2.
It's 9:33 am, and he sits under the large oak tree outside, his feet tucked under him and his hair still loose around his shoulders. He plans to leave precisely at ten; the long drive to Frankfort puts him at the post office just before eleven, when he and CC usually arrive. He's found through careful observation that it's the best time to avoid large crowds, though he knows that there is always a chance there will be a crowd anyway. There is always a chance. But he still hopes that this time will be quiet like the last four.
It's the first time CC won't be there with him.
Vincent is watching him as he talks, probably hoping for a treat. He has one in his pocket, but he plans to wait to give it until they reach Frankfort and he's sure Vincent won't get sick in the car. Vincent doesn't seem to notice it, though; his brown eyes are fixed on his face, and it's almost like the dog is listening to him. It makes it easier to practice.
"I'm doing well," he says to Vincent, who doesn't move except for the breeze stirring the hair around his ears, "and how goes it with you this week?" He has to sound like a native speaker, and he's found that talking to Vincent is the best way to practice. CC already sounds completely native and has since they arrived here, and besides, she's not always around. Vincent is.
He waits a moment, then says, "Sofie is back home," because he knows the postmaster will ask about CC, but then he pauses because he still hasn't decided what he'll say she's doing. He doesn't want to say she's sick, because then the postmaster will ask him more questions like how she is doing and what she has, and he doesn't want to have to invent that much information. He lies enough, he feels. But he doesn't want to act as if he doesn't know what she's doing either, because that will seem suspicious, and the last thing he needs is for an outsider to get suspicious of him.
"Sofie is," he starts, and considers. Vincent cocks his head to one side, as if surprised that he's gone silent, and he reaches out and rubs the dog's ears. He can feel the breeze lifting his hair off his neck and resolves to tie it back before he leaves. Alexander always has his hair back in public, away from his face and out of his eyes.
Overhead, the leaves rustle, and he looks up for a moment. Vincent licks his hand and then takes the opportunity to nose at his pocket. "Vincent!" he says, pushing the dog's nose away. Then he smiles.
"Sofie is back home having lunch with a friend," he says to the dog, who looks back up at him with his ears cocked. He pauses a moment, then says, "She'll come next time, she told me to tell you. Now, about the packages—"
Vincent makes a huffing noise, and he checks his watch. It's time for him to head back to the garage, if he plans to arrive at the post office on time. For a moment his heart pounds as he contemplates the drive by himself, but he's practiced that too, and he knows he can do it easily. It's less complicated than a Knightmare, after all.
"Good boy," he says to Vincent as he stands up. He doesn't need to practice the part about the packages, he reasons as he starts the walk back through the grounds, Vincent gamboling at his side. He has said so much about sending packages that he's fluent in it. He's ready.
o
He arrives precisely on time, and to his delight there is no one else in the post office. At the door he checks his reflection. His hair is still perfectly tied back, but the glasses he wears in public are slightly crooked. He lifts his free hand, the one holding Vincent's leash, and adjusts them, blinking his now-amber eyes as he does so. The contacts feel strange to him, but they always do, and it's not painful so he tries not to worry. They're essential if he's to ever leave the castle at all.
Through the glass he can see the postman at the counter, absorbed in the small television on the counter. He takes a deep breath. Then he pushes the door open.
"Good day, Herr Klose!" he calls as he enters, and the postmaster looks up from the screen. Herr Klose's face breaks into a smile at the sight of him, and he reaches out to twiddle the volume knob on the television.
"Alexander Schweinsteiger!" the postman says cheerily. "And Vincent too, I see. Haven't seen you two since—" he makes a show of checking the clock "—exactly this time last week. And how are you today?"
"I'm doing well," he replies, "and how goes it with you this week?" Every word comes out perfectly. Next to him, Vincent cocks his head to the side and pants. He touches the top of the dog's head, and Vincent licks his hand.
"Not bad, not bad," Herr Klose says genially. Then he raises his eyebrows. "And where is your lovely sister today?" The postmaster always comments on CC's loveliness in some way; it's as if the man loves routine as much as he does. He can't say he blames him.
"Sofie is at home having lunch with a friend," he replies promptly, and can't help but wondering just which friend CC would actually agree to lunch with. But he makes himself stop, because he'll only start thinking about everyone they used to know again if he doesn't, and even after three years it still hurts to remember some of them.
He catches his breath and remembers his next line. "She told me to tell you that she'll come next time." He heaves his packages onto the counter and adjusts his glasses again. The lenses are catching the overhead light, just a little. Next to him, Vincent lets out a huff and sits down, tongue lolling.
"Really?" Herr Klose says as he begins the process of sorting through the packages. "What sort of friend?" His tone becomes suggestive. "A male friend, perhaps?"
