Disclaimer: Code Geass – with its characters, settings, and all other borrowed elements here – is the sole property of its creators. I do this because all science and no outlet make authoress go bonkers.
Author's Note: This story is set in the universe of one of my other fics, 'Trial and Error.' It's less of a stand-alone and more of an elaborate one-shot spin-off. Those who've read that piece will have no problem following the events here, but for everyone else, here's 'Trial and Error' condensed in 75 words:
Bradley, Knight of Ten, believes humans value their lives above all else. He finds out that Suzaku cares very little about his life, and employs a methodical elimination method to find out what his most precious 'thing' really is. Learning that he has lost almost everything else, he is forced to conclude that all Suzaku has left to hold on to is his dignity, which he takes away by raping him in Kallen's prison cell.
So...yeah. Fun stuff. This piece takes place near the end of the final chapter, and has Suzaku dealing with what just happened. Or trying to. (Or trying not to? It's not all that clear-cut.)
Warnings: Language, and sexual references – not suitable for minors. Structure-wise, the character 'narrating' this entire piece (Suzaku) is not exactly in an ideal state of mind, so parts are deliberately choppy and disjointed. Lastly, mixed a little canon into the pot, so beware of some particularly nasty spoilers for mid-R2.
Enjoy the fic!
Trial and Error
. : 5.90 – Dis Aliter Visum : .
Awakening from the long, drugged sleep was deceiving in itself: darkness gave way to a similar darkness, and silence to another, heavier stillness that hung in the air like a shroud. Suzaku blinked once, twice. The floor was cold, and the concrete unforgiving as it sapped whatever warmth his body could produce. He wasn't quite sure what that implied.
He barely, just barely, bit back a scream as he sat up, clutching desperately at his shoulders. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Kami-sama. It hurt. Everything hurt, as though he were being burned and flogged and sliced open from the inside. He tasted blood on his lips, and gasping for air was torture.
Suzaku wasn't sure how long it took – minutes, maybe – for his breathing to return to some semblance of normalcy. It certainly took far less time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness: Kallen was about ten feet away, lying on her side facing the wall, probably asleep; the cell was still quite the mess he vaguely remembered it to be, the only difference being that that man was now gone.
(Perhaps he didn't even need to look around for that last one, though – were Luciano still here, he would have most certainly been in so much more pain by now.)
There was an unspeakable urgency in his actions as he forced himself to his feet and proceeded to collect the various objects littering the floor. It was an icy chill that made him ignore the pain (for now), push aside most of the thoughts just beginning to form in his mind (for now) to entertain later, because he just did not have the luxury to deal with any of them right now, not before he completed this task.
(Was it the other way around? Possibly. He wasn't sure.)
One by one, Suzaku found his belt, both gloves, Euphemia's pin. Pulling on his jacket, he brushed off as much dust as he could and desperately hoped it was long enough to cover the bloodstains.
His hands were shaking almost violently as he picked up the daggers that remained, and he could no longer feel his fingers. When he found that blasted syringe, it was still half-full; there was a small, irrational part of him that actually considered taking the rest of the sedative, if only so that he wouldn't have to deal with...(what?)...for a few more hours.
Instead, he dumped everything into the trash the second he was out of that room. The lights in the hallway were blinding in comparison, and he squinted at the glare. The walk to the other end, where a guard was finally stationed now, probably shouldn't have taken so long.
"I need to use your phone."
His voice was hoarser than he'd expected, and cracked halfway through. Perhaps this was why the guard looked up at him in alarm, although it could have been something else – the sorry state of his uniform, the hint of a limp in his stride, the way he generally looked like hell. "L-Lord Kururugi!" the man sputtered, scrambling to a hasty salute. "This is... Are you... Do you need – ?"
"Your phone," he ground out tersely, and his voice was a bit stronger now. "If you please."
It was convenient, in a way, that the fear of risking insubordination seemed to far outweigh any legitimate human concern the guard carried for him. The man stood at a respectful distance as he fumbled on the keypad; it took three tries to get the number right.
'Viceroy' was how he addressed Nunnally when her voice filled the line. She listened patiently when he explained that Kallen needed to be transferred, that he would no longer be able to attend to her needs. And she took it gracefully and assured him that she would grant his request, since Kallen was a friend and deserved a bit better, and she understood how busy he was, and –
"Suzaku?" she said tentatively, just as he was about to end the call. "Are you okay? You sound...different, somehow."
He'd almost forgotten how easily she could read him.
Still, at this point, what was another thousand needles? He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth at the pain that produced (she was only trying to help, she was only trying to help) and tried to imagine spring, sunlight and flowers and cool breeze, the ocean, the wide meadow behind the Kururugi shrine. He exhaled slowly. "I'm all right. Just...a little tired, I guess."
Suzaku returned the phone and marched up the stairs before the hapless guard could offer any more assistance, or ask any more questions. He no longer had a reason to stay. At least now, Kallen would be safe, and with any luck he would never have to face her again.
Now came the hard part.
He wished he could just turn it off: the part of him that, against all valiant attempts otherwise, had been wired to feel. There was another part of him that tried to dictate how it should be – that he ought to be sick, repulsed, furious beyond belief and vengeful, if only this deluge of shame didn't drown him first. And he felt all of those, as well as some other things he couldn't dwell on even if he tried.
It was almost impossible to peg down anything. The shock was still there, perhaps, blotting it all out, but all that left him was a twisted, horrible dread of what would come in its place when it was finally gone.
"You don't deserve what happened to you here, today. No-one does."
