I do not own Code Geass, if I did, Lelouch and Suzaku would be mine.

The Breathing Dead

"Little do men perceive what solitude is and how far it extendeth; for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling where there is no love." -Francis Bacon

"My surface may be smooth, but my surface is my mask ever-varying ever-concealing, beneath lies no complacence, beneath lies confusion and fear, and aloness. But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated façade to help me pretend. To shield me from the glance that knows."-Excerpt from Charles C. Finn's poem Please Hear What I'm not Saying (Masks)

It was a cloudless night, the stars twinkling brightly in the bluish-black sky. A crisp breeze blew by, causing the cape of the darkly clad figure striding down the walkway to flutter. He descended into a separate building of the newly built Pendragon Palace and down dimly lit corridors. As he neared his destination light spilled into the dim hallway, illuminating the way and eclipsing whatever brightness the torches emitted. He was going to the Pool of Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory in Greek mythology, a place where the names of those that had fallen during the power struggle for world domination were written on candles and allowed to float upon the water. It was a ceremony that he endured every night as a silent tribute to those whose sacrifices would not be forgotten.

An automatic smile spread across his lips when he saw the girl sitting in her wheelchair, the light brown curls falling around her thin shoulders giving her the appearance of an angel. He gave a gracious bow. "Good evening Your Majesty."

She smiled kindly at him. "Sir Zero. Won't you please join me?" She asked in that wonderfully lilting voice, sapphire eyes twinkling noticeably. She knew who was behind that mask. Suzaku Kururugi. He had become her closest ally during her coronation as empress when the newfound peace had been in its infancy, and now he was her rock, her most trusted confidant and dearest friend. She looked down at the two unlit candles in her hands, trailing a finger over the letters painted neatly into one of the two. On the side of one candle was the name Euphy while the other was blank.

They met each other each night to light the candles of Euphy and Lelouch in remembrance of the two people that had held their hearts in their palms. They had to do it in secret because suspicion would arise if they were seen lighting a candle for the Demon Emperor. If Suzaku was exposed, he would most definitely suffer a public execution or a private assassination. Therefore, when the inhabitants of the palace were asleep they would slip from their chambers and convene here in secret.

Cautiously he removed his mask, swiping a hand through his chestnut hair, and tucked it under his shoulder. He smiled and walked to her, fishing a Zippo from the inner pocket of his shirt. "I would love to."

She handed him the nameless candle, dipped the small brush into the tiny inkwell in her lap, and proffered it to him. "It's your turn to help Lelouch along."

He smiled, swallowing a lump in his throat, and wrote 'Lelouch' on the surface of the candle. You were never truly a monster Lelouch, just a boy driven to change the world. With a sad sigh, he lit the candle in his hand, then the one Nunnally held, and placed them both into the faintly lapping water. Quietly he watched as the two candles drifted along, joining the numerous burning candles some with names others blank (in recognition of those nameless lives that were extinguished.). He stared at the flickering lights that united as one chorus of light luminously brightening the room, his mind drifting to those that had been erased from his life by war.

"I miss them," she whispered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I miss Lelouch."

He swallowed thickly, schooling his features so they didn't show his anguish. "So do I." He took her tiny hand in his and held it tightly in gesture of comfort. "But it was what he wanted."

She nodded, sapphire eyes shimmering with unshed tears. After they stared at the radiance floating upon the water (two candles in particular) she chuckled.

He looked at her questionably. "Nunnally?"

She gave a dismissive wave. "It's nothing it's just that sometimes I pretend that Lelouch is alive and that he just moved far away. I like to imagine that he's safe somewhere working at his dream job and just doesn't have time to visit, or write, or email, or call…" Her brow knitted. "It's funny."

He regarded her with a curious countenance. "What is?"

"Nothing, he just didn't look like himself lying in that casket." She leaned back into her pink lavish wheelchair.

He caressed her knuckles with the side of his thumb. "Nunnally…" his voice died in his throat.

"I know." She sniffed back her tears. "He's dead, but it's just sometimes I can still feel him." She raised her eyes to him and gave an uneasy smile. "It's wishful thinking I know, but I do wish he was here." She confessed, a melancholic expression plastered on her face.

"I wish they both were here, but… it… they… that's just how it had to be. We cannot change the past." He pinched his lips and stared ahead, his mind racing with ideas.

Nunnally grew silent and a lengthy quietude fell over them, nothing piercing the stillness. "Suzaku?"

He looked down at her affectionately. "Yes?"

"I received another bouquet of white roses this morning."

He grinned fondly at her. "You are loved by your subjects, Nunnally." He didn't allow any other emotion to show but playfulness. Nunnally had been receiving a bouquet of two dozen white roses bi-monthly for almost four years now. Either the guy was truly in love with her or… It was at that moment that Suzaku's gears, though they were nowhere near as sharp as the former Zero, began to spin. Perhaps he should investigate this.

She smiled sweetly at him.

Suzaku closed the door to his private residence, which was not on palace grounds but close enough and removed the helmet and mask. He sighed and went to his chambers, undressing down to his underwear and strode to the bathroom. With a sigh, he looked down at the dark costume lying on his bed. For years now, he had worn that suit just to take a walk around the palace grounds, just to go to a restaurant, just to buy a dozen eggs for an omelet in mornings and now he understood the punishment that Lelouch had laid upon him. He would be forever hidden behind the mask of Zero forever imprisoned, forever a symbol of justice, but never a person. He sighed and walked to the wardrobe in the corner, choosing a pair of sweatpants as his pajamas for the night. He knew he was getting into when he agreed to become Zero, and there was no use in crying over spilled milk. He was paying for his sins by sacrificing his own life.

He padded to the bathroom, a pair of sweat pants beneath an arm, and turned on the shower, testing the water to make sure it was to his liking before getting in. The hot water beat down upon him soothing the knots in his back and sending goosepimples over his tanned skin. His mind continued to return to what Nunnally had said repeatedly until it was a continuous loop playing incessantly in his brain. Lelouch couldn't be alive, it was impossible, he'd plunged that sword through his heart himself. He winced when he thought about the sword he had used to slay his friend. There had been so much blood. C.C. was powerful but he doubted she could trifle with death. He shook his head as if he could shake the idea of his brain with that simple act. No, he'd watched him die. He could not be alive, but then again… "Lelouch are you still alive?"

