minute grocery shopping, anyway. Before he goes out, it briefly dawns upon him how he's not felt happy like this in years.
Traffic jams are the worst. Especially in the festive season, when everyone wants to rush home.
Drivers toot their horns, the cabbie lets out a swear, and Schneizel bites back a groan of frustration as he looks at his wristwatch.
He might just miss lunch.
Schneizel doesn't pause once to reflect as to why he wants to get back to his mansion so soon. In fact, he merely thinks of returning back home, to Suzaku, wondering if he's fine and not starving of hunger. Wondering if being alone this long makes him think, and remember the mission, Bradley…
Schneizel curses, and leans forward, telling the driver to bloody drive faster.
The mansion is silent when Schneizel opens the door, just as if Suzaku weren't there. As if Schneizel had imagined it all.
Schneizel frowns, scanning his eyes for proof of Suzaku's having been there, and not just been a figment of his memory, another vision of the past he wanted to leave behind but couldn't.
(There was time, after that Christmas Eve, when he pretended that Lelouch had never left, to the point that Schneizel would talk to the rug where his brother had loved to sit on so streamed down his face. "I've won a competition for being the best student in the country, you know? Maybe I'll go to Oxford."Of course, there was no reply, but Schneizel closed his eyes pretend that he could see his little (idiot) brother smiling at him, pride in his eyes.)
A flurry of something drastic, desperate takes over him, and Schneizel - not even taking off his coat - searches the room frantically, his heart sinking when none of the rooms give any hints of Suzaku. At least none that are lasting.
Everything is just spotlessly neat, Schneizel notes. The floors look polished, the windows aren't smudged and the smell of something fresh lingers everywhere.
But Schneizel doesn't care about that. He just wishes and prays that Suzaku isn't just another illusion.
He finally finds Suzaku in the bathtub. Water drips from the tap, into the sink. Panic builds up inside of Schneizel, but Suzaku looks up then, his eyes empty. The skin on his arms is slightly reddened. He tries to smile when he sees Schneizel, but the attempt dies on his lips. He sighs then. "I'm sorry. I've wasted a lot of water, but I'm just so filthy." He chuckles. "So very filthy."
"Suzaku-" Schneizel starts.
"I cleaned the mansion. Now I have to clean myself." Suzaku laughs again, hollowly, and grabs a sponge, scrubbing it against his arm, scrubbing so hard that his skin grows even pinker. "I have to scrub off any mark he left on me."
Schneizel shouldn't care. He's not new to this, having a scene like this before, knowing all of Suzaku's triggers, and yet, when he notices how Suzaku's wounds begin to smart, and how his scrubbing grows more desperate, something inside of him hurts.
"Stop it," Schneizel says, taking the sponge away from Suzaku and throwing it into a corner. "Stop it."
Suzaku shakes his head, trying to stand up. "You - need to let me. It's enough that the old man dirtied me before, but I don't - I don't want to be this filthy." He's too fast, too desperate, and, the moment his wet feet make contact with the floor, he slips. Or would slip if Schneizel didn't catch him in time.
"Don't say such things. You're not," Schneizel whispers, holding Suzaku tightly, "you're not dirty at all."
Suzaku doesn't reply, just breaks down, starting to cry. And Schneizel holds him, not saying anything because he doesn't need to. He doesn't -
"Please," Suzaku says between sobs, "don't leave. Don't leave me."
By the time Schneizel carries Suzaku into the bedroom, dusk has fallen, and the shadows from last night have returned, dancing in the dark. Their dance is ominous, mysterious, and a chill rustles down Schneizel's spine. He can't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd arrived later.
He pushes the thought away though. No time for that. It's time to take care of Suzaku, be there for him.
Schneizel can't say he was always there, after all.
Schneizel presses a kiss against Suzaku's forehead, about to pull away when Suzaku wraps his arms around his neck, and whispers, "Please, don't leave."
He whispers something else, something more dangerous, and Schneizel's lips tighten to a thin line.
"I can't do that. Not right now, not after."
Suzaku shakes his head, vehemently. "No, it's fine: just kiss me. Please-"
Schneizel presses a finger against Suzaku's lips. He shakes his head. "Don't beg. Didn't I tell you, a long time ago, never to beg?"
