A gathering sat at the edge of the marble coffin which Lelouch's body laid. Nunnally was in a flood of tears, now whispering, now crying out, choking over words and breaking into loud lamentations. She grieved with an abundance of speech, neither distracted nor embarrassed by strangers. She clung to the body and could scarcely be torn away when it came time to carry the body away to be washed and to be cremated.
But that was yesterday. Today the frenzy of her grief had abated, and she sat demurely in her wheelchair, giving way to a weary numbness. She sat in silence, though still only in half consciousness of herself and her surroundings.
To the right, there was Jeremiah Gottwald and Prince Schneizel, also silent with grief. Lloyd and Cecile paid their proper respects. Much of the old noble families came and went; they had pledged to his allegiance a long time ago.
But there were two people in the gathering, a man and a woman, who stood out from the rest. Yet they did not claim any closer tie to the deceased than the others. They did not compete in sorrow with Nunnally. But though they made no claims, they evidently had their own special rights over the dead man, and no one questioned or disputed the undeclared authority that they had unaccountably assumed. Their composure was remarkable and it produced a strange impression, as if they were involved not only in the funeral but also his death, not in the sense that of having directly or indirectly caused it but as people who, once it occurred, had given their consent to it, reconciled, and did not see it as the most important event in the story of Lelouch. A few of the mourners vaguely recognized the woman, a few surmised who they were, but most had no idea. Nunnally and Jeremiah recognized both of them and understood.
Yet, as the man came in the oval shaped room with the casually beautiful woman on his side, everybody at once without a single protest went outside to the corridors. They left the couple inside, closing the door like two experts who needed, quietly, unhindered, to accomplish something directly connected to the funeral, and vitally important.
So it was now. They spoke in low voices, in fluent Japanese in order to prevent Britannian eavesdroppers from listening to their conversation.
"I do not understand why it has to be me, Suzaku. Why not Nunnally, who knows the entire story?"
"She is a princess, Kallen. A princess who can't even walk."
"Yet strong enough to shoulder the sins of FLEIJA."
"That was necessary, perhaps."
Kallen let it go. Nursing a grudge would do nothing to help Lelouch, and the last thing he wanted her to do would to blame his sister for his mistakes.
"You have not answered my question before. What is it that you want me to do?"
"I only wanted you to understand my existence. I believe that since you and I were among the first to discover the identity of Zero, it should be only fitting that you, Kouzaki Kallen should be one out of four people in the whole world who recognize Suzaku Kururugi as Zero."
"That's a lie. You want me to be on your side. You only want someone who you can use."
He turned away. "I can hardly bear the burden of murdering my best friend by myself, Kallen. Surely Lelouch would want us former enemies to be reconciled at the very end."
Kallen fixed her blue eyes on Lelouch, who seemed only to be sleeping peacefully. She remembered his look a nanosecond after she had kissed him. She remembered the tiny flicker of movement his brilliant eyes made, reflecting a boyish helplessness, unable to react. And that was all that mattered.
"My God, Suzaku," she murmured quietly. "How did you do it? I've spent my days feeling ashamed of myself when my comrades celebrated his death."
His voice came out raw. "It's been hell."
Kallen saw past his disguise, through his anguish and his horror from killing not one but two of the people he believed in the most. The memories were going to be a burden for the rest of his life. He was going to be denied happiness and the joys of life a seventeen year old boy ought to have. She was lucky. She had betrayed Lelouch. Yet it was she who was allowed to show her face in public and have a possible normal future after this.
"I'm sorry... for acting out against you. If I knew what you had to do, I wouldn't have..."
"Killed me? Let me tell you, Kallen, your anger at being used was one of the variables Lelouch counted on in order to erase my human existence."
"Then I am grateful for at least being useful to Lelouch one last time."
"Good." And Suzaku adjusted his disguise once more. "I wanted both of us alone to pay our last respects to him, you know, before they cremated him. It used to be the custom to bury the royalty, but I doubt anyone will mind terribly."
"Did you arrange his affairs before he died?"
"He doesn't have any affairs to arrange," Suzaku replied indifferently. "He planned it by himself."
The man took one final look at his friend, shook his head slowly, and walked out. Kallen followed suit, but not before putting a tender hand to his lifeless cheeks.
"Goodbye, Zero," she whispered. Then she turned her back on Lelouch's body.
A young girl with pale brown hair stopped them shortly at the entrance of the cathedral. "Would you like to sign the memorial book?"
Suzaku paused, giving an excuse to the girl that he wasn't in a position to write anything, but Kallen took the feather and signed her Britannian name, Kallen Stadtfeld. Then they left.
On the corner of the street, Kallen embraced Suzaku for a second, then let go.
He humored her, then he realized that this might be the last time he would be hugged willingly. Then he noticed she was crying. For him.
"For God's sake, why are you crying?" he asked, knowing the answer yet wanting to hear it from her. "People on the street might think I've done something horrible to you."
"I've learned to forgive, you know, the day he died. I can't hate you or your idealogies anymore; it doesn't count for anything these days."
