Chapter 32: Between Us

In the early 21st century, Britannia reclaimed its title as a world power with the ascension of Charles zi Britannia, the 98th Emperor, and finally bringing an end to the Emblem of Blood. The almost century long civil war crippled Britannia's infrastructure and legal system. Nobles and criminal syndicates became synonymous and a complex culture of honor evolved to settle disputes in the absence of a strong central authority.

By the time Emperor Charles zi Britannia took control, the concept of "might is right" had infected every aspect of Britannian culture. Britannian history paints a mostly peaceful transition of power, but accounts from the E.U. and the Chinese hint at a more tumultuous time period.

Nobles—used to freedom and only paying lip service to whichever self-declared Emperor vied for the throne at the time—actively hindered the Emperor's mandates when they ran counter to their interests. In the early years, they publicly rebelled and called for the Emperor's head. Others, including some of his wives, plotted his assassination.

Faced with a newly acquired Empire falling to pieces, Emperor Charles embraced "might is right" as his unifying doctrine and created the Office of Secret Intelligence (OSI). Vocal dissenters vanished in the middle of the night, only for their mutilated bodies to reappear weeks later. Fear became the weapon of choice to keep the population in line.

Later, the OSI became less overt in its actions and transitioned to an intelligence agency to combat rampant corruption through Britannia. Unfortunately, for years, the OSI had relied on torture to instill fear or collect false confessions and those same practices continued to acquire "actionable intelligence."...

—The Folly of "Might is Right"

A Cell

The steady drip of water and the Count's hospitality marked the nebulous and monotonous passage of time. Lelouch yearned for those moments of release where he could stretch his limbs and see beyond the confines of his cell. But he dreaded the hesitant sound of Art's footsteps echoing off the flagstones, which meant Lelouch had to play to the mercurial moods of the Count.

She swung between deadly violence and philosophical debates with frightening ease. In her fleeting moments of cheerfulness, she peppered him with philosophical questions or asked about his past. She never asked for information, too assured that he knew nothing of importance.

When he answered incorrectly, she lashed out. Or more often, for no discernable reason. Sometimes she never talked, just staring at him with judgemental eyes that found him lacking and dolled out an appropriate punishment, always so careful not to draw blood.

Blood was for when the crazed look entered her eyes. The hunger for his death. Blood meant he pushed too far and it was time to plead so he could live a little longer.

So he accepted the bruises, the burning muscles when she ordered Art to string him up in his cell, and the chattering teeth from the occasional bucket of freezing water when she found his smell too atrocious.

Survive to escape, his mother had once said.

And every time, when he bowed his head so he could survive another day (or week... or month... after all what was time without the passage of the sun?), the Count rewarded him with a scone and a cup of bitter tea.

The hunger and thirst never ceased.

After a session, he would return to his cell. If the Count wasn't watching, Art left on the lights, a small mercy. Lelouch had long ago memorized every nook and cranny of the mortar walls. The patterns of rust on the bars. The discoloration of the stones.

He preferred the light even when objects grew or shrunk.

Anything but the darkness with only his heart rate, breathing, and the damn water for company.

When his eyes fluttered closed, the pains in his wrists turned into York's vice grip who would smile and ask if he was so weak as to fall prey to the Count. But even he was better than Edgar grabbing his wrist and asking him why Lelouch hadn't been more careful. Why did he have to die?

Sometimes he felt like not a moment passed until he was dragged before the Count once more, but other times, like now, time crawled by.

Surely, his mother knew he was gone by now. It had been so long.

Were his friends alive?

The dark room pulsed around him and he could feel it's shadowy arms wrapping around him, attempting to smother him. His heart beat erratically and Lelouch forced himself to take slow careful breaths.

Water splashed in dissonance with his heart beat. Constant and never ending, yet never aligned. He would prefer absolute silence over the grating noise.

But water… How he yearned for the tantalizing freshness to trail down his sandpaper tongue. To wash away the slow developing crud in his mouth. To ease his headache and shatter Morpheus's grip.

He needed to be awake.

Thinking.