Sal's Pizzeria was alive with activity. Either customers sat at their table eating their pizza or waiting patiently on it to be delivered to them (the new couple at the table near the window was trying to keep from sighing when a couple with six children all under ten sat behind them). The kitchen was also full of commotion behind the doors as the cooks hustled about preparing pizza with the specified toppings and side orders.

Sal, a large man wearing a greasy chef's apron and a pencil stuck behind an ear finished stacking a pile of six pizzas just as the bell above the door opened, signifying someone's entrance. He looked up to see his delivery boy and instantly shouted his name. "David!"

David Drake, a man of slender stature (almost underweight) with chocolate brown hair that hung messily in his eyes and clung to the nape of his nape, glanced up, his azure eyes rolling tiredly. He strutted to the counter and stood there with an indifferent stance, waiting for his boss to scold him.

"You're fifteen minutes late David Drake! What do you have to say to that?"

He rolled his eyes again. "That using my full name every time I'm late is excessively wearisome," he responded impudently. He didn't flinch when the large man glowered irately at him. "Fine you want an excuse? I overslept."

Sal squeezed the bridge of his nose with two sausage-sized fingers. "You know what? I don't have time to deal with you this morning." He stuffed the pizzas into the red airtight warmer and sealed it, shoving it to the delivery boy. "These are from an order ten minutes ago. You got twenty minutes to get to the tenth floor of the Weinberg building and deliver those pies."

David clicked his tongue, grasped the full red container, and walked through the swinging doors, grumbling under his breath.

"If you're late you're fired!"

The tantalizing scent of tomato sauce, melting cheese, and baking pizza assaulted his nostrils, but he ignored it and continued through the busy kitchen. He plucked the keys from the hook on the wall and walked out the back door. A scowl graced his face when the old jalopy of a delivery car greeted his narrowed eyes. Sal was such a frugal bastard. How did he expect him to get across the frigid city in this piece of crap? Ah well, he might as well give it a try. He opened the door, threw the warmer to the passenger side, climbed in, and after five attempts finally got the piece of junk started. Soon he was putt-putting down one of the eight-lane streets on his way to the colossal structure towering in the distance. Wasn't Gino's surname Weinberg? Damn, he was loaded. He continued to putt-putt down the street as other glossy vehicles whizzed by.

He took a glance in the rearview mirror and winced when he saw the wig covering his dark hair and the blue eyes staring back at him. With a swift movement, he turned on the radio, giving a satisfied sigh when one of the latest rock songs filtered through the speakers. Good, the music was loud, he liked that because that meant that his treacherous thoughts wouldn't be able to manifest themselves. After several mishaps with the car and one traffic jam later, he parked at the entrance of the structure dominating the skyline and scurried to the entrance. The place was all shades of white. He bet the interior decorator thought the colors made it look pristine when in reality it made it look like a dentist's office. He strode nonchalantly to the elevator and pressed the 'up' button, taking a second to check his watch. Five minutes to spare. He tapped his foot impatiently when the elevator doors didn't open for a few moments. There was absolutely no way in hell that he was taking the stairs, he'd sooner leave it downstairs.

Finally, the doors dinged open and he got in, ignoring the lurch it gave when it started to ascend. Three minutes to spare. Okay he would still make it if it only stopped at two floors. The elevator stopped at two floors, but by the time it opened to the tenth floor it was almost at capacity. Lelouch groaned in the corner, knowing he would be seriously cutting it close. As quick as he could he negotiated his way through the workers and stepped out, glancing at his watch again. He smoothed down his green and yellow uniform (an atrocity of colors by his standards), adjusted his visor, and kept walking. He plopped the container on the smooth desktop, getting the attention of the woman behind it filing her nails. "Pizza delivery."

She looked up at him with bored eyes then shifted her gaze to the wall clock. "You're a minute late. I'm not paying for those."

He took a glance down at his watch. "Your clock must be off because mine says--."

She scoffed. "Whatever, I go by our clock and our clock says that you're a minute late. So we get the pizzas free," she said the latter part with a hint of triumph.

He clenched his jaw, shooting an icy glare at her. He fought a growl, squashing the idea of using Geass on her, and begrudgingly unzipped the case and stacked the pizzas on the counter.

"Have a nice day," she mocked.

Still glowering at her, he stormed away. Friggin great.

Lelouch (still disguised as David Drake) kicked a nearby trashcan when he emerged from his former place of employment. He'd just been fired. Of course it wasn't like he was devastated because of losing his job. Nope that was definitely not it. He was glad to be out of that hellhole. He was just upset because now he didn't have anything to distract him any longer. The job had not been a necessity because he always seemed to have an adequate amount of money in his bank account to cover his monthly expenses. It was a distraction to keep busy because when he was idle the crushing loneliness that circled the rim of his consciousness would rise to the surface to torture him. Now that that distraction was gone, he would have to get one quickly.

He huffed and groaned angrily. God he needed a mocha latte to soothe his nerves and he would walk the distance (a mile or two) to get to his favorite coffee shop, The Mud Jug. Two miles and several breaks later he made it to his destination, ordered a large cup of mocha latte (receiving a hungry look from the coffee maid), and took his seat in a corner away from the other patrons. Moments later, he still sat there, gazing out at the scenery. Time was a cruel witch. No matter how much pain or grief one experienced she still ceaselessly flowed, merciless and brutal in her continuity. A river of blood could be spilled upon the battlefield in one night and the sun would still rise in the morning, bathing the bloodied corpses with its radiant light. Time stops for no man. How true that maxim proved to be.

He continued to watch the people passing by, envying the families and couples that strode past, laughing and looking lovingly into each other's eyes. Who was he to envy those that had companionship just because he was…? He took another sip of his drink, enjoying the silky texture, and sighed. He had never felt so alone, not even when his father sent him away to a foreign country whose inhabitants hated him. Nunnally had been with him then and he'd covered over whatever fear he had to tend to her. When he'd been Zero he'd had Kallen. When he was betrayed by the very faction he'd fought so hard to lead so that they could vanquish their oppressors, Rolo had been there sacrificing his life so that he could live. When he'd taken the world by the reins and transformed himself into the world's enemy Suzaku had been his unwavering ally. Through it all C.C. had been a constant, always there to help him or offer one of her signature deadpan comments.