"I thought forgiveness was supposed to make your burden lighter," Suzaku said dryly. Yet he felt a warmth in his stomach that had nothing to do with the sunshine. Someone didn't hate him regardless of what he did in the past. Someone accepted his decision in the end.
"It does, Suzaku. You ought to forgive yourself and Lelouch. Lelouch didn't mean for you to feel guilty when you're living and he's not."
"You make it sound easier than it really is. Is this really the girl who hotly shouted at me for trying to work things out by gaining status in Britannia?"
"I've changed," she said, trying to smile through her tears. "I... loved Lelouch. I couldn't face the future without the prospect of him. But I have to. I can't stay Zero's right hand girl all the time. That should be the same for you too."
The taxi cab pulled up. Time for her to go.
"If you want to talk to me, I'll be at Ashford Academy."
The door was shut, waves were exchanged, and Suzaku found himself alone, with only an intense feeling of loneliness to occupy him as he saw the red haired girl drive away.
Kallen had found herself suddenly a soft, malleable woman shortly after the war. She had quite lost her appetite of fighting, and the qualities of compassion and kindness along with a passion to amend her sins came out strongly. Her cold shell, originally to protect herself, was now useless. She understood with a burst of clarity that much of the unhappiness had been concocted by unhappy, ambitious men.
Lelouch was one of them. He had never been satisfied, not even at death's door.
She had been determined after that not to waste the rest of her life on something intangible like the rebellion.
Then her stepmother called (from London) about her father's will, in a clipped voice-"Your father's dead. He left a substancial amount of money for you."
"How did he die?" she choked out, tears threatening to spill over, and in front of her mother who was sleeping peacefully too. Her mother could never know. She was determined to make her mother happy in this new, confused era.
"He was in Pendragon at the time of Schneizel's detonation of FLEIJA." Her stepmother's tone of voice was cold, indifferent. As if it was a statistic to her if her husband died or not. "They haven't recovered the body, but he had a mansion there."
"Your money is in a seperate bank account. The lawyer will mail you the will a few days from now."
Kallen hung up, and sat down on her bed, crying again, and feeling ashamed of herself that she had indirectly participated in the killing of a man who meant no harm to her. She remembered, briefly, from a far, cast-out life the big room she had as a child. He had taught her how to read and write in Britannian, how to dress like a Britannian, how to act like a Britannian. He tried to raise his daughter as a proper Britannian lady, until he had divorced her Japanese mother and left to do some business, effectively abandoning her and Naoto.
She'd never forgiven him after that, not ever. Her mother told her the story in little bits, when she wasn't on high off Refrain. Her Britannian grandparents had threatened to disown him after the war between Britannia and Japan, and the loss of his noble name meant more than the loss of his love for her mother. He instead married another woman who had no love for him at their insistence.
But... he was dead. And that made things different. Funny how she was able to forgive people easily because they were no longer alive. With that forgiveness, the burden of hating her father was gone. She had thought that she would always be against Britannia.
In the letter that the family lawyer sent her a few days later, she caught a faint whiff of cologne. In a moment of sudden Proustinian memory, she remembered with surprising acuteness watching her father sit at the fireplace and reading the newspaper after dinner. She would often climb up on his lap, and he would chuckle, place a tender kiss on her forehead, and take out the biggest chocolate out of the candy box. He would then cut the chocolate in half, and offer the bigger portion to her, his hand smelling exactly like the letter that she now held in her hand.
A few blinks brought her suddenly back to present day. She had forgotten almost everything before she joined Naoto's rebellion.
She walked slowly back to her room, and read the letter slowly. It was dated nearly four years ago. Back to the year that Naoto had died.
My Dear Kallen,
I write this and I wonder how you will grow up to be. I know that in your heart, truly, you ought to have lost your taste for all things Britannian, and I can't say that I blame you. I heard about Naoto, and it kills me that I can't be at my son's funeral lest I be unable to support both you and your mother. Although it may be true that he was against Britannia, he was my son and I am proud of him.
Since I already made the decision to be uninvolved in both of your lives, I want you to inherit my savings. Do whatever you want with it. Whatever you do, somehow, I know that you'll turn out to be braver than your parents. I know that you'll make the right decision when the time comes. You were my favorite child. You were the one who burned with fire in everything you did.
Love,
Your father
Kallen tucked the letter away in her drawer, wiping her eyes as she did so, wanting to tell her mother in the rehab center but not wishing to disturb her slow recovery.
"Did you hear that, Naoto? Father forgives us too. Maybe you met him in heaven when he died."
Gino got out of bed, tired. His mother, called him on his cell phone early in the morning. He let it ring three times until he groaned, finally picking it up.
"My star!" she squealed. "I was worried about you until I heard that dashing Zero saved you!"
Vivi Weinberg was vivacious and charming, something that his strict father took a fancy to before he realized too late they were ill-matched. Out of the two parents, it was his father he had the most respect for, yet it was his mother who gave him his blue eyes and flirtatious mannerisms. His father had given him something he loved; the skill of piloting Knightmares. His mother, however, had given him charisma that people loved him for.
