Title: At the Beginning
Rating: PG – Had to raise the rating because of hints of violence…no thanks to Mr. Asplund. XP
Theme: Hope
Pairings/Characters: Suzaku and Euphemia
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Episode 5+ in Season One
Time Period: Episode 5, Season One
Summary: It was the beginning of a fairytale.
Word Count: 2,005
Dedication: To Michelle and Erick. I will be praying that you are each 'the one' to each other. Strive, struggle, and overcome, but always together. I love you both…eternally!
Disclaimer: True love…surpasses all. It belongs to no one if it is shared.
A/N: .-. …I think I'm gonna have fun whenever I finally break into writing as Lloyd and Cecile more often. …read the fic, then you'll know exaaaactly what I'm talking about.
. . . . . . .
It was a time of chaos and much deliberation. Even the good things that came to pass were questionable in the light of a battle not won, a terrorist risen from the depths of the till-then silent oppressed, and a war soon to break out in waves across this province so numbly dictated 'Area 11.' It was all so futile, so repetitive, and during so, destructive. While the Britannians went through life consciously oblivious to the pain and suffering of the once prideful nation they now inhabited, the forgotten Japanese struggled day in and day out to etch out of every new morning a sense of a purpose to continue living lives hardly even the ghosts of what they had been before.
It was a somber reminder then, with every coming morn, that in his place as it was now, Suzaku Kururugi was the pinnacle of shame and hope alike. Neither of them ones he could escape, nor ones he denied. He was mantled with both of them, and accepted their load without protest.
…what else could he do in good conscience?
His eyes settled upon the cleanly street, the familiar movements of passersby with a purpose, and the crisp white and reflective glass panes of the rising angular, pinnacled buildings over their heads. Every step was the first path of a mountain climbed, every doorway the neutral entrance into depths of what elicited their abilities to stand so tall and not topple. How could structures so steady be grounded in a government that was cruel and corrupt, merciless? Suzaku's eyes narrowed gently, a soft ache echoing in the center of his chest. There was always good to balance out the evil of any one thing, be it human, intention, or action. A monarchy was no different.
Lifting his hand, he placed a pair of sunglasses upon his face and slowly let his arm drop.
Could he hide?
It was never a thought he had considered. To hide solved nothing, and why linger in the fetidity of a problem or opposition when meeting it would bring conflict and then resolution—either in his favor or the other's? Yet…such logic…was empty of true meaning without reason.
Subtly his hand tightened on the thick rope that pulled his standard issue military bag closed compactly at the top.
I didn't mean to do it.
No, that was wrong.
I meant it. I…didn't know what it would entail…. Falling, eyes falling from the gleam of immaculate windows, from the sheen of blonde walls. Slowly, in little ticks, like a clock uncertain of its pace. Hidden, almost, away from the brightness, the encircling reminder—watching, watching and waiting, waiting—by eyelids too ashamed, too afraid to close all the way, lest…lest…. Brows reached together, tightened the distance, let it shrink away to allow room for—memories, memories that were reminders, reminders of his—shame. Sin? Lips tightened, words and outcries that murmured deep beneath the skin somehow repressed further by that motion—not being able to speak. To speak only wisdom but never allude to from whence the knowledge came. These were things people risked their lives to contain. To contain the truth, for the betterment of their country, their beliefs, their people. If they knew….
If they knew, I would be no hero. I would be, at last, someone they should not revere, not place their hope into.
Slowly his grip loosened, taut enough only so that the bag would not slip through his fingers. His eyes rose again. Behind the darkened lenses of his sunglasses, an internal sliver of light was born again and his green eyes reflected an unseen presence. In it was the world-worn echo of soft grasses and thick trees, their colors alone bearing the assurance of wholesomeness. Decisively, his hand rose again and removed the sunglasses, thumb brushing against the small bandage on his cheek with the motion, and the rough, woven texture helped stir him from his previous misgivings.
There is time yet.
Still he was made to wait. The rushed and considerably exuberant promise out of Lloyd to come pick him up immediately went so far without purchase. The quirky head of scientific research division Camelot had heard of his pilot's eminent release, 'due to lack of evidence' as Suzaku had been told and thus passed on to his superior, but Suzaku had to assume it was mainly joy at the return of the essential piece to the Lancelot's functioning that spurred on the researcher. Even further why Lloyd had no reason whatsoever to rush to his aid, now that aid was no longer necessary and Suzaku's continued existence assured.
Suzaku smiled inwardly, faintly embarrassed and amused at the thought of the real basis of his superior's relief at the outcome of the trial. Cecile, I guess I can only count on you for any hope of your arrival soon. With how Lloyd had proven to shift persistently with a wanton logic typical only of his actions, it was easy to assume the man had thought it a fine time to delve into another bout of upgrades on the Maser Vibration Swords given that their initial speed in activating their embedded electro-chemical technology was still 0.81 seconds off from what it should have been capable of doing without a fuss. Especially considering the wonderful internal maneuverability-optimizing inceptor…or in other words, one Suzaku Kururugi, was redeemed and wholly functional, thus capable of bringing together the entire system without flaw. Which, Cecile would then point out was the one piece currently missing, and use that as a means to usher Lloyd out the door—protesting and drolly noting how mother-like Cecile had become over their years working together, which would then earn him a bruise from some nameless blunt object—and eventually lead Suzaku…right back to this point in time: expectantly awaiting their arrival, and hoping that if such a completely plausible daydream was indeed transpiring, that it would mean he would nonetheless not have much longer to wait.