Now, he had no one. All the people that he'd allowed into his inner circle were forbidden to him now or had deserted him altogether, leaving him to fend for himself in a cruel world whose coldness froze him to the core and turned his heart into an impenetrable fortress. He took another sip of his warm beverage and sighed heavily, brows knitted in a pensive expression. Even his own identity betrayed him, every reflection showing chestnut hair and sapphire eyes instead of the god-given coloring he'd had at birth. Even his new name, David Drake, was a sham. Yet, it was that same name that people called him, that was on his bank account, that he signed on official documents. Sometimes he felt like his given name was a fraud. But yet he still spoke that name in the darkness of his bedroom and just before he donned his mask for the day: Lelouch. He spoke that name because he was afraid if he didn't, he would become lost within the folds of the masquerade.

He took another sip of tea and buried his face in his hands. Sometimes he wished he had really died that day because he felt dead inside. He was the perfect phantom, his flesh and blood exterior a masterful ruse to fool the public, but inside he was a vacuumed abyss of emptiness. The breathing dead. But that was why he always pretended, so that no one would see the agony he inflicted upon his soul as he molded himself into the villain he needed to be to fix the world. He'd always had a sizeable array of masks, employing the right one for the right occasion, but now was different. He'd been given a second chance but even now as the parade of masks marched by he still was unable to choose his true face. It was irrelevant even if he managed to find his true face because he was still empty inside.

Despite all of this he would continue to live, taking small solaces when he saw Nunnally on the TV (most of her public addresses he recorded) with Zero, dear Suzaku, a dark clad sentry standing at her side gently watching over her. Every time he saw her his chest swelled with pride that she had taken the mantle of empress upon her shoulders and dared to spearhead the world to a better tomorrow through civilized negotiation, unabashed to diplomatically express her beliefs to the masses. She was becoming the strong, independent, beautiful woman he always knew her to be.

A familiar tickle on his hip alerted him before his cell phone belted out a classical tune. He picked it from the case attached to his leather belt and looked at the message. 'R we still on 4 2night?

His spindly fingers nimbly moved over the keyboard of the phone as he replied. 'Yes. Around 10 2night. He pressed the 'Send' button when he finished and waited.

A moment later the phone vibrated again, prompting him to pick it up. He allowed a hungry grin when he saw the answer on the glowing blue screen. 'I'll b there.' He returned his phone to its holder, finished off his latte, and gracefully stood. He had a fancy for a game of chess, hopefully he could find a suitable opponent this time (if not it was always fun to take some poor sucker's money). He headed out of the coffee shop and started off in the direction of Brookhaven, an underground gambling ring whose boon was chess (one of the few in Oxford) which was in one of the seedier, but not downright hazardous, neighborhoods.

Suzaku bowed out of Nunnally's room when Cornelia entered the room and began brushing his charge's chestnut waves. For the past four years, he'd proven his loyalty both to Nunnally and as a sword of justice to the people. He'd pushed himself to the limit, going beyond it when he utilized the Geass Lelouch bestowed upon him. He was aware that there were still Britannians that didn't trust him (or hated him) and were definitely ill at ease by his presence in the palace and the fact that he curried their empress's favor. Still, though there were those who had come to trust him such as…

"Sir Zero!"

He backpedaled and turned the corner, looking upon the Warrior Goddess herself, Cornelia. Years of military training caused him to give a small reflexive bow. "Princess Cornelia." He looked her over, thankful for his mask for once. She was dressed in her elegant military garb, as usual, and was armed (as usual).

"If you are not busy Sir Zero, I request your private audience," she announced in a business-like manner.

Of course she did. The Second Princess of Britannia never asked for anything. He studied her expression, noticing that there was no hint of malice dwelling latent in those mauve orbs or body language. "Then you have it." He answered with a dramatic swipe of his cape (which he never tired of doing).

She didn't smile, only gave a curt nod. "Follow me."

He nodded, signaling for her to lead. They walked down halls, across lavish courtyards, and passed extravagant palaces separate from the Imperial Palace, until they came to the Ares Palace. He restrained a frown when he entered. This had been the site of Marianne's so-called death, the night a scheme that would upend their lives had been hatched. He raised an eyebrow when they stopped at an embellished door flanked by two stern-faced guards who proceeded to bow once they spotted them.

She pushed the double-doors open and preceded him in.

Suzaku's brow knitted when he saw the lavish room with its beautiful hues of magenta and red, each complimenting each other perfectly. He was so busy trying to figure out what room he was in that he hadn't seen the female attendant pouring wine into their individual glasses on the Victorian coffee table (which was in the same style as the other furniture in the room) until she greeted them.

"Will that be all Your Highness?" she asked softly.

"Yes, thank you Gretta. Close the door on your way out."

"Yes Your Highness." She gave a curtsey and exited the room, closing the doors behind herself.

Suzaku continued looking at the room and upon further scrutiny found that it looked oddly personal with its various paintings of warrior women, a large portrait of Queen Zenobia was displayed on the far wall in an especially honored fashion. Why did she just discard her cape? Wait… Was he in---?

Cornelia dropped onto the comfortable-looking sofa, giving a small smile when he didn't move. "In case you're wondering, yes this is my personal chambers."

What! Heat raced to his cheeks and for once, he was profoundly thankful for the mask concealing his face, for he was sure it would be as red as a tomato at the moment. Oh god. What was he supposed to do? Tell her that she was beautiful but he just didn't like her in that way? He could let her down gently, but Cornelia was known for not taking 'no' for an answer. If he refused she would definitely push her agenda. Heck, she would probably just rape him. Could a guy get raped?

Her painted lips pulled into a wry grin. "Don't flatter yourself Sir Zero, although your mystique is quite appealing I assure you this is not some lover's tryst." She crossed her legs and relaxed into the cushions of the sofa. "It is just that my room seemed the ideal place to speak on the matters I have yet to disclose to you, so please, sit." She gestured towards the sofa opposite her.