Planning an escape.

At least with his last escape attempt—and he had taken such joy in grabbing the fork (or had it been a knife? Knives were stabby and that made more sense) to stab the Count. She had been absolutely furious and for a moment Lelouch thought he had gone too far and she would finally wring his neck, before she dragged him back and shut the tomb. He hadn't been disturbed since... but at least the buzzing light was silent.

The darkness smiled at him and Lelouch fruitlessly pulled on his bonds again despite knowing the rope would cut into his wrists. It didn't hurt anymore beyond the distant knowledge that it should.

Edgar would be most upset. "Lelouch," he would say, "you're causing your wrists to swell with the constant tugging."

"I have to escape," Lelouch whispered back and winced as his voice echoed back in the silence.

"Not at the loss of your hands," Edgar would reply. "Your elbows and wrists are stressed and fluid is collecting which is pressing on your nerves. That's why you can't feel the pain, but if you continue, you risk permanently damaging the nerves."

Better his hands than death. The Count would tire in her quest to reclaim the stolen victories through domination and instead sacrifice his life. Maybe, he could break his thumb and escape his constraints.

"And what will you do then, Lelouch?"

An old fashioned lock sealed him inside as if the coarse rope wasn't enough. Without any tools, Lelouch had no chance to pick or break the lock. If only he hadn't lost his shoes. He had so many regrets.

"Like letting me die?"

Yes.

"Let's forget the lock. You're in no condition to escape. You can barely climb the stairs when the Count requests your presence."

Lelouch rolled his eyes. Edgar wasn't that cynical.

"Well, you did kill me."

"Leave me alone," Lelouch whispered and his voice vibrated through the tomb. "You're not real."

Edgar's voice vanished and Lelouch wanted to reach out and beg it to stay once more. It didn't return and Lelouch was left alone with the sound of water battling the thump of his heart.

Drips passed.

Lelouch closed his eyes.

The door squeaked and Lelouch turned his head away from the blinding light. The shadow moved closer and released his bonds. A bottle of water waited before his eyes in a hazy rainbow of color.

The cap fumbled in his hands and bounced across the floor before finally rolling to a stop. It teetered on its side and fell over with a rattle.

Escape.

Joints groaned and creaked and popped as they fought through thick molasses. Lelouch's hands trembled as they reached forward and curled around the cool bottle. It wobbled as it rose and water splashed over the edge onto the hands before spilling into his mouth.

The bottle was empty.

He felt nauseous.

Had he been drugged again?

The water sloshed in his stomach.

A small slice of bread with butter was quickly devoured.

"The Count wants me again?" he asked.

"No, she's busy with the Crows," Art said.

Lelouch clung to the lifeline of information. Were the Crows doing well? Were they suffering? Had his mother arrived and now the Count was busy on the front lines? Were his friends alright?

Art stood up and grabbed some rope from besides the cage and began to approach, his face unreadable.

"Please?" What was Lelouch pleading for?

Art sat down. "You broke her nose."

Lelouch thought that had been a dream, a wonderful fantasy. "I won't do anything right now."

The lips quirked. "Right now? You still think you can escape?"

"If I don't, she'll win," Lelouch said. She wanted to break him and prove that his victories over her were meaningless. Funny, how in those moments, Lelouch's only thought was to save lives.

"Normally, she doesn't draw it out like this. She's efficient and they beg... then she kills them. It's like she can't decide whether to kill you or not," Art said.

"I'm flattered. So... don't beg."

"People don't die with dignity." Art sighed. "The first man attacked Oliver. He was a noble... the proud sort. Said he was sorry and begged her to stop.. I couldn't watch... even though he deserved it."

Lelouch laughed. The air burned his still painfully dry throat. "Deserved. You say that, but you left. You can't believe that."

"And where else would he receive justice?" Art snarled.

Lelouch blinked lazily. A challenge. A game. An opportunity… To what, he didn't know, but it felt important.

"Justice: righteousness and equity. Or the application of the law. The law and system is clear. So he did receive justice, only there is none for nobles," he said.

"I fight because the law is unjust."