He fights down the image of green eyes and tousled dark hair, and instead replies, "No, a girl we went to school with."
Herr Klose nods at that. "Well, tell Sofie I missed her," he says as he scans one of the packages. "My week just isn't as bright without a glimpse of her pretty face. Or her pretty body."
He lets himself pull a slight face at that, and says, "Do I have to repeat that part, Herr Klose?"
The man lets out rumble of laughter. "Trust me, Alexander, if you weren't her brother you'd understand."
He doesn't understand anyway. CC is beautiful, yes, but her beauty is ethereal to him, something almost separate from her, a gauzy layer she wears over herself almost absently. When he looks at her, he doesn't see beauty. He sees CC.
They're almost done, and he has just pulled out his wallet to pay for the shipping, when Herr Klose leans over the counter and says to him, voice low, "Did you hear the news about Zero?"
It's as if his heart has stopped. "There is news about Zero?" he manages to get out in a perfectly level, even curious, tone. But it's hard for him to breathe, and one thought after another chases their way through his head, almost on top of each other. Is he hurt? Is he being held prisoner? Is he missing? Is he dead? The image comes back, stronger than before, and he finds that his hands are gripping the counter so hard his knuckles are white.
It's an eternity before Herr Klose answers. "It was just announced," the man rumbles, nodding to the television. "Ambassador Lamperouge says he's gone into retirement."
"Retirement?" he bleats before he can stop himself, but the shock he knows is evident in his tone apparently doesn't strike the postman as odd. But Vincent can tell; he feels the dog's nose pressing against his leg, and he can hear a soft whimper. Vincent hates it when he gets like this, and he usually tries to calm down if Vincent starts acting like this. But he can't. Not yet.
"Strange, isn't it?" Herr Klose says. "I thought he would stay by her side until the end. But I suppose, after everything he's done to help her and Japan – and after what he did to that monster of an emperor—" The man's face twists with dislike, and it's all he can do not to step back. "He deserves to rest," Herr Klose concludes.
"But retirement," he says again, trying his hardest to just sound contemplative, but it's even more difficult than sounding just curious was. Vincent isn't fooled; he's still whimpering, softly, and he wants to stop it but he still can't. His head is reeling, and he can still barely breathe, because he knows what it means that Zero is putting down his mask, and it's not so the man behind it can get some rest.
"It wouldn't be that hard for him, would it?" Herr Klose says speculatively. "No one ever knew who he was, after all. He can just go back to being whoever that is full-time now."
Finally, he manages to let go of the counter and drop a hand to his side. Vincent immediately pushes his nose into it, and he carefully moves his hand to the fur on Vincent's head and strokes. The whimpering ceases. He manages to take a breath, and lets his fingers rub the soft hair on Vincent's ears. "I suppose," he manages. "It seems strange, though."
"It is," Herr Klose agrees, and for a moment the other man's eyes seem to look past him, past Alexander, and for a second he thinks that his thoughts must be written on his face plain as day for even the postmaster to see. His heart stops again.
But Herr Klose just holds out a hand as if nothing is different. "See you next week, Alexander," the postman says, eyes already sliding back to the television. He's careful not to look, because he can hear a little of the tinny voices emanating from it, and he's almost sure that if he looks he'll see Nunnally.
In a daze, he shakes the man's hand, then turns to leave, hands empty. "Good-bye, Herr Klose," he adds after a second. "Come, Vincent." The dog bounds to the door, wagging his tail as he waits for him to open it. He does so, barely noticing what he's doing, already fishing in his pocket.
Behind him, the postmaster calls after him, "Make sure Sofie comes next time!" It's what he would say if everything were still the same. It's what Herr Klose would say to Alexander Schweinsteiger, who has lived here all his life, and has a pretty sister named Sofie, and whose best friend is his dog.
But he hasn't lived here all his life, his sister doesn't even know he's alive, and his best friend has apparently taken it into his head to retire from the only identity he had left to him. He knows there can only be one reason why, and it's the reason he can barely breathe as he practically runs back to the car, Vincent bounding at his heels. It's amazing how much one moment can change everything, he thinks, but then he knows that better than anyone.
He's already dialing as he opens the door.
o
The number he's calling is the one CC gave him in case of emergencies, followed up by a long – for CC – lecture on what, exactly, constituted an emergency, and what she would do to him if he called this number when it wasn't one. He hasn't used this number yet, but he's fairly sure that this counts.
He tries to breathe as he listens to the phone ring – once, twice – the silence in between each seeming to last an absolute eternity. It rings once more before he hears a click, and then CC's lazy voice says, "Isn't it time for you to be at the post office?"