He gave an inaudible sigh of relief and swaggered over to the other sofa, eyeing her for a few seconds before sitting down. Before he could say anything Cornelia spoke.

"Have you ever visited the Garden of Demeter?" she asked suddenly, leaning over to pluck the delicate wineglass from the table.

"No." What did she want? Did she request his audience just to talk about a garden?

"You should, it is the loveliest garden in all of Britannia. I daresay of the world. Clovis designed it. It took him five years but he finished it just before he left to become viceroy of Area-- Japan. He called it his masterpiece," she stated, a wistful look in her violet eyes.

Inside the helmet of Zero, Suzaku quirked an eyebrow and inconspicuously the hand concealed beneath his cloak eased to the hilt of his sword. Was that why she called him here? Because she was still sore at Zero (er Lelouch) for killing one of her siblings? Did she bring him here to assassinate him? He didn't speak, intently watching the woman on the sofa. After four years of residing within the imperial circle, he had learned why Lelouch could read the nature of a person so well and used their weaknesses to make them suffer as he manipulated them like his very own living puppets. Britannia was all about appearances. Their so-called polite society was a ruse. Every smile, every laugh, every gesture of friendship, every act of humility was nothing but a pretense. The truth was that most of them with the exception of a few people were snakes preying upon those weaker than themselves, waiting in the grass to strike those who they resented or whose position they coveted with all the speed and lethality of a cobra.

Sensing the tension coming from the man she brought the glass from her lips and gave him a smile. "Please Sir Zero there is no need to be so tense, I have no malice towards you."

Suzaku sat with his back straight and muscles coiled like loaded springs ready to be put in to action. "What may I ask is this private meeting about?" He crossed a leg which he was sure he had seen Lelouch do many times in the past.

"Thank you for serving my sister Sir Zero. I am truly grateful for your loyalty to Britannia."

Suzaku nearly snorted. He had no loyalty to that atrocious nation. His allegiance was to Nunnally. "My loyalty lies to her Imperial Majesty only," he replied, weeding out the tightness in his voice. Like he would ever have any shred of loyalty to the nation that enslaved his motherland.

Cornelia smirked. "Indeed. But Nunnally is Britannia," she retorted, putting on a slight air.

"She is New Britannia." The genuine smile that graced her face surprised him. What was her game? "Begging your pardon, but you didn't bring me here just to express gratitude. I imagine that there is something of more significance that you wish to discuss with me."

She smiled again, actually admiring his directness. "As you well know that besides Euphy, Nunnally was my favorite sibling. She and Lelouch but he-- I wonder what happened to him that made him such a monster." She turned her head away quickly and all but jumped to her feet, striding to the picture of Queen Zenobia. The decreasing sunlight filtering through the uncovered windows danced in her light violet eyes.

Suzaku bit his tongue so hard it almost bled to keep the words 'he wouldn't have had to turn out that way if any of you had come to his rescue when your father threw him away like he was nothing instead of standing idly by like the selfish bastards you are' from spilling forth.

"Which is why I am afraid for her safety."

He rose from his musings and fixed his eyes upon her back, noting the display of trust. He stood and took his place next to her, figuring that maybe such words should be spoken quietly betwixt two people standing rather close in proximity. "Oh?"

She nodded, her glossy locks bouncing slightly. "There are still Purists within our ranks, I know it. However, they are proving rather adept at hiding themselves, pretending that they advocate Nunnally's views when they're actually waiting for the opportune time to strike." Her battle-hardened hands coiled into tight fists and she grit her teeth. "Promise me that you will continue to be her shield Sir Zero."

"I will protect her Majesty with my life," he declared.

Her face softened and she turned her eyes upon him. "I have no doubt." She tapped her lips with a forefinger, brow knitted in deep thought. "Still though, perhaps…" She trailed off, her face set in a contemplative expression.

"Perhaps, maybe her security should be increased." There it was, that same feeling of caution he got when he'd been a Knight of the Round and constantly worried about overstepping his boundaries. No, he was Zero now, and Lelouch never acknowledged boundaries when it came to voicing his own ideas, however impossible and cockamamie they had seemed at certain instances. "I will make sure I am at her side at all times and when I must be absent then I will see to it that the number of her personal guard is doubled."

She shook her head slowly. "No. Then they will know that we are on to them. We cannot be sure if it is even true. My suspicions may just be the result of a militaristic princess living in a time of peace." She chuckled at her attempt at humor to lighten the mood. "But, we'll have to be discreet so we can catch them before they act." A wicked glint flashed through her incredible eyes. "I have a plan."

Suzaku wandered the halls of the vast and palatial palace. He was quite weary, yet he still meandered, his drifting thoughts traipsing incessantly from problem after problem. First, there was the subject of Nunnally's safety and the suspected Purists scheming in secret. Second was the upcoming negotiation he was asked to attend alongside Kaname Ohgi. Thirdly was finding time to test out the new and improved Lancelot Valkyrie that Lloyd and Cecile insisted was imperative. Then there was the issue that seemed almost as important as his Nunnally's security, going to Lelouch's grave to check his body (yes it seemed morbid but he couldn't exactly ask some random guard to do it.).

He liked having so many things on his plate, because that kept him busy. When he was busy, he had no time to think about all those that he had lost in the War or how empty he felt. He stopped in mid-stride. If there was anyone that knew just about everything that transpired within the palace walls, it was him. He hurried through the palace, ignoring his surroundings until he came to suite of the Prime Minister.

He knocked sharply and waited.

The door swung open, revealing a casually clad Schneizel (but was still quite elegant). The blonde's eyes tinged red as he came under the thrall of Geass and he gave a courteous smile. "Come in Master Zero."