Those were Kallen's words, words of his enemy in this never-ending war. Maybe she was right. Maybe. (And his thoughts flickered to many things, to the ever-growing numbers on his tally sheet as Knight of Seven. To Lelouch, screaming bloody murder as he held him down before the Emperor. To bombs and blood and cries of uragirimono ripping through the Lancelot's speakers. To that one night between summer and autumn when scarlet seeped through the floorboards and the dead, glassy eyes of the strongest man he'd ever known cursed him: now what, they seemed to ask. It was not all that far from what he was currently thinking.)
The judgment damned him before it even began: if he didn't deserve this, then why did it happen to him? It seemed there was only one answer to that.
His room was no sanctuary. It was large, and empty, possessing a heavy, imposing silence. For all its finery, it did not welcome him. It never really did.
Suzaku winced as he stripped off his uniform, the hasty, jerking actions more rough than they probably should have been. White was such an unfortunate choice, invoking glory and purity and holiness and yet so easy to defile; the garments were torn, filthy in some places with dust, semen and blood that had crusted over. He spared the boots, and Euphy's pin, but everything else was crammed into a ball in his jacket, stuffed into the very bottom of the trash bin. He snapped the lid shut, and wondered if he could get away with burning them.
Water shouldn't hurt this much, he thought as soon as contact was made and the stinging multiplied tenfold. He lost his balance and fell all the way in, a strangled cry and a messy splash of bathwater, very nearly banging his head against the edge of the tub. Fuck. Fuck. The pain was a harsh and alien one. He bit his lip and ground his knuckles into the marble, staining the bandages. Red sluiced into the water, and he wasn't sure if it helped, but at least this was familiar.
He stayed there (kneeling, penitent) long after he'd drained the tub, trembling in the shower's spray. The water vilified him as it trickled down his spine. Coward. Weakling. Scum. It was neither cleansing nor healing, this now-frigid offering; he reached out a shaking hand as though it were possessed, shutting off the blue knob and twisting the red one all the way to the left.
A muted rumble in the pipes was the only warning he got before the water turned scalding. Suzaku swallowed, tasting nothing, and even when he squinted he found he could barely see his hands. And then, he couldn't see anything at all.
The next thing he knew, he was standing with his back against the opposite wall of the bathroom, slowly becoming aware of the rhythmic patter of water against the empty tub. The sink and medicine cabinet were to his right, and he glanced at the mirror before it fogged up completely: there, he could have sworn he'd seen something red in his eyes. (But he blinked, and then it was gone.)
Suzaku spent the better part of the evening after that in bed, lying atop the comforter on his side, watching the door. He'd blindly put on something that wasn't a uniform – loose, old things so that it didn't hurt as much, but otherwise he still felt numb. His eyes smarted a bit, and his heartbeat had settled into something that was steady but rapid. He wasn't sure if he could ever get to sleep.
It was impossible not to think about it now, whether he liked it or not. He wondered if he should have seen it coming, if there had been signs. Luciano following him around, taunting him, threatening to kill him once or twice...and he hadn't thought much of it. He'd been conditioned, it seemed, to this kind of treatment. Was it because he fought back? He didn't know.
He knew it was useless, all of this intricate thinking and analyzing he'd never had much of a talent for in the first place. But there was an uneasy restlessness that kept his fists clenched and his eyes glued to the door, almost afraid to blink. If this, unpleasant as it was, could at least keep those other thoughts (the coldness of the dagger, his hands clawing at leather and empty air, Luciano with his taunts and eerie laughter as he slammed into him, repeatedly) at bay, then –
The sound of his phone vibrating against the bedside table was deafening in this silence. Suzaku jumped to a sitting position in a millisecond, spine snapped straight and his heart in his throat, hammering. (Arthur spared him a long, lazy look, but otherwise kept his distance.)
It was a text message, from Shirley: she had something to tell him, and so was he free to meet her at the mall tomorrow?
He looked at the calendar. Tomorrow was Sunday – gods, had that really happened just this morning? - and he quickly typed a reply in the positive. It had been awhile since he'd spent any real time with the Student Council after all, and...
He was staring at the door when the phone vibrated again, in his hand this time. And...what? What was he thinking?
Suzaku didn't bother to read the last message, pulling on his boots underneath his jeans. There was the weight of something awful looming in the horizon, and although it was completely irrational (and he knew this), he couldn't stay here. He fed the cat and grabbed his keys and kept the lights switched on, and he had no idea what he was doing, but that man's room was three doors away and he couldn't stay here.
It was almost ten when he reached A.S.E.E.C.'s section of the hangar. Flipping open the main switch flooded the interior with light, bright and gleaming off the Lancelot's paint. This was...unorthodox, at best, but it wasn't as if he would ever get reprimanded for this. He was one of the Twelve, now. He could get away with anything.
(A disconcerting thought, that: he tried to convince himself he wasn't sure where it was going.)
There was a subtle sense of belonging, of home, as he climbed into the cockpit. The panels in front of him were dormant and cold, but even with this he felt (finally) safe – the Lancelot would protect him. No matter what happened, if he was here, he could fight.
And a voice inside his head was telling him he should have done just that. Fight. Not that he didn't try, because damn it, he did try, but he should have done better. He should have seen that syringe. He should have grabbed the dagger when he had the chance, or at least finished Luciano off before trying to escape. He shouldn't have taken so long to untie Kallen, and even so, he should have been ready. He should have been ready.
Throat tightening, Suzaku placed the key to the Lancelot on top of the panel in front of him, easily within reach. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, tucking his chin beneath but careful not to cover his eyes.