Lelouch ignored the reply and smiled. "Of course, we can say justice is righteous and then apply a set of arbitrary moral rules, but it must then also be equal and so once again, the noble did not receive justice... or have you killed every noble who preyed on others? Because... you've missed quite a few then."

And maybe he shouldn't goad his captor. But that required energy which he didn't have.

"Things will change."

Lelouch bent down and massaged his throbbing ankles. "No, they won't. The Count's actions aren't impartial. Even if she wins, which she won't, not all people will be equal under her law and so the system won't change."

Art frowned. "We treat nobles and commoners equally. Nobility will have the rights of all commoners and the commoners the rights of a noble."

"You're forgetting someone." Lelouch chuckled and closed his eyes, leaning against the cool stone wall.

"Who?"

"The Numbers."

"They're stubborn idiots. They don't bring anything of value."

Lelouch sneered. Time and time again the same rhetoric without an ounce of critical thinking. "Just like how a blind person can never be useful? Or a paraplegic? What about someone who lost an arm? Or maybe they're deaf... or mute? What about a child? An infant? They can't do anything and you have no idea who they will grow in. When equality is based on arbitrary value... there's no equality and thus no justice."

Art stood up and turned around. "You... hate Britannia. But you still fight for them. You're still trying to escape even though it would be easier to give up."

"The Count doesn't offer the solution to my problems... and even then, I will not betray my friends and my sister."

Art sat back down and leaned against the bars. "What would you do then? How would you fix things? You say the Count won't help, but then what will?" Quietly, as if he didn't intend Lelouch to hear, Art asked, "When will there finally be a world that Oliver would be happy in?"

"If everyone thought I died..." Lelouch swallowed and imagined a world where he and Nunnally stayed in Japan throughout the invasion. "I would wear a mask and become an immortal symbol which could be replaced by anyone willing to take up the mask. I would protect those who cannot fight no matter who their enemies are."

But to actually win... "First, I would destabilize Britannia and disrupt the belief that they were untouchable in their power. The viceroy would be a good target, but only if they committed a reprehensible crime. There's no room for personal beliefs and grudges... a symbol only sees the harsh truth and nothing more."

Art's gaze bore into Lelouch. "What is stopping you?"

"Because what right do I have to impose my will? Blood will run in the streets and families will be torn apart. They may love their symbol of justice, but it only takes one mistimed action... and the illusion will fracture. In a way, the Count is right. Hate is much easier to direct. By removing the scapegoats, people will flinch away from the truth and seek someone else to hate and blame their faults on. The symbol of justice is just one step away."

"Action is better than inaction. At least I tried, while you prematurely declare defeat."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Lelouch whispered. "My parents would kill me before I even stepped a toe over the line."

Treason was unacceptable.

"Then what would you do if you were out there?"

Lelouch looked up at the worn stones. "Stop Odysseus from abdicating. Expand the Ashford Academy model throughout the country. Open up the officer ranks to commoners. Abolish the Number system."

Art snorted.

"I'll figure it out," Lelouch grumbled. Maybe he had to stop wishing things and accept his role as the Emperor's wayward pawn. What was his pride worth if he could actually bring about change? Of course there was the risk that Lelouch would become what he hated. "I have time. I'm not even fourteen."

Art left and Lelouch watched him retreat with a wary hope. Had Art forgotten? The ropes remained off.

Location Classified, Area 13

Marianne frowned at the urgent communication request from Reuben. Busy fighting on the front lines, she hadn't slept for the past thirty-six hours. Her head thrummed, either from the prolonged knightmare use or the modafinil keeping her awake .

Or maybe she just needed sleep.

Scrolling through the multiple missed calls, she hoped this wasn't another of Reuben's wellness checks. She knew she should slow down. Take a break.

But Marianne had long acknowledged that she needed to be busy. Even Reuben's gentle and concerned nagging would not change the fact. When he chose her as his test pilot all those years ago, he had condemned her to this fate: constantly fighting.

Rolling her eyes, she clicked on the voicemail. She wasn't a child anymore, needing him to watch over her.