"Did you know?" he demands.
There's a beat of silence, and then she says, "I know a lot of things, Alexander, so you're going to have to be more specific."
"CC," he spits at her, and it's the first time in three years. She doesn't answer, but her silence is palpable, and he knows he's shocked her. Good, he thinks savagely. He's got her attention now. "Did you know that Zero was retiring?"
"That?" she drawls, maddeningly calm now. "That's old news, brother mine. He retired at least two, three days ago now."
Days ago. His head whirls, and it's as if something has grabbed hold of his chest and started squeezing. He might already be too late.
In the backseat, Vincent starts whimpering again, and he feels the cold press of the dog's nose on the hand holding the phone. He closes his eyes. Then he snarls at her, "You knew?" It's like he's ricocheting between rage and terror faster than he can breathe. But rage is easier, and he grips at it, trying to use it to shield himself from the terror until he can think properly again.
CC lets out a breath, then says, "I knew."
It's all he can do not to put his fist through the windshield. "Is this why?" he demands. "Is this why you blocked the news?"
"I blocked your access to the news because you did nothing else but watch it for six months," she replies, and he can hear just a hint of anger in her voice now. "And if you were thinking right now, you'd remember that I am not psychic. I didn't block the news for you two years ago because I somehow knew Suzaku would retire this week."
Hearing that name is another blow to the chest, and he deflates. "But if you knew—" he starts, but she cuts him off.
"It's not what you're thinking."
"And what am I thinking?"
"That he's going to kill himself now," she says, so matter-of-factly he wants to reach through the phone and strangle her. "But he isn't. At least not right away."
"Is that meant to be comforting?" he can't resist muttering, but he's listening now, with all his being.
"It is, in fact," she says. "He has a new identity now, Alexander."
The grip on his chest loosens, ever so slightly. "A new identity?"
"A new name, everything," CC says. "She got it for him. Did you really think Nunnally never figured out who Zero was? He's barely left her side for the last three years."
"She knows?" he repeats faintly, and with that the anger's gone, and he can breathe. His heart's still beating fast, fear still not quite believing that there's nothing to worry about, but he can handle this. He can.
"Of course," CC says.
He falls silent a moment, and Vincent sticks his nose in his ear. He yelps and pushes the dog away, but Vincent lunges forward again and licks his face frantically, tail going like a windmill in a storm. He twists then, reaches out and rubs the dog's head, whispering, "Shhhh." Vincent finally drops into a sitting position on the back seat and just watches him, brown eyes almost mournful.
"Shhhh?" CC asks.
"Vincent," he says by way of explanation. For a moment, then, he remembers Vincent's namesake, and the fear momentarily swells over him again. "CC," he says, and it's the second time now. "I have to find him."
"You can't," she says simply.
"But—"
"Go home," she tells him, and her tone brooks no argument. "You must be in Frankfort, right? Go home and wait. I'll tell you everything when I get back."
"But Suzaku," he starts, but he can't get his lips to form the next word. Instead he lets them trace the name again, slowly. Suzaku. He hasn't said that one in three years either.
"Think about it. I knew when he retired. I knew he had a new identity. You think I don't know where he is now?"
"You know where he is?" he whispers, and hopes he can hear her response over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.
"I know he's alive," she replies. "Trust me. You know you can't go anywhere, and you have no idea where he could be now anyway. Besides," her voice drops, "he doesn't know about you."
He lets his head fall. She's right; Suzaku doesn't know. He'd been afraid to tell him, in case it hadn't worked. He hadn't wanted to hurt Suzaku more than he already had, and letting him think he wouldn't die only to have it backfire was worse than the other way around.
"Go home and wait," CC says, and he manages to lift his head again. "Try to catch up on your schedule. I'll tell you everything – and that includes about Suzaku – when I get back."
"When?" he whispers.
"Check the Book, brother mine," she says, and the playful note is back in her voice. He knows she's doing it to calm him down, but it's working anyway. It's like it usually is, again. He reaches out, touches the Book. It's still where he left it, on the passenger-side seat.
"One week from today, 8:00 pm, Sofie arrives home," he whispers.
"And today?"
"12:30 pm, arrive back at the castle. 12:45 pm, make lunch. 2:00 pm, take Vincent out." With every word he feels the tension lessening. It's not gone, but then it won't be, not until she's home again. "You'll call me if something happens to him?"
"I promise."
"All right," he says. He looks at the dashboard clock. 11:47 am. He'll be late getting back, but not by much. About fifteen minutes. He can cut fifteen minutes from lunch. "It's 11:48," he tells her. The drive is an hour.
"Better get going then," she says softly, and hangs up.