He didn't even try to sleep that night.
Shirley put him at ease, somewhat. He found some pittance of comfort in her easy smile, the way her face lit up when she finally recognized him. She reminded him of happier times, of Student Council meetings and festivals and food trips, of Arthur and Ashford before everything he'd ever learned to love had fallen apart.
Lelouch was there too. Lelouch. He clenched his jaw and tried not to let his displeasure show, but he secretly welcomed the swirl of questions in his head – for once, obsessing about whether the other boy had regained his memories, whether he was this new Zero again (et cetera, ad infinitum), turned out to be the lesser evil.
There were a few moments – mere seconds, really – when he found himself truly, blindly happy. They came after narrowly escaping what would have been a tragic accident, and vanished the moment he realized how ludicrous this all was.
"Nothing's unforgivable," Shirley declared when they were alone. And he found himself at a loss for words then, because he could think of a few things. But he wouldn't dream of sharing them with her.
Strange that it would be a terrorist attack that finally gave him some peace of mind. Not that he ever considered approving of such tactics, but at least this – evacuating civilians, directing the local Knight-police, employing damage control – felt right. Because if nothing else, he was a good soldier, and to these people today that was all that mattered. That...incident in Kallen's cell didn't change that. And (by now he was clinging to these dangling strands of hope and nigh-delirium, almost identical) maybe, just maybe, if he threw himself completely into his work, this would help him as well. Help him forget. Help him feel slightly better than worthless.
But then he saw Shirley's name on the list of casualties – ballistic trauma/exsanguination; possible suicide – and that was the end of that.
Suzaku found himself shivering despite the long trenchcoat, and the fact that the breeze was warm. This was a mistake.
This – the balcony had a low railing, and balconies reminded him of Lelouch, and of another man he did not want to think about but could very well show up right here and now if he wanted to. This was beyond foolish; this was...the only choice he had, apparently. Lloyd was working on the Lancelot, and this was the only other part of the complex that was not his room or anywhere close to it, without the risk of running into strangers.
(Also: the balcony was mostly wide, open space, with a single door that led to and from the rest of the building. As long as he watched the door, he could see anyone coming from miles away. And with plenty of light despite the early sunset, he could fight, up here. He could.)
He clutched his head and felt pain, fingers wanting for the tangle of blood that had been in his hair. Just how many times had Luciano slammed his head into the floor? He couldn't even remember, but –
But it didn't matter because those thoughts were pointless, and he was going to think of something else.
The only question was: what? Flowers and sweet things invoked visions of Euphy; scents and memories from his childhood – of Genbu, and of Lelouch who was either Zero or not-Zero. He tried thinking of school, all silliness and innocence, but it warped into a still-vivid memory of a girl in a bodybag with a tag on her toe and oh gods Shirley was dead and he'd failed her, and now that wasn't even the worst of it because he'd already been – nothing. Nothing was sacred anymore, all of it tainted by something painful, twined so that one horrible facet of this pulled on another, and another, dragging him through this entire mesh of death and hate and ugliness until it felt like he was being choked. He staggered backward, hitting the railing. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't –
A loud, sudden noise jarred him out of it, and he gasped for air.
It took about a second to identify – his phone was ringing – and a few more to realize he probably ought to answer it. He fished the device out of his pocket without looking at the display, almost afraid it might read 'Shirley' (but maybe that wasn't so bad; maybe seeing that would yank him violently out of this very long, very bad dream) and brought it up to his ear. "Hello?"
"Suzaku!" The voice on the other end was positively brimming with cheer. But then again, Gino was always like that. "I was supposed to try out some enhancements for the Tristan's weapons today, but they weren't ready yet. So I'm bored. Mind if I bug you instead?"
Suzaku rubbed his eyes; they stung, for some reason. "I'm not in my room," he sighed.
"I know." And then there was a series of soft raps on the door to the balcony.
He stared at it for a very long time. What should have been an obvious, glaring disadvantage of being on the rooftop only surfaced from his muddled thoughts now: he had nowhere to go. For all intents and purposes, he was trapped here. But, he tried to convince himself again, he could still fight. He'd already thought of this. After all, cornered animals made for the most dangerous ones, and...
He shook his head. Stupid. This was probably just Gino. "It isn't locked," he finally said.
The Knight of Three was always full of life, from his energetic strides to his boisterous laughs and endless antics. He grinned widely as he pocketed his phone and made his way to the other boy. "Nice coat! It kind of matches your cape...-ish."
Suzaku looked down at what he was wearing, and only noticed now that Gino was right. Had he always been fond of blue? "Thanks," he mumbled instead. "How did you know I was up here?"
"Actually, I tried a lot of other places first!" He sounded so jovial when he made this admission. "But by the time I realized it would save so much time to just call you, I'd already figured it out. Suzaku always comes to the rooftop when he needs to think."
He didn't know what to make of that at first, the only thought running through his head at that point – one that he was trying to suppress – was that Gino was a bit too close. His throat jerked when he swallowed. "Always?"
"Well, maybe not always," the younger Knight amended with a laugh. "Often enough. ...Okay, several times, but if I can't remember exactly how many then that must mean it's been a lot, right?" He rested his elbows on the railing and glanced at him. "You okay?"
"Of course," he muttered. (Why would he ask that?) "Why would you ask that?"
"I heard about what happened."
Suzaku's blood froze. His mind was very soon a mess of too many things pouring in all at once, most of it blind panic but others legitimate, insistent concerns: that Gino knew, he knew but from whom? Kallen? She should have been transferred by now, Nunnally promised – had he visited her? Or...shit, had Luciano been telling everyone? That would be the end of him.