"Nunnally needs—" Marianne returned the call without hesitation.

What had happened to her darling angel?

"Marianne? Are you alright? You weren't replying and Nunnally was beside herself thinking something happened to you," Reuben said.

"What's going on?" she barked. "Is Nunnally alright?'

"Yes, of course. She wouldn't tell me what was going on. Insisted it was for your ears only although she seems rather worried and Milly was insisting that I should contact the Emperor himself. I don't know what could bring her into such a state. Security didn't catch anything."

"Is she there? I have time now." Marianne rolled her wheelchair up the ramp of the base and ignored the looks from passing offers as she clamped the phone between her shoulder and chin.

"Give me a moment, she's sleeping in Milly's room." The seconds passed in agony and she heard a distant knock. "Nunnally? Your mother is on the line."

More movement and rustling, while Marianne rolled into her office and cleared out her secretary with a glare. Her fingers tapped on the table impatiently while supply forms covered her desk.

"Mom?" Nunnally, her beautiful and sweet angel, asked hesitantly.

"Yes dear? Reuben said you needed to talk. Has something happened? I can finish up in a day or two and fly over."

A soft sob.

"Nunnally? What's wrong?" Who dared to make her daughter cry?

"Le—Lel—Lulu is missing!"

The world froze.

Her hands tightened around the phone. Lelouch? Lelouch was missing? And why hadn't she been informed earlier?

"Nunnally, it's going to be alright. Tell me everything."

Her daughter's voice trembled. "They said the Count took him."

Blood pounded in her ears.

Kidnapped.

A nightmare that had kept her up at night when Charles flaunted all customs to marry her and then again when she discovered for one terrifying moment that she was pregnant and would bring a life in the world. A life who couldn't protect themselves.

Had Lelouch's identity been revealed? Marianne should have found a way to pull her son out sooner. A Number division was no place for him and now a terrorist had his hands on her innocent son.

Quietly, she asked, "Who said that?"

Nunnally quieted. "Mother... You can't do anything rash."

Rash? Her son was missing.

"Your brother is missing. I'm going to get him back."

"You can't—" Nunnally groaned. "If you hurt his friends, Lelouch will never forgive you."

Marianne scowled. She should never had let them go to Japan. They didn't understand. Everything was for their safety, yet they compromised that effort by sharing their hearts so easily. "I will punish all the guilty parties involved."

"Then I won't help you."

"Your brother is missing! And this is the first time I hear about it. How do you know what happened when my own agent hasn't informed me?"

"Did you perhaps threaten to kill them if something happened to him? Why would they tell you if it means their death?"

That... was a good point.

Marianne massaged her temples and clicked on the remote to dim the light. "Fine. I will hold off on punishment until I hear what Lelouch has to say. What happened?"

Hesitantly, her daughter replied. "His friends called me to tell me that he didn't desert... but was kidnapped."

Royal children died young. Kidnapped. The nightmare, which once kept her up at night, was now a reality.

"Anything else?"

Nunnally sighed. "No. They were feeling terribly guilty,"—as they should—"but things sounded really chaotic. They didn't indicate that they knew Lelouch was a prince... so the Count may have kidnapped him for unrelated reasons."

There was no other possible explanation.

"Thank you. I'll take care of things... Lelouch will be fine. Goodnight dear."

"Night," she said and hung up.

Marianne stared at the phone and felt the expanse between them. Was the distance insurmountable? Banishing the thought, Marianne shook her head and pulled up Charles's number. Her son was in trouble and she would always protect her children to the best of her abilities.

She wasn't perfect... She might very well fail. But she would try.

Melbourne Villa, Halifax, Area 2

Music danced through the air as Brigit opened her childhood music box. It was one of the few items she had saved from Oliver's house before it went up in flames. Now, it rested on her mantle with incriminating evidence tucked out of sight as it played sweet melodies.

She should probably move it, but having it so close made goosebumps runs down her skin. It was a risk. Normally, she only took calculated risks and there was no benefit in keeping it near. But with the only person who denied her victory—outside of the insufferable Empress Marianne—in her basement, she could afford to take a risk. There was hardly anyone who could stand in her way.