"Of course, Mama. I'm sorry I couldn't call you..."
She laughed airily, answering, "The fact that you are still well and alive suits me fine. I miss you, mio figlio."
"I miss you too." It was true. Being a Knight of Rounds meant you couldn't see your parents too often. He didn't talk about it much, being the Knight of Three, but it was hard sometimes.
"So, tell me! How is Japan? You haven't called me ever since that diavolo Lelouch took over Britannia!"
He smiled, and told her tiny tidbits-his recent enrollment in Ashford Academy, the new upgrades on his beloved Tristan, the part about switching sides and pledging loyalty to the Black Knights...
"A pretty girl catch your sight?" Vivi interrupted. "In Pendragon, you told me how they all fell for your charming looks, all thanks to your mother, of course."
An image of Kallen flashed in his head. "Just one."
"Just one?" Vivi asked, clearly disappointed.
"Mama, she's the only girl who defeated me in the air. Other than Anya."
The phone went silent for three whole seconds.
"... Vivi?" he asked cautiously.
"Ah, I see. Britannian, I suppose?"
"She's... Japanese."
A deep sigh went through the speakerphone. "You're not the same, Gino. You haven't laughed once since I called."
"Perhaps it's because it's seven thirty in the morning here in Japan," Gino suggested quietly. "Look, I'll see you around Christmas."
She agreed and he hung up, now wide awake. That was the way it was with his mother. Back when he was training when he was fifteen years old, she would look at him, and frown. He knew she was unhappy with her only child going away, her bundle of sunshine and love travelling to a world of hurt out there.
But he had to grow up being perfectly fine with killing people who were on the wrong side of Britannia.
Besides, it wasn't as if he wasn't as funny or beautiful or likable just because he said he liked Kouzaki Kallen, a person who was always against Britannia. No switching sides for her, no sirree. He thought she was amazing; too good to be true. Like a veritable goddess who yelled out her anger and passion for the liberation of Japan through the destruction of her deadly Guren Mk II. He shivered when he thought about her weapons at her disposal. He felt weak at his knees when he imagined her gasping and moaning into his ear.
The only bad thing about her, Gino thought regretfully, was the fact that she was enamoured with someone else. He recognized the powerful look of love in her eyes before, and he remembered looking at her entire body resisting against her chains as she shouted at whoever Zero was. She didn't want him to kill... Lelouch, of all people. How could it be Lelouch?
At school, there was that fake little smile she passed to everybody. He knew what her real smile looked like; he'd seen it as he told her Zero was coming back.
She acknowleged him indifferently, a comrade who just happened to be at the same school who only knew the pointless details of the rebellion.
He wondered why he had decided to fall for a girl who wasn't going to be easy to seduce. Oh, he was a Knight, all right, but it wasn't as if it didn't have extra benefits. He'd slept with some pretty girls before, but Kallen wasn't just pretty. She was fire, she was talented, she was one of a kind. And single, don't forget single.
Gino fingered the old Guren key in his pocket. He should probably give it back. But he didn't want to. He wanted to keep a tiny piece of her. Her Guren was probably lying at the bottom of the ocean floor. After she killed Suzaku, he'd caught her in midair, her mental and physical limits forcing her unconscious. His energy filter was running low, so he had to carefully laser the cockpit and deliver it to the base. Lakshata wasn't pleased that her creation was no more than a pile of scrap pile, but at least Kallen was safe.
Today, he thanked his lucky stars that she had accepted to be his partner when his history teacher asked them to quiz each other. It was usually some other nitwit girl who wanted some popularity points for hanging out with someone of Kallen's notoriety for being a terrorist and being Zero's supergirl.
She seemed distracted, however. He knew she was incredibly smart, managing to be the top of the class and catching up so soon despite being a full fledged right-hand member of the Black Knights. She tapped her fingernails, fidgeted around, and got on average three out of four questions wrong.
Finally, he put the papers down, and asked her what was wrong.
Her eyes flickered up to his, and he observed a blank, neutral look on her face. Almost like a doll.
"It's nothing, Gino." But still, that tapping, that fidgeting.
"You're thinking about something."
"Of course I'm thinking about something. Charlemagne... and stuff," she mumbled.
She didn't like his eyes. They were suspicious of her; incredibly perceptive. Although he was usually jovial and fun to be around, he could also get very serious sometimes.
"What's wrong?" he asked her, later at lunchroom.
She bit her lip, anxious. They were sitting on a bench together alone.
"It's... hard," she started out. "Wait, that's not what I wanted to say."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hard, being here. I'm here, but my old friends, they're either dead or gone." She struggled to express herself, making chopping motions with her hands.
"Aren't I your friend?"
"Yeah, but..." she furrowed her brows. Then, a thought went through her. She could tell Gino.
"Can you keep a secret, then? You're my only friend here, you know."
"Yes. I promise."
She took a deep breath. "I found out who Zero was."
Author's Note: So okay, read and review!