Fortunately, Gino continued: "We were never really that close. But she was in the Student Council, right?"
Shirley. They were talking about Shirley, he had to force himself to realize. "...Right." That event had been classified as a terrorist attack, after all, and as one of the Knights of the Round stationed in this Area, he must have gotten a copy of the official report.
"Yeah, Suzaku knew her longer. From what I read, they're calling it a suicide, which is terrible. I never thought...I mean she just seemed so sweet, you know?"
He nodded without a word.
"I'm really sorry she died. I'll miss her, but I think you'll miss her more." Gino put a hand on his shoulder. "You sure you're gonna be okay?"
Suzaku tensed, every muscle in his body snapped tight like a cord, and a voice that had been whispering in the back of his head was now screaming that he was too close, too close. It was unnerving. He swallowed and grasped the offending arm, trying to push it away and not flinch at the same time. "Gino, please – "
But the other Knight misunderstood him completely; perhaps it was just bad timing, or the unfortunate similarity between this and a previous encounter they'd had in the hallway, that ended up with Gino smiling broadly and pulling him closer. "Need a hug?"
And perhaps it was just his luck that they were on this balcony, that he was being hugged from behind, that Gino was wearing that same uniform, and was around the same height – all those little things. But precisely because of those he couldn't help the way an awful, sickening burn raced up his veins, the disembodied voice now reverberating in his head ("Now, now, Suzaku. What's the rush?") and how that led to so many other things, until before he knew it he'd already snapped: he broke free, whirled around, and punched Gino right in the jaw. "Don't touch me!"
It was a wrangled cry, like a madman's. Gino landed hard on his side with a grunt and the heavy scrape of fabric against concrete. He held up a hand to his face, contorted in a wince as he hissed in pain and looked up, all traces of a smile gone.
Suzaku had pressed himself into a corner, shaking violently. An awful throbbing from his knuckles threatened to undo him – he wouldn't be surprised if he'd finally broken them, after all he'd put them through. Slowly though, slowly, he came to his senses...by virtue of a horrible, sickening clench of the gut. "Gino...Gino, I'm sorry..."
The younger Knight didn't answer him, merely rubbing his face. He spat blood onto the floor, opening and closing his mouth several times; thankfully, it didn't seem like he'd broken anything.
"I'm sorry." There wasn't much else he could think of to say. "I wasn't thinking! I just..." The sight of blood, and the reddening mark on his face (he'd hit Gino, what the hell had just happened?) made him nauseous, and he gripped the railing to keep from swaying on his feet. "You were...we were here and...and it reminded me of..." He sighed, a desperate, somewhat pathetic despair taking over him. He felt dizzy. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."
Gino gave him a long, unreadable look as he pulled himself to his feet. He still didn't smile, which was completely understandable but also rather disheartening. Finally: "You...don't tell me..." He regarded him for a bit longer before something hardened in his eyes, and he snapped his mouth shut, speaking through his teeth. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly, too quickly before he realized that was the wrong thing to say, that he really was a terrible liar and if he'd wanted to feign ignorance he could have done a hell of a lot better than that.
"Oh?" Gino's wry, almost mocking smile (at least he was smiling now?) only confirmed this. He scoffed, wiping the corner of his mouth on the back of his glove. He seemed deep in thought for a long time, and didn't even look at him. "Okay. I think I get it."
It just seemed too daunting to ask what exactly he 'got'. "Gino, if there's anything I can – "
"Come with me."
He looked up, startled. "What?"
Somehow Gino had his usual, goofy grin plastered over his face again, which was surprising to see. "My father owns a bunch of vacation houses in this Area, and one of them isn't far from here," he explained. "I've been meaning to spend a night there, just because, but it never really happened. Might as well be tonight!"
Suzaku shook his head slowly. He had no idea where to begin. "What?" he said again.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" The younger Knight bounced on the balls of his feet, and his eyes shone with laughter. "I'll have one of the guest rooms set-up. Ooh! You wanna go now? I'm parked near the hangar."
"I'd rather not."
"Then take a cab, I'll send you the address." And before he could protest that idea Gino was already skipping to the door, his own excitement overflowing in palpable waves. "This'll be so much fun! We could get junk food. And cake! Hey, you think Anya will want to come? "
"Stop!" It took some effort, but he finally managed to stop the Knight mid-babble. Suzaku rubbed at his temples with his good hand, trying to clear his head just enough to process this ridiculous turn of events. "Gino, no. I don't think...that's a good idea. Why are you even asking me?" He'd thrown a right hook and received an invitation to the boy's home in return; was he slowly going insane?
Gino lingered at the doorway for a few seconds, eyes to the sky as though he were mulling it over. Like this, with his fingers tapping idly against the door and his head swaying comically this way and that, Gino looked familiar again, and if it weren't for the angry mark near his chin it would seem as though nothing untoward had ever happened at all. "Because you look like you need to get away. You haven't taken a vacation since we got to Area 11."
"But – "
"One night may not be much," he was cut off genially, "but maybe some time away from here will be good for you. It's up to you, of course. I'm just saying." And he wasn't sure how to read the flash of a smile at that moment, whether he was making an offhand comment that just happened to hit close to home, whether he was really 'just saying' or knew more than he let on. Suzaku stood rooted to the spot, even as the breeze turned cold and Gino took out his phone, waving the device at him meaningfully. "I'm leaving in an hour. Let me know!"