She withdrew the pictures from the music box and flipped through them, finding the one of her new little bird.

Disoriented and skin beginning to purple, but with a spark of fire in his eyes, he looked absolutely radiant. The fire was still in his eyes despite every session and his moaned cries of pain. She would quench it and win.

Sometimes she felt the urge to cut the fragile life short. To see his red blood run.

Every moment he lived was a chance that he would fight back and kill her in revenge. It made the game more exciting. Had it only been one defeat she would have considered it chance and succumbed to the urge to destroy.

But he won twice and no one had ever done that.

So she waited like an unrelenting glacier carving through his resistance. He was a fine specimen, someone who she could finally see as an almost equal. After all, if her noble benefactor was correct, she had captured an even more alluring prize.

His support, as always, was most welcome.

Art knocked on the door and bowed as he entered. "Brigit. You called?"

"Yes. I think our little friend might have become lonely in my absence. Bring him."

Art hesitated in the doorway. "He's a child."

"Oliver is dead because of Britannia."

He glanced at the music box and pressed his lips together. "I know and I hate them. Oliver was innocent... but Lelouch didn't pull the trigger."

"And how would you know if our friend did?" She asked, walking towards him. "Art, trust me. He is very much a valuable asset and guilty. He hasn't suffered like we have, so he doesn't understand. This helps him."

Art, ever so compliant since her brother's demise, nodded and left to do her bidding. At long last, his loyalty was hers alone. He would finally be the perfect asset, free from inhibitions. And she too could finally cease her lies.

Because Art would finally understand. How could he not when he had finally crossed his moral line and harmed a child? And she would be the only one there to accept him

With one last look at the photo, she slipped it inside the music box and silenced the wonderful thrums. She looked down at the crackling frame whose tendrils searched for food. Grabbing the teapot, she placed it on the stable and readjusted the plate of scones. Finally, she sat, straightened her flowing skirt, and poured a cup of tea.

Her caged bird stumbled into the room on weak knees and glared at her.

She wrinkled her nose. As always, he stunk, but he was stubborn and if he insisted on making his stay worse by refusing the clean white clothes she offered, who was she to deny him.

"Hello little prince," she said and gestured to the seat across from her. "If I had known I was entertaining royalty, I would have shown more decorum. Please, sit."

A subtle flinch ran through the duo and she dabbed her mouth to hide a smile. The bird wasn't singing his song of defiance today, he was afraid.

"He's not a prince," Art protested and stared at the sack of skin and bones with disbelief. "He's in the army!"

"Lelouch vi Britannia,"—she didn't know it was possible for him to pale even more—"the son of Marianne the Flash: the Emperor's executioner. I hear you are skilled at chess. Almost gave Prince Schneizel a run for his money. I would offer to play, but I always found the game atrocious. Sit."

He complied while Art forgot to close his mouth. The little prince glared as he sank into the chair.

"Tea?"

He shook his head while his eyes never left the teapot.

"Manners," Brigit chided.

"Piss off," he snarled.

She frowned. "You are rather vulgar for a Prince. Does your mother accept that type of language?"

His face hardened. "Get to the point. Nothing has changed because I'm royalty. You still hate me and the Emperor doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

Even if the Emperor did negotiate, she wasn't willing to part with her prize. "You lied." She tutted. "Your grandparents were never anywhere near the French and I don't like people who make a fool out of me."

He leaned back and she could see his muscles coiling to bolt; he wouldn't get far.

"Your mother caused me quite a bit of trouble last time. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody would suspect a noble. I think I should send her a message and you're going to help me."

That woman had cut through her forces like a bloody knife and left none alive. Her knightmare was a menace on the battlefield and Brigit, while skilled, did not want to face her directly. She had seen the recordings. The woman moved with a supernatural grace. But the Emperor liked her and with her son... Most people hesitated to hurt their offspring.