Suzaku acknowledged the small bow the man gave and entered the palatial room, wondering why the Second Prince was retiring to bed so early. "Why are you retiring to bed at such an early hour Schniezel-kun?" He asked, knowing the man could not lie. Taking a liberty he would not have dared to had the Second Prince not been enslaved to him by Geass, he sat down in the immaculate white cushioned chair. The only man that he loathed more than the blonde robotically answering his question was Charles zi Britannia himself, and he wasn't even sure if it was an emotion more than it was an inferno that burned in his belly every time he saw anything that reminded him of the cruel tyrant. If Schneizel hadn't convinced the Black Knights to betray Lelouch with that damned recorded message his friend could have changed the world as Zero. He would have never had to give birth to the Zero Requiem and he would still be alive.

Sometimes he wanted to torture the Second Prince. Sometimes he wanted to make him pay in his own blood, pain, and screams of agony for what he'd done to Lelouch. But having a person that was considered one of the greatest strategists in the world in complete and utter subjection to the very man he had so ardently sought to destroy was punishment enough. When he surfaced from his ponderings, the blonde was staring at him with inquiring violet eyes, the same eyes he wanted to gouge out because they were so familiar but yet belonged to the White Devil, the very man that saw the world as one big chess game, the very man that had killed millions of his own people as if he were simply executing a move across the chessboard without a shred of remorse.

"Master Zero, are you well? Do you want any refreshments?"

"No," he snapped venomously, unaffected by the tiny flinch displayed by the imperial. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands together in his lap, exuding confidence. "Sit down Schneizel-kun." He pointed to the settee flanking the chair.

Obediently the handsome Second Prince gracefully took his seat and gazed at him with the blank expression of an automaton waiting on its master's next command. He didn't speak, as if he had learned from his master's displeased reaction to his previous questions about his welfare.

Suzaku wanted to repeatedly pound his fists into the blonde's blank expression and watch it change from emotionless to questioning, to pain, knowing that he would not retaliate, that he would sit there and allow himself to be brutalized by his lord and master. The Japanese man's eyes expanded in shock at his current train of thoughts. What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking about assaulting a man that could not fight back? Had he become such a twisted fiend? No, he would not allow these thoughts to continue to taint his mind. "Would you lie to me Schniezel-kun?"

The prince's brow knitted but he answered truthfully, as usual. "I would never lie to you. You are my lord and master."

Suzaku, pleased to hear these honest response, smiled inside his mask and reached over to pat the other's lustrous blonde tresses as if he was a beloved dog. "Good. Now, I need you to answer a few questions I have about the secret happenings within this palace."

David (Lelouch in disguise) let out a wail as he came to a shuddering climax, collapsing and burying his face in the pillow as he rode out the shattering pleasure. When he finally picked up the pieces of himself, he finally became aware of the woman writhing in bliss beneath him. There were no sweet nothings, no meaningful smiles, or any gentle kisses exchanged between the two. He merely rolled off her and onto his back, trying not to scratch the hairs of the wig plastered to the sweat on his forehead. After their breathing regulated, he lay there for a few moments… waiting. This was usually when she would get up, get dressed, and beat a hasty retreat to the door (he would walk her of course). They would exchange their gratitude for the great screw and that would be it until the next night either of them got the itch.

However, instead of getting up she turned over, cuddled into the covers, and dropped off into slumber. Lelouch regarded her in surprise, reaching out to swipe away an offending chocolate strand that fell in her face. He yawned and touched the Sanskrit tattoo encircling her wrist. They were not in love, that was definite, but this 'arrangement' was thus far to his tastes. After a few minutes of not sleeping, he threw back the covers, put on his boxers, then his robe, and walked across the hardwood floors to his smallish family room.

He stood in the window for a moment, looking out at Seagull Harbor and the way the moon shimmered upon the tranquil waters. C.C., after much aggressive negotiations, had managed to get him a condominium out here and he was very thankful. Although he really didn't like his neighbors the Coppertons, an elderly couple who liked to eavesdrop on him and Stella when they were 'in the act' (he'd heard talking outside once when the husband asked the wife did she think they were going to go again) like their own personal skin flick. With a sigh, he strode to the chess set in front of the glass sliding doors and took a seat, engaging himself in a game of his adored past time. About two hours later, she emerged from his room, fully clothed (minus the pair of black open-toed shoes in her hand.)

She'd moved from Pendragon three months ago to take care of her ailing aunt (the actual owner of Penny's Perennials). When they'd first met (and after she had called him a jackass) he'd wanted her. He didn't know what had provoked his lust, but he knew that he'd wanted her, bad. They'd become lovers, not out of love of course (for Lelouch was unsure if he could love any woman right now) but more for the reasons of convenience and distraction.

"Why didn't you wake me?" She fixed the straps of her sleeveless form-fitting sheath.

He kept his eyes on the chess set, moving a pawn forward. "Would you believe me if I said you looked too peaceful?" Actually, he was still trying to put his finger on the reason why he allowed her to sleep in his bed.

"No," came the reply.

He smirked. "How about a game of chess?" He raised his eyes to hers, remembering what happened the last time they played chess together, (it was a massacre).

She snorted disdainfully. "So you can crush me again? No thank you," she said in that pebbly voice (which often times made it hard for her to be taken seriously when she was angry).

"Sore loser." He returned his attention to the board, moving another piece. He finished the match (he won of course) in less than five minutes. "Then how about a cup of coffee? I have some brewing in the coffeepot already."

Stella, who had been watching him play the imaginary person at the opposite end of the table, stooped to put on a shoe, giving a good eyeful of her cleavage. "I have to get back to Auntie Penny."

He stood gracefully and swaggered to her. "She'll be fine," he said silkily. "Besides, it's just coffee." What the hell was wrong with him? He should be sending her out the door not allowing her to stay longer by drinking coffee.

She stepped back, becoming instantly drawn into those sapphire eyes. "You said the same thing that night we first did it," she replied, tugging her golden brown mane after successfully adorning her second shoe.

He strutted to his large traditional kitchen which in his eyes was quite beautiful with its stone walls, dark brown finished cabinets, lamp-style chandeliers, and arch over his stove. "It was your choice to make. You could have just as easily declined the offer." He took down a pair of mugs poured the dark, steaming liquid into each one and then fixed them according to their preferences: a half lump of sugar, honey, and cream for himself and two lumps of sugar and milk for her. He scratched the wig (holding back a growl) and lifted both mugs from the counter, setting hers in front of the chair opposite him before he sat at the two-person table.