In the end, and because Gino was right, he wound up going anyway. He'd thought of so many reasons not to go – that this was sudden, and irresponsible, and really rather stupid. But a few long minutes of sitting in his room, suffocating in its heavy stillness and counting on one hand just how many walls stood between him and the Knight of Ten made all those reasons seem mere trifles.
He rode in the back seat, which was rude, but Gino didn't seem to mind; he was only happy to have him along.
The drive lasted little over an hour, and the Settlement whizzed past them in a blur of lights and street signs. Suzaku sat huddled behind the driver's seat the whole time, listening to the purr of the engine, the occasional stray honk of a horn, Gino singing along to cheesy pop songs and radio commercial jingles.
It was a bit of a mess back here, with a sweater draped across the seat and empty soda cans rolling whenever they made a turn. There was a bottle opener under one of the rubber floor mats, and a part of him wondered if he could use it (the same irrational, borderline-paranoid part – the one that panicked when he saw that they'd crossed the Settlement border, and Gino just kept on driving) just in case. Then it dawned on him just what he was thinking, and he dropped his head to the window, stifling a groan. He hated himself. He knew Gino. And this madness – it had to stop.
He watched, through tinted glass, the evening twilight give way to dusk. With rush hour over Gino was free to go a bit over the speed limit, and when he cracked open the window wind whipped through his hair. Twice, for some odd reason, he briefly considered throwing himself onto the freeway. Just because. He would probably survive it too, he realized bitterly, if he even managed to unbuckle his seatbelt before the Geass (or Gino) stopped him. Wasn't that something.
The house was old but extremely well-kept: a wide, one-storey brick and mortar structure sitting amid small zen gardens and young fruit trees lining the perimeter. Orchids sat in ceramic pots, and the vines climbing along the side wall were trimmed just so, clearing the windows. Suzaku stalled at the doorway, fumbling with his boots as Gino chattered with the housekeeper in the kitchen. Money was exchanged, goodnights given, the slightest hint of a bow as they crossed paths, and then the man was on his way. He watched as the only other car pulled out of the lot, and followed its tail lights with his eyes until they were out of sight.
"Make yourself at home!" He only now realized just how long he'd been standing here when he saw Gino, already in loose jeans and a turtleneck, extending an arm and gesturing to the rest of the living room. Dark leather and animal furs graced the furniture, and the fireplace was crackling merrily. "Pick a room, any room. Bathroom's at the end of the hall, to your left."
Suzaku nodded mutely and padded through the living room, his socks muffling his footsteps against the sleek hardwood floor. He passed the dining room, the master's suite (he could tell by the looming set of double doors), the alcove next to it atop a short flight of stairs, where a piano sat dormant but spotless, the white of its keys gleaming in the dim light. The bedrooms were set in a line along the left side of the hallway. He picked the first one without looking and shut the door behind him.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and rubbed at his eyes furiously. He switched on the lights and had a quick look around, shrugging off his coat: the room was decorated in a green motif, accents in ivory and cherry wood. He slumped against the door and felt the smooth texture of the wood through his clothes as he slid to the floor, suddenly feeling very drained.
Sitting on the rumpled fabric of his jacket, he bowed his head and let his hair fall over his eyes. Here he was, practically in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles away from home (well – as close to one as he could get) at almost nine in the evening. On a Sunday. Was this really a good idea?
He sighed, resting his arm on one knee and tilting his head back as far as he could. The fluorescent bulb left a reddish-orange glow behind his closed eyelids. He'd been awake for – how many hours now? He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, and yet he just stayed there for a very long time, unable to do just that.
"Suzaku? Everything okay in there?" The swift raps on his door sent vibrations through the wood. When he didn't answer, the voice continued: "I know you're still awake, otherwise you would've yelled at me by now."
A soft snort, a pathetic excuse for a laugh, escaped his lips before he could do much about it. "What is it?"
There was a very long pause after that, and he wondered if Gino decided to leave. He certainly wasn't being the most gracious of guests, he thought miserably, having locked himself in this room almost immediately upon arriving; he'd completely lost track of time since then. But then he heard a soft thud, the rustle of fabric against the other side of the door, and then a muffled sigh.
"Something happened. Am I right?"
Suzaku opened his eyes. The question (or was it more of a statement?) didn't surprise him as much as he thought it would, but it was difficult just deciding how to respond. He wondered how much harm it would cause; he sort of felt as though he owed it to Gino, for everything he'd done. And yet...
It had always been a given: if he wanted to change Britannia from within, he needed to earn the trust of her people. He needed power. He was so close now, closer than he'd ever dreamed he could be. If knowledge of that incident leaked out, by whatever means – who would respect him? Even if Luciano were to be expelled from the Rounds, his own credibility would crumble. Everything he'd worked for, gone, over something so utterly meaningless – he wasn't sure it was worth the risk.
"You don't have to tell me exactly what it is." The other Knight's voice was barely audible through the door, and unusually sober. "But...tell me something else, then. Anything you want. Just talk to me." And then: "Please?"
All right. He could do that. Suzaku toyed with the lapels of his coat, creased and flattened beneath his hands. He felt the carpet under it as well, soft and probably even cleaner. "You have a nice place here."
"Hah, yeah. My father has...I think, three more in this Area? He has others too, in Area Twelve. Fifteen. Seventeen." There was that rustle of cloth again, and Gino must have shrugged against the door. "He likes the climate, I guess."
"He's here?"
"Nope! He's in Pendragon." And then he laughed. "It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, huh?"
Suzaku shook his head more out of instinct than anything else, although he remembered soon after that Gino couldn't see him. It was strange. This was certainly the first time he'd had a conversation with another person like this, sitting on the floor, back to back with a door between them as though that weren't absurd enough. Then again, there was a first time for many, many things.