Before Suzaku can answer, he leans down and kisses him, deeply. He won't abandon Suzaku again.
It's not rough, nor even passionate, but slow and gentle; Suzaku gasps every time Schneizel mouths kisses down his neck, and Schneizel stops when Suzaku asks him to stop, just holding him as he curls up, and falls into a deep slumber.
Suzaku wakes up first.
Schneizel knows because the first thing he sees when his eyes open is Suzaku staring down at him. The morning bathes his hair nearly reddish brown, and Schneizel will never stop admiring how tanned Suzaku's skin is or how those eyes, those lovely eyes, always strike him as expressive. He will never deny that he finds Suzaku attractive, of course not. It was one of the reasons why he decided to train him.
He denies the butterflies forming in his stomach though. Pure sentimentalism.
"Top of the morning," Suzaku says, chuckling as he bends down to press a kiss against the corner of Schneizel's mouth.
Schneizel snorts. "The Irish no longer use that expression. It's nothing but what the English think the Irish sound like." He doesn't know why he shares this. Not that it matters.
Suzaku rolls his eyes. "Fantastic, Sherlock, but you were supposed to say good morning too." And in retaliation or a sheer impulse of childishness, he straddles Schneizel's hips and begins to mouth kisses against Schneizel's neck, his hand running down his chest.
Intimate, nearly too intimate, but Schneizel doesn't push him away, just closes his eyes and sighs. "Continue this, and there'll be no point in saying good morning because we won't be getting out of bed."
Suzaku doesn't stop though.
By the time they do get out of bed, noon has given way to the afternoon, and the darkening sky outside indicates that, soon, everything will fall prey to night. Schneizel rolls his eyes, "We've missed lunch, and it's Christmas Eve."
Suzaku laughs, tugging at Schneizel's hand as he leads him to the living room. "Well then, you don't have to cook. We'll just have cake and a nice cuppa."
He turns on the light.
Schneizel doesn't let out a gasp nor do his eyes widen, but he stands still for a moment, slowly taking in how Suzaku not only cleaned this room, but decorated it as well. He didn't have time for this the day before, panic and despair making him ignorant of details, but now he can see the huge star on the Christmas tree, the little golden baubles dangling down from its branches and colourful lights twinkling.
But that's not all: Suzaku placed the table from its usual spot in the corner of the room to the middle, and made it look less bare. A white linen sheet, embroidered with golden stars covers the table, and the surface has been laden out with gleaming white dishes, candles and all sorts of other pantry.
Schneizel turns to Suzaku, smiling. "You did a lovely job - I'm impressed..."
Before he can finish though, Suzaku leans forward, placing a finger on his bottom lip. "One word about how I'm just like a little housewife or a Christmas Elf and I'll punch you."
Chuckling, Schneizel cups Suzaku's chin and kisses him. "Sit down. I'll whip us together a meal, and take over the dishes tonight."
It'd be a shame not to make use of all this, after all.
They curl up by the couch - at least Suzaku does, his eyes closed as he seeks Schneizel's warmth. "You make fantastic food."
"I know."
Suzaku sighs. "You never cooked for me before."
Schneizel laughs. "You never indicated that you wanted me to cook for you."
"There wasn't much time for me to indicate anything since -" Suzaku chuckles, "we mostly were training during that time."
The memories of that time make Schneizel chuckle: Suzaku so young then, so inexperienced and just like an open book, waiting to be devoured. He traces a finger against Suzaku's cheek. "What about all the times afterwards? You never asked me for anything after that."
Suzaku doesn't reply at once, and silence looms over them.
"You taught me not to ask anything from you."
Schneizel nearly doesn't respond, but finally he just whispers, "I know."
Schneizel never told Suzaku that, for the Crown, he had to give up a lot of his own wishes. Not just his own welfare, but his entire shot at happiness. Not that it matters. He was hardly a candidate for happiness before, he muses, as he peels off his dressing robe.
So there was no need to ever divulge in those matters. Besides, he is sure Suzaku knows what it means to serve the Crown. As for everything else: he doesn't have to know.
As he steps into the shower, Schneizel's eyes briefly rest on the scar on his stomach. It's not as big as some others, but noticeable under the fierce bathroom light. He smirks.