However, this turned his thoughts to another bewildering development. Or, perhaps not as confusing as much as it was…concerning. There was in-fighting in the military, which had not been brought into the open on the lower levels by any measures before. The Princes and Princesses of Britannia were known at times to have conflict with one another, yet even their critical rivalries held respect and honor within them. So that, while they competed, there was not the vicious intent to slaughter, nor to destroy; merely to surpass. The Purists, as they called themselves, were of a different matter altogether.
Militants only of the purest blood—Britannian without the intermarriage of any other race—and loyal flawlessly to His Majesty's commands and heirs. These were the creeds by which they lived. Any others were kept close to the blade and, undoubtedly, in the heart. Regardless, they were now the source of the ruckus within the ranks of the Britannian militia. What would come of their hostilities towards one another was as of yet undetermined, but it was rumored there was not only dissent, but a fouler odor amongst their ranks. The sole benefit or incredulous contrivance, depending on who was asked, was his release. And to this now, Suzaku Kururugi's thoughts turned.
Was it a benefit, or a hindrance as of yet underdeveloped?
"Why, all of a sudden?" he asked himself quietly.
A sudden outcry broke through his grasping thoughts. "Look out below!" rushed with concern, spurred by surprise. He glanced up quickly, and saw perhaps the least expected thing that could ever occur—not merely at that time, but a girl, falling from the sky. "Watch out!" she shouted again in additional warning. But instead, dropping his bag swiftly at the side of one leg, he braced himself to catch her, and as she fell into his arms, lighter than expected, he gripped her with the certainty of ensuring her security, bending his legs to absorb the shock of the descent's abrupt end. Now, kneeling upon the concrete walkway, he gazed at the peculiar girl he had rescued.
Her attire was youthful, yet neither truly flattered or came off as unbeseeming. A white top softly accented her fair complexion, a yellow-green bodice beneath wrapping her midriff while a long goldenrod skirt fell from there. Yet what caught his eyes second most, apart from the face she had turned away in involuntary defense and still wondered after, were the curtain of tresses that too fell with her. They were not the longest he had ever witnessed, yet many girls did not endeavor or have the facility to maintain hair of this length. It too, was of a color that brought a blush of awe upon the faces of those that looked on it. Likened unto a fairy rose, every tress whispered from the palest hue of near-white where the sunlight hit it, into the soft readiness of pink only beholden to that flower so aforementioned. The curved ends of her bangs etched the border above her right eye, and two buns interwoven into the rest of her locks fell near half her height by the casual glance.
"Um," he began hesitantly, "are you alright?"
Then her still-shocked face turned towards his, her mouth already parted in a silent expression of her astonishment from the experience. Wonder of wonders, should he have expected her response to have been normal? "I'm so sorry!" she apologized, the concern still evident in her voice as she looked up towards his countenance. Her face was as open as a book when translucent eyes, like periwinkle glass, locked naturally with his. "I didn't think there was anyone down here," she explained, as though it was the most pressing issue of what had just transpired.
"No," Suzaku said slowly, taken by her frankness and choice of attention. And yet it was clear she meant no ill will, hardly any foul insinuation. What an odd girl she was appearing to be already. Honest, though. And to further ensure her comfort after her safety, though he would not allow any hurt or jolt of impact even then to jostle her, he shifted himself and his grasp to her arms, letting her legs settle so that she knelt gently on the ground with him now half-crouching, half-kneeling before her. "I didn't think that a lady would be coming down from above, either," he continued through this, and found it not unusual that he did not drop his gaze, nor that she did not drop hers.
"Eh?" she gasped delicately, and as though something had just come to her attention, her gaze stilled on his face. His head tilted to the side. What was it about her that beckoned such a parcel of curiosity to dictate his actions so? "Is something the matter?" he found himself asking, and true enthrallment with this young woman's nature—what little he had yet seen of it—allowed no room for concern or the possibility of it in his voice.
To mark his accuracy, no sooner had the query been given she turned her face away from his, eyes canting downwards, as though deliberating what to answer. Almost a private whisper between herself and whatever thoughts she indulged, a small pretty smile came to her lips—and he was surprised again at the sense of genuineness to it. It was the type of expression that held the same facets as a lake being filled with water: it was natural—nay, even…it belonged there. And then she looked up, a decision made—echoed with a tangible sparkle in her eyes, the smile more broadly pronounced as she met his face. Her voice broke out cheerful, as though a wonderful discovery had been alighted on and could now in no way dim her circumstances.
"Yes, there is!"
A soft noise of bewilderment slid from him. Now, in hindsight, he could not discern whether it was her words to which the sound had been a reaction…
…or the faint fluttering skip of his heart.