"It's overkill, isn't it," the other Knight continued, "all this luxury? But I guess Suzaku doesn't need to hear that from me."
He blinked. "Hmm?"
Gino gave another little laugh, before knocking lightly on his side of the door. "Son of Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi – " (Suzaku almost blanched at this, because the last person who referred to him that way, in verbatim, and in the same half-bemused, half-nonchalant manner, had been Euphy) " – You were practically royalty, or at least damn close. What was it like, growing up?"
"It was..." He thought about it for a while. "All right." And then he thought about it a little more: the servants, the banquets, the countless hectares of open field, the men in suits who always monopolized his father's time. "I'm not sure how to describe it. It's been awhile."
"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that."
The laughter following that statement was richer now, more carefree. "What?"
"Suzaku always downplays everything!" Gino teased in a sing-song voice.
"What?" He frowned. "No I don't."
"Yes you dooooooo – "
"Well, Gino tends to exaggerate things," he cut in, before quickly realizing how petty that was. He almost considered banging his head against the door.
"Mm-hmm." Never before had that expression sounded so patronizing, but Gino was quick to return to the subject before he could point that out. "Would you have been next in line, though? After your father?"
He waited awhile for the punchline, and when none came he realized the question was serious. "That's...not how it works."
"Aww. Either way...I think, Suzaku might have made a good Prime Minister."
And Suzaku did blanch at this, because it was clear from his tone that Gino was still completely serious. "I don't think so."
"You don't? Well. It's too bad we'll never find out, then." Yes, and it was better this way, he wanted to reply, but he was pre-empted by this: "Sorry about that."
"About what?"
"About eight years ago. You know. Sorry."
Suzaku blinked, hard. For a few seconds, he actually wondered if he'd heard correctly, or if he'd gone too far off the deep end and was now imagining things. "You shouldn't say that," he finally answered, after an eternity. "You're a soldier of the Empire."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Gino said matter-of-factly. "Besides, Suzaku is a soldier of the Empire too!"
"Well...it's different." Gino was a true-blooded Britannian, with impeccable records and the name 'Weinberg' which commanded respect, cemented social ties, opened all doors. He was the disowned son, scourge of his own homeland, hated by both Britannia and what remained of Japan. "We're different."
"Again with the downplaying," he was scolded lightly; he could have sworn he heard a playful 'tsk-tsk' somewhere there as well. "No matter how you started out, it doesn't matter now. You've made it big. You're practically a hero!"
Hero. He remembered the massacre, the rebels who never surrendered, the little girl he'd saved who'd railed at him and called him a demon, a murderer. "I'm not so sure about that."
"I am." And here he wasn't sure what surprised him more – the declaration itself, or the firm, simple honesty therein. "You might not have faith in you, for whatever reason but...there are people who do. That's not exaggerating."
"I..." Suzaku didn't know how long he'd been trembling, but he noticed it now, and he locked his arms tightly around his knees in a desperate attempt to keep still. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to scream. Gino had faith in him – whatever for? He'd damned his own country, the useless Knight of a princess who'd died right before his eyes. He'd captured Zero, only to see him rise again. A worthless soldier who couldn't even defend himself, or protect a girl who'd been entrusted to him, against his own colleague – and this last one hurt the most, yet it was with a frustrating cowardice that he pushed it back down and invoked something else: "Shirley's dead," he stated, in a voice that was dangerously close to breaking.
"That isn't your fault," Gino replied softly.
"Isn't it?" he cried. And again he went over it all in his head, obsessed over everything he'd done wrong until he realized it was hopeless trying to list them all. "I was supposed to protect her! I..." I shouldn't have brought him to Kallen's cell. "I never should have let her out of my sight." I should have been stronger.
"And what? If you'd stuck with her the whole time, someone else might have died. Someone you saved today. That's just how it is." Gino let out a sigh, and there was a pensive softness to his voice, something he hadn't heard before. "We try to save as many as we can, but we can't be everywhere at once. There's always a casualty count. I'm...I'm sorry that today's included a friend."
Suzaku rested his cheek on top of one knee, staring vacantly out the window. "She was a good person," he mumbled. I tried, so hard. "She didn't deserve this." Do I?
"You're right. But it happened. You can't bring her back, you can't change anything. You have to let this go."
"Why?" he spat bitterly. (Why couldn't he just stop already, let this – the sting of failure and all the pain, guilt, and hatred – consume him once and for all?)
"Because..." Gino kept silent for a moment, before breaking into a quiet chuckle. "Because. As a friend once told me: we're soldiers. We've got responsibilities to the people we protect, and we can't fulfill them if we...if we allow ourselves to get hung-up and depressed every time something bad happens." He laughed again. "Or something like that. Was that right? I'm not sure that's right, but you get the point."
It didn't take him too long to realize who that 'friend' was, and that the words had been taken totally out of context but still, at the end of the day, meant the same thing. "Then what do I do?"
"Don't beat yourself up over it. If you have to, blame yourself once. Once. And then move on."
It was uncanny, how simple Gino made it sound. He would have thought recovering, picking himself up from this would be at least a bit more complicated...but then again, just because something was simple didn't mean it was automatically easy. And he knew this very well.
(The more he thought of it, the more it dawned on him: there really wasn't any other choice.)
With a sigh, Suzaku raised his head and leaned over, dropping so that he was soon lying on his side, on the carpet. He'd trapped his arm underneath his torso, but paid it little heed. Using his free hand, he brought up the rest of his jacket that he wasn't lying on and wrapped it around himself, still feeling inexplicably cold. Here, with a tilted view of the room and the side of his face pressed against the floor, he could hear his own breathing and – if he listened closely enough – his heartbeat.