A past lover once told him that he found the scars, especially this one, sexy. Schneizel never quite got the appeal since the experience of receiving a scar never struck him as sexy, He feels water trickling down that area, and wonders if Suzaku ever found this particular scar sexy. Wonders if Suzaku would think he was heroic if he told him he got this one after rushing into the battlefield to save one of his best men, then.
He wonders if Suzaku would think less of him if he knew that Schneizel still dreams of everything, some nights even waking up yelling because the memory of getting shot still terrifies him.
Schneizel can't close his eyes that night. Something bitter has engulfed him, and his throat hurts.
He remembers the exact moment he lost Suzaku.
(Suzaku asked him to pay for the drinks, a smile on his face though his eyes were sad.
He drank slowly, emptying his gin only after some twenty minutes. All the time, his eyes met Schneizel's.
Searching. Pleading.
Schneizel never did anything though, never said a word, and Suzaku finally gave up, finally emptied his glass and took Schneizel's hand.
"I'm looking forward to working with you," he said, his fingers gently sweeping over Schneizel's.
Schneizel just nodded, and Suzaku pulled back. Then he turned away, leaving Schneizel alone at the bar.)
He starts laughing then, but it hurts. His entire chest hurts, but he can't stop. He just can't, and -
"No, don't laugh like that."
Suzaku presses up against him, his warmth so tangible, so comforting that Schneizel relaxes immediately, and just sighs.
"That's better," Suzaku whispers into his ear before he places his head on Schneizel's chest, his hand drawing lazy patterns right where his heart is. "Never laugh like that again," Suzaku whispers, his voice so soft it's nearly inaudible, "because it pains me."
Schneizel doesn't ask why, his eyes falling shut and sleep finally taking over.
"You never did tell me about the mission," Schneizel says at breakfast while he pours some tea into his cup.
He waits for the breakdown - the shattering of a cup, the clatter of a spoon against the floor, but none of that happens.
Suzaku just bites his underlip. "I'll write a report for you."
"I'd like to hear it from you," Schneizel says gently, taking a sip. He frowns. Too hot. "If you want to tell me."
An expression of sadness and desperation passes over Suzaku, and he looks away. "It nearly went according to plan. I managed to get into the gang, even spent a few days filing information, waiting for the right time to strike, but -" Suzaku smiles, "he got there before me." He doesn't say anything else, just looks down at his hands.
Schneizel decides that he won't push for more, not now.
"He could have just killed me, but he didn't. Instead, I think he kept me alive on purpose." Suzaku takes a sip of his coffee, avoiding Schneizel's gaze. "He said," Suzaku adds, "during one of those times that you two had met, once."
Schneizel's lips curve to a smile. "He trained under me, yes. When I was still a general."
"You didn't tell me that before."
"I didn't think," Schneizel gets up from the table, and moves to the window, "that there was any reason to. He was just one of many soldiers underneath my command. Didn't stand out much, apart from his love for knives."
Suzaku laughs then, quietly, bitterly. "It must have been a shock to you that you trained a man like that."
"No, not at all."
"You mean you don't feel guilty?"
Schneizel turns to Suzaku, and smiles. "No, I didn't train my men to be murderers, but soldiers. You didn't kill during a war because you want to, but because you have to."
"I like it," Suzaku starts, his eyes hard, "how you have it all arranged, how nicely you argue that killing is all about duty. As if the lines never blurred."
Schneizel's eyes narrow. "They shouldn't, Suzaku, they shouldn't. The moment," he curls his hand to a fist as he remembers, "you feel pleasure while killing another man or if it's something personal is when you should resign."
"Is that why you quit?" Suzaku asks quietly.
Schneizel turns his face away, folds his hands underneath his back, and stares out of the window. He know he's standing there stiffly now, rigidly. Just like a soldier. "No."
"Then ...why did you?"
"I was honourably discharged." It doesn't hurt anymore, to say this. There was a time when he couldn't even think about it, without his lips curling in disgust.
"Why?"
"Because I was openly homosexual." He takes a deep breath. "Sometimes that's all it takes; sometimes all it takes for a man to be brought down is just being himself and having a few enemies on the side."
Schneizel knows he was an impeccable general; he never strayed from his duty, and taught his men, the lads under his command just the right amount of combat and honour that they showed mercy when they needed to, and fought when it was necessary. Of course, black sheep like Luciano Bradley were underneath them, but there are always exceptions.