"The Emperor doesn't negotiate with terrorists, but your mother raced through my forces and I would bet that was after you were deployed. With my debut, every soldier was needed and the trainees were deployed... including you. Your mother surprised me by taking the time to race to Area Two and massacre the resources I had been collecting. I wondered what could have roused her attention to insignificant me... She wanted to protect you."

The little prince sat like a stone, completely unreadable.

"I think your mother will hesitate to kill her own son... even if he defected. Or I can go with the second option and send her little gifts so she drives herself mad with worry. How many fingers do you think it will take before she begs me to stop?"

He finally reacted. "My mother isn't in the habit of leaving her enemies alive."

Brigit smiled. "Nor am I. What do you choose: a finger or changing into the uniform I kindly supplied."

His eyes widened and she knew he understood. A uniform was a statement of loyalty. Something worn with pride and his allies, even his parents, would doubt him when they learned what he had done. The little prince would sing for her and through him she would crush Empress Marianne. With his aid, she would stand before her flock as they tore through Britannia and hauled the Emperor out of his gilded palace.

Fitting... Royalty would destroy royalty.

The little bird pursed his lips and his eyes flicked to his hands. Would he really choose a finger and force Brigit to strip away the illusion of choice she presented him? He glanced back at Art and she narrowed her eyes..

"Art fetch a sharp knife," she ordered, "and one of the finer envelopes."

He closed his eyes and she reached out to grab his right hand, massaging his ring finger.

"I'll change," he finally hissed and she could see the murder in his eyes. Good.

Pointing to the divider, she said, "You can change there."

He returned in the white uniform which hung from his shoulder and highlighted his ashen skin. Deliberately, he dropped the soiled Britannian uniform on the ground. The little bird may have lost his plumage of choice, but his spirit remained unbroken.

Grabbing the rags, she dumped them in the fireplace and watched the fire curl upwards, eating through the cloths and tarnishing the metal buttons. In the corner of her eyes, the prince grit his teeth.

Brigit grabbed the camera. "Smile, Your Highness."

He scowled.

"Now, now. None of that. I can still take a finger… And no tricks either."

His shoulders relaxed marginally and the frown smoothed out. No smile, but it was good enough for her purposes, even if she would need to do some drastic editing.

Considering him, she snapped a few bird was still too proud even with clipped wings.

"The dog tags?"

Scowling, he lifted the chain and dropped a single tag in her hands. "Lost the other one."

"Tea?" she offered again, pouring it into the teacup laced with a sedative. "I insist."

He took a sip and she smiled. He was learning.

The scalding tea flew into her face as if to spite her. Knowing him, it was.

She slowly dabbed the tea with her napkin and watched in amusement as his scared eyes tracked her every movement. Deliberately, she picked up the steaming teapot and walked to him. He froze, knowing what was coming.

The tea poured and a pitiful whimper escaped.

At least now he had some color to his skin.

Art, a half-step forward, froze as she glanced at him, his face smoothing over. He pointedly stared at the wall and Brigit wondered if she should order him to look at their caged bird.

Sitting back down, she sipped at her own tea. "You're a wasteful little prince, aren't you? You forced me to sacrifice a perfectly good blend, but what can I expect from someone raised in luxury."

Sticky and pink tea trailed down his face.

"I wonder, what's your worst memory?" she asked and frowned as Art stiffened. He wasn't supposed to be that attached. Oliver died and he had followed her orders with hesitation. Now, a Britannian prince rested in their cellar and Art was becoming... sympathetic.

Rolling his eyes, he replied, "One time my tea was five minutes late and had seeped too long. I've never witnessed anything more horrifying. Can you imagine having to wait?"

Brigit ignored his impudence. He would learn soon enough although he was far more stubborn than she had anticipated. From a life of luxury to a prisoner. That was quite a transition and opened possibilities she never had explored.

She stood up and walked past Art, stopping in the doorway. "I unfortunately have a war to run, but don't worry, you will see me soon enough."

"Brigit..." Art whispered.

Compassion. What a useless emotion.

"You're right. Art, make sure he doesn't injure himself. We aren't barbaric hosts."