"Suzaku? You okay?"
"I'm tired," he admitted, the note of concern in the other's voice not lost on him. He really was exhausted, so much that the king-sized bed just meters from him seemed so far away.
"...You know, a couple of years before I joined the Rounds, my brother and his family lived with us at the main house," Gino commented, suddenly thoughtful. "One of our maids was an Eleven, and...when my nephew was born, she'd always sing him this same song in Japanese. ...Not that I know what any of it ever meant, of course," he appended, "but I heard it so many times. Ah...how does it go?..."
The Knight of Three wasn't exactly the best singer in the world. The notes were flat at times, the melody faltering, pronunciation off and some words transposed or missed altogether. And yet Suzaku recognized the lullaby immediately: by the second line he was mouthing the words along, lips barely moving, but despite this (and despite something sliding down his cheek, something finally untwisting deep in his chest) he didn't make a sound. He was shaking, his legs twisted in his coat and the fingers of his free hand digging into the carpet, but he didn't make a sound.
Eventually, he did calm down. Gino, still singing of fireflies, coaxing them to the light, didn't otherwise say a word.
And that night, he didn't dream of his father's hard eyes in the ceiling, or of Euphemia holding his hand and giggling blood onto his fingers, or of Lelouch as a child with his face blotted out by something shapeless and sinister. He didn't dream of icy hands pressed into his backside, whispered damnations that hurt him more than the daggers they came with. He dreamt of nothing. And he was grateful, because this was probably as good as it was ever going to get from now on.
Suzaku woke to early sunlight playing across his face, filtered through the blinds. He sat up slowly, blinking away the grogginess. The carpet had left an imprint on his cheek, and he rubbed at it gingerly. There was no clock in the room.
He opened the door, and just barely avoided tripping over Gino when this action sent the latter toppling into the room, upper-body support gone. "Oh...hi there." Blue eyes grinned sleepily at him from below, and then squinted. "Morning already?"
"Did you...did you spend the night in the hallway?" Suzaku peered at him, incredulous.
"Hmm. I think so." Gino shrugged from where he lay sprawled on the floor, half-in and half-out of the bedroom. "What time's it?"
"I don't know," he answered. He felt a bit silly just standing there, but the other Knight was still blocking the doorway and making no attempt to correct this. It was more than a little awkward. "You didn't have to...you know. Stay there. All night," he finished lamely.
"It's okay. I wanted to make sure that Suzaku got to – holy crap it's a Monday." Gino sat up so quickly he almost hit his head on the doorknob. "We have to go!"
There wasn't any time to protest that; everything in the next half-hour was too much of a blur to even dwell on anything, what with Gino practically rushing this way and that, dragging him along. Breakfast was a hurried endeavor, half of it taken on the road while Gino lamented impending doom between bites behind the wheel. Suzaku paused in the middle of peeling an orange to spare a glance outside the passenger's window: traffic slowed to a crawl at the bridge they were on, and the river beneath sparkled as it caught the light. Vehicles crammed this narrow strip of steel and concrete as far as he could see.
So many people. Office workers glancing at their watches, truck drivers smoking with their windows down, an old man pushing a vendor's cart on the makeshift sidewalk making more progress than any of them on the road – he wondered what their lives were like, what stories they had to tell. It was so easy to get lost here, in this infinity: these people he claimed to fight for, but he didn't know any of them. It was a sobering thought.
When they finally pulled into the driveway of the Knights' residential complex, it was a little past eight in the morning, and Arthur promptly sank teeth into his leg when he arrived at his room.
There was the usual, measured haste in his actions as he dressed, until he was finally clad in the usual black and white and gold of Britannia's much-extolled Knights of the Round. This set was identical to the one he'd lost, and yet pristine, pressed to perfection, the cords gleaming as they decorated the front of his jacket. There was almost the illusion that he'd turned back time – almost, he reminded himself, seeing Euphie's pin with the slightest smudge of red on the pointed end.
He was surprised to see Gino still leaning against the hood of the car when he left the building, having already changed into a slightly less cumbersome uniform – Ashford's. "I thought you were leaving?"
"Waiting for Anya," he grinned. "So much for even trying to hurry back here. You sure you're not coming to school?"
"Not today, no." Suzaku shook his head. "Lloyd wants me at the lab all day."
"Oh, boo. And here I was thinking we'd try that new pizza place Anya mentioned for lunch."
He shrugged. "You could always go without me."
"But that's no fun!"
"I might go tomorrow. But I can't really promise anything."
"Oh well." Gino frowned, a ridiculously exaggerated expression on his face, but brightened up in an instant: "Ooh! Promise Suzaku will come on Wednesday then?"
He looked like a little boy, a very excited one with his wide eyes and wider smile. It was almost impossible not to smile back. "I'll see," he said, which was not a promise but truly the best he could do.
"I'll hold you to that," Gino sang, before squinting at something in the distance. Following his gaze, Suzaku glanced over his shoulder and saw Anya exiting the residential complex. She was in no hurry whatsoever, eyes glued to her electronic diary. "There's our little princess now. Hey, thanks again for coming!"
He should have seen it coming, really, the way Gino stepped forward and was suddenly close enough to cast a shadow over him. It was more than clear what he wanted to do, but no matter how well-meaning it was he found he couldn't help himself: Suzaku stepped back gingerly, avoiding the other Knight's gaze.