He won't blame himself. He did what he could.
Schneizel chuckles. "I could have denied everything, but I didn't. I couldn't. I always believed in freedom of speech, and I'd not have my identity stripped away from me."
The spoon does clatter this time, and the chair screeches as Suzaku rushes toward him, hugging Schneizel from behind. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
Schneizel himself holds no regrets. He did find a job later, after all, that would respect his privacy because, in the end, it kept him from having any.
After that, as Suzaku sits next to - curled up actually - Schneizel runs a hand through his hair, and whispers, "I think you should take a leave of absence. Maybe for a few months actually."
Suzaku stiffens, and sharply says, "No. I won't. Forget it."
And it's right then and there that the Christmas tree, the peaceful dream they shared for the past couple of days reels out of focus, replaced by the harsh reality of everything else: the Crown, and Suzaku's being an agent.
Not that it matters; Schneizel can easily snap back into the role of M. "You might protest, but you need it: you're too shaken up. You need to heal." He leaves a slight warning tone at the end, not deeming it necessary to mention what he means by 'heal'. Suzaku isn't stupid.
Indeed, the look of sadness flicking in Suzaku's face reveals that he knows, but he still shakes his head. "No, Schneizel, please. Let me just -" he takes a deep breath, "work."
Schneizel sighs, taking a look at the Christmas tree, how tall it is, how proud it stands, and how lovingly it was decorated. His throat feels tight.
"Can you promise me that you'll operate - and not fall to bits and pieces when it matters?"
He wants Suzaku to think about this, carefully. Not only because his position is threatened, but Schneizel is risking his own career by allowing a traumatised agent to work.
"I won't disappoint you, M. Never."
Afternoon bleeds away into evening, and soon the lights on the Christmas tree shine so brightly that it's not necessary to turn the lamp on.
It's nice, this. The sitting on the sofa, huddling in a warm blanket and with Suzaku pressed up against him. So close, he thinks, he could hear Suzaku's heartbeat if he just bent down a bit, and pressed his ear against Suzaku's chest.
"You've got something on your mind," Suzaku says.
Schneizel chuckles. "I've literally done nothing today, other than snuggle with you. Most fascinating."
"You should be glad, for once, not to have worked this much."
He laughs, and presses a kiss against Schneizel's lips, settling on his lap. "I wonder though, why you're not with family. I've heard you mention that you had one…"
Schneizel licks his lips. "Yes, I do."
"But you're not spending time with them."
"I don't like it," Schneizel says, running his hands through Suzaku's hair absent-mindedly, "because I lost my little brother on Christmas Eve."
"I'm sor-"
Schneizel waves his hand. "It happened decades ago. When I was still a boy, actually."
But Suzaku still looks like he wants to say something, which leaves Schneizel with no other option but to kiss him. He doesn't want to talk about it, about how he can't associate anything good with Christmas, how each time the festive season approaches he just remembers heartache and loss. So he just pulls him close, keeps him there, and doesn't let go.
They make love on the couch, Schneizel holding Suzaku close, running fingers down the small of Suzaku's back as Suzaku moves on top of him.
Suzaku's moans are silent, but Schneizel doesn't mind - the sound of their combined breathing and panting as their pleasure draws to a close is more than enough. All the warmth and unspoken emotion is more than enough.
And, even if things don't last, even if Suzaku and he grow distant again, Schneizel knows he'll have this, at least, and this will be a good memory.
For once.
But all things come to an end: good as well as bad memories, forgettable as well as unforgettable ones. In the end, this is the only thing that makes bad experiences turn into something good: they all turn into dust, at some point, when everything stops mattering. Even pain.
Schneizel has already forgotten what it means to be human, nearly.
And, one day, when Suzaku finally truly abandons him -
"You need to stop thinking." Suzaku moves closer, his nose buried in the crook of Schneizel's shoulder. "I won't leave that easily." He whispers something else. Schneizel's prefers not to hear though. You never know when such words stop mattering.
Schneizel laughs, his eyes resting on the drawn curtains in his bedroom. He has no idea how they got here, but somehow it doesn't matter. He runs his hands through Suzaku's hair.
He'd say something about how Suzaku is bound to leave, but he prefers the silence.