"Yes, but you're so bossy," she said with a tiny amount of venom and sat down in the dark chair opposite him, enjoying the design of the tabletop.

"Persuasive." He corrected her. Why was he in such a good mood? … Oh yeah, that.

She rolled her eyes and took a tentative sip of her coffee, keeping her gaze on the cup when she brought it from her lips.

He studied the woman across from him, observing the way she fidgeted with her mug and stared at the table like it was the most interesting damn thing in the world. Her emotions were never hard to read, not with a person whose face always seemed to betray her. Was she ashamed of herself for being some guy's bed toy? "Do you resent me for using you like this?" Why did he even ask such a stupid question? He didn't care how she felt, he only wanted one thing from her and it didn't matter how tore up her emotions became as long as he could satisfy himself. That's what he told himself, but that tiny voice in the back of his head had another theory.

"Not at all."

Her answer caught him off guard and he hated her for that. "So you don't care if I use your body to sate my own carnal pleasures?" She shook her head. "You don't mind being my screw buddy?" Another shake of her head. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Idiot."

She gave a soft smile. "Between the shop and taking care of Auntie Penny, I don't have time for a relationship, but I have needs. So this arrangement is convenient."

He sneered. "Being objects of desire to each other is a dangerous road that leads to pain." He took a swallow of coffee trying not to whimper as it burned like hell going down.

"Only if one of us falls in love and it isn't reciprocated," she responded casually, raising her eyes but not quite meeting his gaze.

A silence fell over them, stretching for what seemed like an eternity until she decided to speak. "Guess what."

"What?" He slouched back in his chair.

"Guess." An icy glare prompted her to abandon the childish game. "Since you're so obsessed with Empress Nunnally--."

"I am not obsessed!" he shouted, hoping that his eyes didn't give too much away.

She clicked her tongue. "Says the guy that records all of her public addresses."

He glowered at her. "I should have never made coffee for you," he growled.

She ignored his sour expression. "But you did. Anyway, one of my friends from the Rose Committee said that, and this hasn't been released to the public yet, but Oxford is hosting the Independence Festival!"

He could not hide the look of utter shock on his countenance. If Oxford was hosting the Independence Festival then that meant that Nunnally would be--.

"But I'm not going."

"Why?" He thought she was going to say something cliché like 'I don't have a date' but again he was forced to have an acquaintance with surprise when she replied.

"It's wrong."

He didn't respond but raised any eyebrow as an indication for her to elaborate.

"He was just a kid you know. He was the same age I was four years ago. He didn't even get to see life beyond high school, before they took it away."

He managed to keep his face stony and his expression indifferent when he responded. "He was an evil bastard that tried to take over the entire world. I think he deserved death." This was the reply he'd come up with just in case the subject surfaced in a conversation. At first, it kind of stung to say but now he'd rehearsed it so many times that it rolled off his tongue with ease.

"That's not true!" She exclaimed, eyes blazing indignantly.

The outburst was unexpected and it startled him. Stella never got upset enough to yell. Ever. If she got upset, she usually wielded sarcasm like a double-edged sword to slice up her unlucky victim or cruelly ignored them like the plague. This outburst meant that she was particularly passionate about this subject.

"He was just a kid." She repeated softly. "Besides, I think he wanted to die."

What? "Oh?"

She nodded with a triumphant countenance. "Think about it. He didn't even fight back. The whole world's hatred was directed at him so when he died peace followed and his sister came into power."

He forced an expression of apathy. "So?"

"So, I think that was his plan all along."

He wanted to smile and tell her how right she was but instead he took a gulp of the warm coffee and replied, "that theory borders on the imbecilic and if you don't want to be considered treasonous and sentenced to life in prison or worse, death you should keep it to yourself."

She looked down sheepishly and drained her coffee mug. "I know." She fidgeted a few moments then looked up, a wicked glint in her bluish-gray eyes. "You know what else I think?"

He sighed wearisomely. "What?"

"That Zero is that hot guy Suzaku."

How the hell did she figure that out? "Hot?"

"Yeah, no offense Davey, you are pretty, but he's exotic and probably ripped. When I was in high school I downloaded a picture of him off the Net, printed it out, blew it up, and tacked it to my ceiling," she said nostalgically, suggestively biting her bottom limp. "I wonder if he's taken."

A familiar jealousy rose into him but he dismissed it and stayed to the subject at hand. "I don't want to hear about your frivolous schoolgirl infatuations."

"Jealous?" she said sardonically.

"Nauseated," he retorted.

She smiled and folded her arms.

"How long did it take you to figure all of this out?" he asked with a grin.

"Not everyone has a genius IQ Davey," she said good-naturedly. She stood quickly, flipping her brunette tresses. A quick glance to the owl wall clock (which was creepy beyond belief) told her it was 1:30am, way past the curfew she applied to herself. "I have to go."

He grasped her wrist, knowing that she could possibly overpower him (she was taking up kickboxing), but he always resorted to more persuasive means, and gently kissed each symbol. He smiled when she shuddered and tried to protest when he stood, but cut her off by claiming her mouth in a sweet kiss that rendered her breathless.

Lelouch sat up in the bed, back against the headboard, thinking. His thoughts consisted of Nunnally and the fact that he would get to see her in a few months. Of course, he would not get near enough to touch her but he would get close. Would she look as grown up and sophisticated in person as she did on television? How tall was Suzaku now? Would Kallen and the others attend as well? Would C.C. visit him?

He cut his eyes when Stella shifted to her stomach, causing the sheets to rustle. She was watching him intently and it reminded him of what she had said when they first met 'God you're scrawny'. "What?" He inquired with a hint of vexation at how vulnerable his naked body was to her scrutiny.

"It was different this time," she replied a contemplative expression etched in her face.

"Really? And don't bothering going into detail because I was present as well."

She glowered at him. What a jackass. "Do you always have to be a smartass?" she asked half annoyance half-joking.

He gave a soft smile. "It's my nature." He patted her head, enjoying the silkiness of her hair.

She grew quiet for a long while, a pensive countenance on her face.