"S-sorry. I mean, thanks. Thanks for...thanks for having me," he stammered, nailing his gaze to the ground.
The silence that followed must have only lasted several seconds or so, but it seemed much longer than that. Regardless, he got a slight laugh for his efforts. "You're welcome," came the cheerful reply, and the blond stuffed his hands into his pockets instead. "Anytime, okay?"
Suzaku didn't dare meet his eyes for some time, and he eventually calmed down enough to think (did it matter, did he care enough?) Eventually, he just breathed a sigh of resignation. "Listen, Gino – "
He never got to finish, because Gino used that moment to cup his hands around his mouth and make a sound that mimicked a foghorn.
"Don't tell me," the younger Knight grinned as Suzaku gaped at him in shock – because he wasn't planning to, not about Luciano at least, but he let him continue. "If you tell me, and I'm right, then I may end up doing something I'll regret. Well...on second thought I probably won't regret it, but it might get me kicked out of the Rounds." He removed his hands and braced them against the hood. He was still smiling, but his features held less flippancy now, more genuine fondness and something intense that he couldn't name blazing in his eyes. "And then who's going to be here to cheer Suzaku up when he's being all mopey and sad?"
It took far longer to comprehend all of that – what it meant, what it could have meant, what hadn't been said – than he would have liked, and he found himself blinking in a daze when he finally did. "I... You don't..." He slid his eyes away, clenching his fists at his sides. He wasn't sure if he really meant what he was about to say, and yet: "You don't have to...do anything like that." He swallowed. "It's not necessary."
"But it helps, right?"
Suzaku kept his eyes locked onto the pavement, and he thought about that. He felt...much calmer now, he noted with mild surprise. He'd been trying so hard not to get too caught up in it, but now he realized this was the first time in the past two days that his head wasn't crowded with grim, hopeless thoughts of this or that, or all of it together.
His mind was clear, at least for now, and it was a welcome feeling.
"Of course it does!" Gino hadn't even waited for him to answer, already leaning back and smiling broadly. "Whatever it's about, one day Suzaku's eventually going to get over this hugging-phobia, I swear it. I'll be waiting till then."
There was a promise there, both of them knew, but it went unspoken. And maybe it was better this way, he thought, fighting the urge to smile through some vestige of sheer stubbornness.
"We're going to be late."
Gino's reaction to Anya's sudden arrival, coupled with her deadpan delivery, was immediate. "Oh dang it dang it dang it!" He jumped back into the car with much flailing and panic, and had the engine running by the time Anya climbed sedately into the passenger's seat. She blinked at him once, gave a little smile by way of greeting, and then unceremoniously snapped his picture through the window.
"I'll see you later," he told them both.
"You better!" Gino shifted into reverse, but stole one last moment to poke his head through the window. "Dinner later! You're driving!"
Any reply he could come up with was lost in the sudden blast of the radio, and Gino's own whoop of excitement as he zoomed back and then sped away, missing the Venice fountain by inches.
So this was how it was going to be: this sojourn, a ceaseless trial by fire, whether merited or not. 'Grace' was what they called it, in this foreign tongue, when luck and benedictions rained upon even the most hopeless of sinners; this was the other side of that same coin, but he didn't quite know how to put a name to it. Maybe it didn't even have one.
There was something immensely relieving about this realization, and what it implied. Granted, there were some truths, some memories that were not so forgiving: all those deaths he'd caused, and those he hadn't prevented (was there really a difference?); the things that could have been, and the things that were taken away from him. But if these wounds were forever, he would let them bleed. Because he'd survived them, and he would always survive them – such was his curse – the only path left for him was, as it turned out, the path he'd been walking on ever since he first picked up a knife and destroyed what was left of his childhood: endure. Live on, because even if he'd stopped hoping for redemption long ago, it seemed there was still something he needed to do, and this was all that mattered now. Perhaps it had been this way all along.
What remained, then, was just the question of how much he was willing to give up. To end this war – an abstract, far-fetched goal, but it was really all he had left. Live on. Endure. If he was damned either way, then...
Even though some distant part of him imagined it would be a great deal heavier, the box he held – with vials of Refrain inside – weighed little more than a handgun.
.: fin :.
More Author's Notes:
- 'Dis aliter visum' (Latin) can be roughly translated as 'it seemed otherwise to the gods,' in the sense that regardless of what mortals prepare/strive/hope for, the gods have different plans, and so events do not always play out as people expect them to.
- One thing I realized about the whole 'Trial and Error' storyline: the timing is horrible. It would be like this: the second SAZ ceremony, then the fight with Luciano on the rooftop, then the rape, then Shirley's death, then trying (failing) to use Refrain on Kallen, and a bit later nuking Tokyo with FLEIJA – in short, it's like one never-ending bad day for Suzaku.
- Area 12: Philippines; Area 15: Southern Pacific Islands; Area 17: Indonesia
- Totally considered light-novels as canon for this piece. References were made to 'The Wonder of You' as well.
Writing this story was...exhausting, if I had to sum it up in a word. Wasn't exactly planning on inserting the whole 'group date / Shirley dies' sequence at first, but I eventually figured if I respected canon for the mother story then I'd have to respect it here as well (sorry Suzaku!) I didn't plan for it to be this long either, but...I dunno. It just sort of...wrote itself? I wonder if that makes sense.
Anyway, thanks for reading (especially those who mentioned / hinted on / asked for this oneshot – here you go, I really hope you liked it.) Also: I turn 22 in three days. Know what would make me really, really happy? That's right, reviews! Yay. (Please and thank you.) ^_^