Art would finally break the prince and his chains of weakness. He only had to understand and Brigit would be there, waiting for him.

He was hers.

Had always been since the day he became a social pariah by taking the blow meant for her brother as he lay on the ground, totally helpless. Restrained by a larger teen, she had watched in amazement. No one else had ever tried to help.

People were selfish. Even her brother, always hoarding Art's attention. But Art wasn't: too willing to lay down his life for a cause.

She only needed to give him a little shove. At her request, he would make the little bird sing. And then Art would be hers.

Shinjuku, Area 11

Suzaku's hands trembled. Lord Kansas, son of Margrave Shaft was dead. Killed by terrorists. Suzaku had been bringing necessary supplies... which had included guns. And now?

Now, the entire Hadano area was purged in retaliation. The Brit reporter on the radio was gleeful as he described the destruction and how the savage Elevens deserved it. That it was a lesson they had to learn. Blood would be repaid with blood, thousands full.

How many of his people had died in Hadano? How many children who poured over books now lay in the streets as Britannain forces trampled then? He had wanted to stop the death and destruction. Not pour oil on the flames.

"Suzaku," Tohdoh said as he turned off the radio, "you don't need to listen."

"I have to. If I hadn't drawn attention, then Kudo wouldn't have shot him and everyone would still be alive."

Tohdoh passed him a cup of tea. "And if the guards hadn't been looking for a target for their anger, then you would have passed through unhindered. You are not at fault."

"I'm supposed to protect them. They're my people. I failed."

"You're thirteen. Even in Britannia, you would be considered too young. This war…" Tohdoh catches his eyes. "It's not your responsibility."

Self-conscious, Suzaku observed the slow meandering swirls. His sensei sounded so sincere, but it was his responsibility. . "I killed my father."

"Please, don't say that too loud." Tohdoh set down his cup. "Your father was a good man. He was principled and always pushing himself forward. But he was always a proud man. And his plan... It was a prideful one without any subtlety. He had resources at his disposal which he could have used, but his principles forbade him. Instead... he was willing to let all of Japan die instead of surrendering. He would have been dead by the end of the week. Either by Britannian agents or by our own."

"You're saying I was right?"

"No," Tohdhoh answered. "I'm saying you weren't wrong. I was too relieved to find you alive to consider your wellbeing. To think about what you had seen. Your father's death was my failure. Maybe if I had said something…" He pursed his lips. "Or protested even earlier then all of this could have been avoided."

No. Why would his sensei blame himself? Suzaku had killed his father: an irredeemable sin.

Yet, he nodded in acceptance.

"Do you want to talk about Hadano?" Tohdoh gently asked and folded his hands in his lap. The decision was up to Suzaku.

"You have work," Suzaku muttered. Tohdoh shouldn't monopolize his time. He had an army to run and relief supplies to organize. A real son to look after. Suzaku wasn't worth the attention.

Tohdoh shifted closer and his hand softly settled on his shoulder. "It can wait for you."

"The guard called us out because we were speaking Japanese. And I bowed because they like that. And... I don't know what happened."

"Suzaku, Britannia has just as many bows as Japan. More, actually. I've been learning them for years and I still have trouble knowing which one is proper for every situation. Lelouch would have taught you the one he thought you needed."

"He taught me three. I used the one for nobles," Suzaku protested.

"Show me," Tohdoh said and Suzaku demonstrated. "That's the formal one for a high ranking noble used to respectfully greet others. As the son of the Prime Minister, you ranked similarly to an important noble. But it's not one that would be used by a commoner or even a minor noble."

"Britannia is stupid," Suzaku grumbled. "The lord asked me who taught me to bow. And then he wanted to use me against Lelouch. Why would he even care about Lelouch?"

Tohdoh took a sip of the tea. "His mother, more likely. Marianne continues to collect more power despite her disability. She had many enemies. Enemies that would happily kill her son in revenge or to weaken her. She's never been defeated on the battlefield and intelligence says the Emperor allows her a great amount of leeway. Her only weakness is her children."

"Lelouch never did anything."