He picked up a book, Nicholas Nickelby, and started to read. He'd been reading for a good while and was quite engrossed in the book when something passed through his peripheral vision. Out of reflex he moved, but it was already too late. His dark raven locks fell in his face. He looked with wide eyes at the brown wig in her hand. Shit.

She looked at the wig in her hand at his black hair, and then at the hugely pissed man opposite her. Ohmigod! It was him. It was… "Lelouch."

She couldn't know his identity, it was too dangerous for him (and her too). The more people that knew he was alive the bigger the possibility there was of it getting back to his enemies, which meant there was a bigger chance of him being executed. He had no other choice. He raised a hand to his face, taking out both eye contacts in one move, revealing the winged symbols in his reddish hued eyes.

Her eyes broadened when she saw the Geass symbols and she gulped. She'd never seen anything so eerie in her life. What were those symbols in his eyes? She wanted to shrink back, but she couldn't look away for reasons she could not understand. What was he going to do to her?

He thought about the command he would give her, but when he saw the resignation carved into her features he stopped. Every part of him screamed for him to Geass her but a small part, the small portion that wanted to hear his name on the lips of someone other than himself stayed his hand. Perhaps it was the need for someone to actually know his identity, that David Drake was nothing more that a masquerade not Lelouch Lamperouge, or the desire to be touched without his lover being ignorant of his identity that influenced his decision. Damn. He cursed inwardly and turned to his bedside table, retrieving two sets of contact containers. He placed the blue ones in one and placed the clear contacts into his eyes. He finger-combed his raven hair and glanced over at her, inwardly smiling when she apparently liked what she saw.

"You're cuter without the disguise." She handed him the wig.

He took it and tossed it onto a chair in front of the window. "Yes well I can't very well parade around as myself in public due to a little problem known as instant execution," he answered casually, looking down at his book to see where he stopped.

"Well, there is that." She scooted down in the bed and turned onto her stomach, exposing her bare back and the Arabic writing covering her left shoulder blade.

"Why have you never told me what the tattoo on your left shoulder says?" He glided his slender fingers over the writing inked into her milky skin. Stella had three tattoos in total: the Sanskrit encircling her wrist, the lotus blossom on her right shoulder, and the Arabic script covering her left shoulder blade.

He glared at her when bluish-silver orbs glinted playfully. "Shut up and tell me what it says already." He demanded.

"Yes Your Majesty."

He glowered at her. "You're lucky you're the fairer sex." The smile she gave and the emotions in her stunning eyes showed him too much of her feelings, too much of what she felt for him. He averted his gaze. "Well are you going to tell me or not?"

"Fine." She sighed. "It says:

Fathers and mothers, husbands and wives,

Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters,

Lives lost within the myriad of the dead

Blood joining the crimson streams that stain the battlefield.

I have witnessed the massacres. I have experienced the grief.

Creator above may your grace continue to

Soothe and calm those left behind.

May your radiant light guide those soldiers,

The nameless and the unsung,

The celebrated and the famed,

The vilified and the detested

To the gates of the hereafter.

May we not forget those that died

So that we could bask in the golden hue of a better tomorrow,

Lest their sacrifices be in vain.

May they stand as radiant beacons,

For all that we lost in War

And have gained through peace

For generations to come.

"It doesn't rhyme," he stated, a playful inflection in his voice. Actually, it was quite a beautiful poem and thought that the families of all those that had fallen in death would greatly appreciate the tribute.

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Wow, was that a humor?"

He tilted his head arrogantly in the air. "If you have to ask then the concept is lost to you."

"You're impossible." She yawned and gave a feline stretch. "But I suppose that's part of your charm, as weird as that sounds." She turned to her side, pulling the sheets over her bare bosoms, and slid her hand under the pillow. "Good night."

"Good night." In less than a few minutes, he found himself wondering how a person could fall asleep that fast. He sighed and closed his book, scooting down until his head lay on his downy pillow. He cut the lamp off, drenching the room in darkness, and wriggled until he found a comfortable spot, facing her. This was dangerous, allowing her to stay the night just because he didn't want to be alone. He was thinking with his heart and that was a fool's game for a person in his position. Honestly, he didn't have the slightest inkling what possessed him to allow her to stay here because he didn't love her. Lelouch groaned in frustration. He hated it when he didn't how to explain his behavior. He sighed again. Well, there was no reason losing sleep on the matter. That night he had sweet dreams filled with the possibility of see his beloved younger sister in the flesh in over four years.

A cloaked figure walked down the cobbled path of the Imperial Graveyard. They had buried Lelouch in the Graveyard of Kings, which was separate from the Imperial Graveyard, because despite their hatred for his brief tyrannical reign, he had been an Emperor and thus tradition dictated that he was buried with his predecessors. However, they isolated his tomb from the others and marked his grave with an obsidian plaque inscribed with the epitaph 'The boy that became the Demon Emperor'.

He continued down the path past the silent tombstones, the only testaments of emperors both great, mediocre, and card-carrying chauvinistic sociopaths (case in point Charles zi Britannia). He walked through the gates to the Graveyard of Kings, striding past marble sarcophaguses and tombs made of glass, and pulled his cloak closer when he felt a shiver run down his spine. God he hated cemeteries, they were so gloomy and silent. He ascended a hill and stopped at the sarcophagus that held the corpse of his dearest friend. He slid his fingers tenderly over the smooth marble, recalling just how hard Nunnally fought so that the lid of his sarcophagus was not sculpted to represent evil. A tear dropped from one of his emerald eyes, trickling down his tanned cheek. He recalled the determined and utterly resolute visage she'd displayed when all the other imperials refused to have a representation of his face carved into the marble. She'd said that she was fighting because 'he fought so much for me in life the least I can do is fight for him in death'. Hot tears pooled in his eyes but he willed them not to fall. He would not allow himself cry, because he had to continue to be Nunnally's shield, unbreakable, unwavering. He could not falter, not now.

Taking a deep inhalation, he set his hands against the lid, and pushed. Stone grated against stone as he shoved it to the side, causing it to thud to the ground. He bit his lips mentally preparing himself to look upon the corpse of his cherished friend. A breath escaped him when he allowed his eyes to travel downward.