"I'll be going to London, just before New Year's Eve," Suzaku announces that evening, his voice silent, his eyes not meeting Schneizel's.
Outside, a wind howls.
Schneizel stops writing, taking a deep breath. "It's the 28th." Which means that they've not got much time left, if at all.
He looks up at Suzaku. "You know that booking a flight on such a short-term notice will be difficult...?"
"I've already taken care of it," Suzaku says, still not meeting Schneizel's eyes. He doesn't say anything else, just stands there, his hand on the doorknob.
Schneizel realises he's waiting for something. He sighs. "Well if you've already taken care of everything, then I don't have any reason to object." He looks away, going back to writing.
For a second, his and Suzaku's eyes meet, and he waits for Suzaku to just walk away, but all Schneizel hears is a chuckle. A quiet one, an amused one.
He opens his mouth to say something, but Suzaku moves towards him in the blink of a second, not leaving Schneizel time to prepare for what happens next.
Suzaku wraps his arms around him. "I'd buy it, I'd have fucking bought it if you hadn't looked this sad."
"What -"
"There is no ticket," Suzaku whispers. "There is no ticket."
Schneizel frowns, touching Suzaku's hand. He rolls his eyes. "Then, what -" he asks carefully, "was the meaning of this?"
"I was going to test if you were going to make me stay."
"I didn't."
Suzaku moves away, but only to sit down on Schneizel's lap. "No," he says, kissing Schneizel's earlobe, "you were actually going to let me go. You're a fool." He chuckles, and shifts.
Schneizel should say a lot of things, but he wraps his arms around Suzaku instead, and just laughs lightly. "And you're trying to seduce me."
Needless to say, Schneizel doesn't finish writing his letter that night. Soon, the silence that persisted over the room is replaced by the desk creaking and soft moans.
"This is becoming something of a tradition," Schneizel whispers against Suzaku's sweat-drenched forehead, sighing as he shifts - the chair is rather uncomfortable.
"We still have the kitchen, and ...a couple of other rooms," Suzaku answers, looking up and then leaning forward for a kiss. Their lips meet, and - for a moment - Schneizel forgets all about the discomfort of this sitting position, and focuses on holding Suzaku. On feeling his warmth.
But the spell washes away as Suzaku pulls away, and Schneizel groans. "I think we should move to the bedroom."
"Hmm." But Suzaku seems to be comfortable sitting on Schneizel's lap like this and wearing his shirt, even chuckles as he merely shifts. "I like this room." He chuckles again. "We should make this our bedroom."
And Schneizel finds thinking that the last time he saw Suzaku look that carefree was far too long ago. Far too long.
Suddenly, rooms are not on Schneizel's mind though. Instead, he cups Suzaku's chin, and forces him to look at him. "Would you have really left?"
Suzaku's smile fades immediately. "Probably."
"So you'd have made me chase after you," Schneizel says, feeling his stomach turning. And it would have been just like every other day since Suzaku turned away from him at the bar, and he didn't stop him. Didn't even call out for him.
Suzaku kisses him hand. "If you had just said one word, I wouldn't have made you chase after me."
"I can't promise you anything," Schneizel says as they watch the fireworks from the balcony. Winter at midnight feels chilly, but he doesn't sense the cold nor does he think does Suzaku; the warm coat he's sharing with Suzaku covers both of them quite well, shielding them from the iciness of a late December's night. In fact, he doesn't feel like going back inside just yet.
He sighs. "I just want you to know that, Suzaku. I can't promise anything because there are things more important than me, than you, than us."
Suzaku leans his head against Schneizel's shoulder. "I know, but you don't have to."
"What do you mean?" Schneizel thought that this was the time for resolutions, promises and grand statements. Furthermore, he hoped that Suzaku would object. At least, a part of him hoped, just a tad bit, that Suzaku wasn't the perfect agent yet. "I can't promise you anything, that shouldn't be anything good -"
"I know I matter, and that's fine. In fact," he reaches for Schneizel's hand, "I'd rather just like to make a pact."
Schneizel chuckles. "That's even worse than a promise." In fact, he only thinks a vow is worse.
"No, it's more lasting. If you break it, you get punished."
"And," Schneizel asks, raising his eyebrow, "what would be my punishment?"
Suzaku chuckles, and looks at Schneizel, green eyes blazing. "I don't think I have to answer that."