Lelouch lay beneath the glass perfectly preserved, surrounded by the finest silk and looking exactly the way he had four years ago without an ounce of decay visible. His face was serene as if he were just taking a nap like the last time they'd slept together (for the sake of old times like in their childhood). Softly he touched the cool glass wishing that all he was doing was sleeping and that at any moment he was going to wake up and shout 'Stop looking at me while I sleep you pervert!'. Unfortunately, he knew that was not going to happen.

He leaned down and closely examined the corpse, paying meticulous attention to each and every exposed bit of skin of the carcass. When his scrutinizing gaze came to his friend's hands, which were crossed in front of him, his eyes widened. There on the ring finger of his left hand was a thin red scratch. Instantly, he was forced to relive that day, remembering when they took his corpse to the undertaker there had been no wounds save the one in his chest.

He recalled Lelouch telling him about the mask Sayoko used to wear to so she could fill in for him while he was on missions as Zero. His brow knitted and thought for a moment, second-guessing the dreadful act he was considering. He needed to touch the face, but that meant… ugh. That was gross, but his curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself lifting the glass lid that immaculately preserved the former emperor, exposing the cadaver to the elements and increasing sunlight. He gulped and touched the slightly injured hand. His hand, it was so cold and pale and… lifeless.

He reached towards Lelouch's serene face, searching for something, anything. Blindly he tenderly glided his fingertips over his features, frowning at the sickening coolness, eventually stopping when he felt a bump near his ear. That's new. He found the same bump preceding the other ear and pressed both at the same time, pulling the mask off. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

He gasped and stared unblinking at the corpse, an utterly astounded expression claiming his handsome features. I-it couldn't… but he-- he watched…no… but how… oh god. He stood there, stupefied, brain struggling to process the information coming from his eyes. He grasped the side of the casket to steady his quaking knees, taking in deep breaths, overcome with both astonishment and overpowering elation. He stared down at the corpse in the casket and laughed, something he had not done in a while, tears rolling down his cheeks.

For you see the corpse in the casket did not have jet-black hair, instead a shock of ash blonde hair crowned his head.

Lelouch was alive.

Somewhere in the Duchy of Wales in one of the many estates peppering the countryside Guinevere su Britannia and Odysseus eu Britannia, the former First Prince and Princess of Britannia, stood outside of a baroque door. "I don't know about this Guinevere."

She ran a green-gloved hand over her elder brother's handsome face. "You deserve better than this dear brother, we all do." She adjusted the jabot falling around his neck, dotingly smiling at him.

"Yes, but--" he said unsure about his presence here. After all, he had never really wanted the throne in the first place, but he did like living in luxury and compared to the way he used to live within the palatial palace of Pendragon he was leading the life a commoner. Still though he was a bit fond of Nunnally and thought she was doing a decent job of ruling New Britannia (as he'd heard it called). It's just that his life here in this god-forsaken manor (not to mention the small bit of resentment he held for the Areas being liberated and allowed to take up their old names) that peeved him, but perhaps he shouldn't get involved with Guinevere's plans.

Silently she rolled her eyes, vexed by her brother's indecisive attitude. Odysseus was such an infant, always needing to have his hand held, but that is what made him so easy to manipulate. "You were stripped of both your knight and your title. The title that was yours at birth." She leaned forward and rested a hand behind his neck, gently running her fingers in soothing circles in a certain spot on his head that always seemed to calm him. "You deserve to live in luxury brother, you deserve to have your birthright," she said, voice dropping into a hypnotic murmur, "you want all of that back don't you?"

He let out a sigh. "Yes."

"Then, follow me." She pushed the door open.

Inside the room sitting around a lengthy oval table were elegantly attired men and women of Britannian nationality. There were familiar faces (Carline le Britannia, Cassius le Britannia) and unfamiliar faces (Duke Weiheimer, Countess el Faite, Sir Barkley) among their ranks. Each wore the expression of aristocrats stripped of their titles, forced to flee for their lives, and plunged into hard times that left them almost destitute. Yep, they all looked thoroughly pissed.

Guinevere strutted to the head of the table and stood while her older brother took his seat to her right, setting a sympathetic eye upon the people at the table. "Fellow members of the nobility," she started, addressing them with an air of pride tempered by empathy. "I know that it took a lot for some of you to get here and that sacrifice is duly noted. In the past four years, my dear brother and I have suffered just as you have. We were stripped of our titles and forced to work as common servants in that atrocity that they call a palace, watching as our beloved country is ruled by the crippled sister of the deceased Demon King, a tyrant that nearly dismantled our entire kingdom in a month."

A murmur rose through the group, each of them nodding in agreement.

"That is why we are here ladies and gentlemen. To reclaim the titles that we were given and rescue our beloved kingdom from the hands of that child that continues to lend Britannia out to everyone that calls out for aid, allying with every country, state, and province that she can. Britannia is not meant to be a friend, an ally to those former Numbers that are fit for nothing other than serving us. Britannia is meant to rule!" She banged a fist on the table, getting a 'Hear! Hear!' from the audience.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile that was directed at Carline who was wearing a much more sinister smirk. "Will you help me comrades? Will you aid my attempt to regain control of our land and get revenge upon on those that cast us out as if we were unwanted spare parts? Will you help me to depose the current empress and put the rightful ruler upon the throne, so that Britannia can be restored to her former beauty?"

The group let out a single united resounding "Aye!".

She gave a satisfied smile, malevolence and hatred swimming in her eyes. "Then I bid you welcome my fellow countrymen to the maiden assembly of The Purists."

A.N.: Sorry it took a while for this but we went out of town last week and well I didn't have time to use my laptop so, here's the second chappie. I hope you all enjoy it and don't forget to Read and Review. Constructive criticism but no Flames are welcome. Anyway, I hope this isn't a little OC and if it is, sorry. Enjoy!

P.S. The meaning to the tattoo that Stella recited is called Tribute to the Fallen by JerichoGirl. It probably sucks I know, I'm no good at poems, but I felt like putting a personal touch on it because it's supposed to be a prayer.

XOXO

Next Chapter: Mosaic Fragments