Of course, he's right. Schneizel knows what Suzaku means. He's tasted it already - years of not having Suzaku by his side. He feels the bile rising to his throat when he realises that he can't imagine what it would be like to spend a lifetime without Suzaku.
He feels a pinch on his arm, and his thoughts immediately deflate.
"You think too much," Suzaku says, rolling his eyes. "What I meant is that you'd have deal with me being drunk and stupid."
Schneizel chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm already used to that."
"Yes, and that's why you're being punished."
"I wonder though," Suzaku says later, as he picks up the dishes from the table, tilting his head to the side, "what would happen if the Crown finds out that an agent is dating his superior?"
Schneizel shrugs. "I don't know actually. Nothing, I assume." It's not like anyone could forbid them from sleeping with each other, or seeing the one another. He smirks at the thought of the Queen throwing a fit at two adult men sleeping with each other on a regular basis.
"But I thought you said -" Suzaku bites his lip, puts the dishes on the table and just fixes his eyes on Schneizel's, waiting for a reply.
"It's not professional, certainly, and it would put both the agent and the superior at risk since you're more liable to damage when you're personally involved with someone."
Suzaku nods. "I see, so it's more dangerous if we care about one another."
"Certainly, it makes us more selfish, less disposed to serve the Crown in a manner such as we should." He knows this is nothing new to Suzaku. He taught all of this to him during the training.
"So-" Suzaku hesitates, walking over to Schneizel, reaching for his hand, "you'd always place the Crown above everything? Above," he pauses," me?"
And Schneizel just laughs, so hard that his stomach hurts after a couple of minutes, but even then he can't stop. The mirth overwhelms him, and only when he's out of breath, his lungs hurting, does he answer, "You're an idiot. I've already placed you above the Crown a few times."
Suzaku looks at him like he wants to say something, but then he smiles, simply kissing Schneizel on the forehead.
And Schneizel hopes that topic has been dropped.
But the topic still occupies Suzaku later when it's already night, and the only light streaming in through the windows is that of the moon, barely illuminating anything but the contours and vague shapes passing through the darkness.
"I don't ever want you to sacrifice your life for me though. Or for the Crown."
Schneizel turns to Suzaku, his eyebrows knitted. "What?"
"Even if you've pleaded to give up your life for the Crown, I want you to live," Suzaku says, shifting closer and then running his hand across Schneizel's scar. "It might be selfish, but - I want you to live."
Schneizel doesn't say anything and leans forward, kissing Suzaku, deeply.
The rest of the days pass by in a blur: just like a dream - transient, and yet seeming to last an eternity because of their fleetingness. A fleetingness that is so special those days will forever be recaptured in his memories and dreams.
Schneizel used to think he wasn't a man of dreams, but now he knows that he was merely waiting for it - for that something to fill the void in his life.
It's ironic how close he was always to happiness. How, for many years, he only had to lean forward to embrace it. It's sheer irony, too, that he only realised this once he nearly lost Suzaku.
When Schneizel returns to London, things return to their normal pace. Christmas trees and New Year's resolutions give way to paperwork and obligations to the Crown, making the feeling of happiness fade away to that duty. Yes, he has to bury those hopes now, let the memories of them linger with all the other things he left behind. And yet, Schneizel smiles as he arrives at the airport.
Indeed, Heathrow might seem cold and brisk, but he doesn't feel it because Suzaku is by his side, his hand holding onto Schneizel's, making all the things he should forget, bury and abandon not disappear completely.
And Schneizel smiles, gripping Suzaku's hand in return, thinking it's alright to hold onto that dream for a little longer.
Schneizel nearly feels reluctant this time as he enters his office, feeling that the bareness of it, the lack of anything even remotely personal in it reminds him just why New York felt so much like home, while this place strikes him as alien.
He doesn't even keep photographs here.
A knock on the door breaks his musings, and he's grateful. "Come inside."
"M, I have the report," Suzaku says as he enters the office: professional and all no-nonsense as he places the files on the desk, listens to Schneizel's comments with a polite yet distant smile, and merely utters 'goodbye' as he turns towards the door.
But, before he leaves, Suzaku smiles warmly, mouthing something only understandable to the two of them, and Schneizel smirks.
Maybe London isn't magical or warm, but it's still home.