"And life isn't fair. He understood the danger he was in for as long as I've known him. And I know he was your friend—"

"—is my friend—"

"—but he is now your enemy. He hasn't done anything yet to our knowledge and your cousin wasn't able to weasel anything out of him—"

Not caring how rude he was, Suzaku interrupted, "When did Kaguya meet him?

"At Prince Odysseus's birthday. It was the first even he has apparently attended in years. But he is a threat. He is intelligent and manipulative. The Emperor will use him and, one day, you will be in his way."

"He's good," Suzaku protested. "He's not going to hurt me."

Tohdoh leaned forward, looking devastatingly serious. "I hope your childhood friendship will mean something, but it has been years. Both of you will have changed. And if it's between you and his sister, he would kill you without hesitation. I like him... I really do. He was a wonderful student, no matter how much he detested exercise, but you need to be prepared for him being your enemy."

Swallowing, Suzaku looked away. "He saved my life. He lied to protect me. I can't fight him."

"Lelouch is involved with business right now, whatever that means. As long as he stays out of military affairs, we will not target him. I have no intention of drawing his mother's ire. She's a menace. Perhaps this conversation is for naught as Prince Schneizel has offered to take him under his wing. We will know once his birthday passes in a few days what the Emperor plans for him. Still, he will be pushing the Emperor's plans and that makes him our enemy."

No. They had laughed and schemed together. He couldn't spit on that memory. There was another way.

Tohdoh smiled sadly. "You need to decide what you value more. Japan or a friendship that may no longer exist."

Duty demanded that he place Japan first, regardless of the costs. Bowing his head, he whispered, "Japan."

Somehow, the answer seemed to sadden Tohdoh.

"You're... You're Ko's older brother, Suzaku. Make no mistake. I hate balancing my desire to protect my family and fighting for Japan. I don't want any of you getting hurt, but it's a risk I must take." His face twisted. "Sacrifices must be made."

"Of course..." Suzaku closed his eyes and ignored the rush of guilty warmth.

Tohdoh reached out and grabbed his hand. "I want you to survive. So if everything goes to hell... I want you to use your relationship with Lelouch and the friendship you had."

"You just said he was my enemy."

"Yes, but if the Emperor discovers us and drags us to the execution block, then that old friendship can save your life. Anything is possible if you keep on living. Even if you become a political tool of the Emperor himself."

"But..."

"Nagisa and I are already looking for a family that could foster Ko. We have options although we have to weigh the risk. You're older... and well known, which makes it harder. If it was up to me, you would disappear and live in the countryside until you're eighteen. Unfortunately, that's infeasible. This is the second best option."

Suzaku grimaced. The tea was cold. "I want to do my part. I want to fix everything."

"No one can fix everything," Tohdhoh said firmly. "You may continue going on supply missions, but I don't want you transporting weapons again. It's too big of a risk."

"Father would have disapproved as well," Suzaku whispered, but unlike his father, Tohdoh spoke out of concern for his well being. "Father didn't believe in violence. Or killing. He would say to follow the law even if it wasn't right. That the way to bring about change was from within. Work the system... Without the rule of law, only anarchy would follow."

Tohdoh shook his head. "Suzaku, you don't need to atone. He made his decision and you were just a child. Our revolution will be bloody, but we're doing so much good. It's illegal, but food, medicine, and books help our people. We will not win with military might alone and maybe Japan will never be free, but Japan is its people, so we must preserve our way of life."

Japan was its people.

Even if Lelouch, who loved Japan, governed Area Eleven… his people wouldn't be saved. Britannia refused to acknowledge their culture. Suzaku himself—if he ever became the Knight of One—would not be able help as the Viceroy.

Governance over a piece of land meant nothing

His father had asked what right the average citizen had to enforce their will onto others. The right belonged exclusively to the government because anything else would lead to destruction.

"Father was wrong," Suzaku said in wonder. "We are helping others... each person trying to change the world. But we're not fighting each other like wild dogs over the last scrap of meat. People... sacrifice themselves for others."

"Yes. He always did have a cynical take on the human condition. Thought everything had to apply universally or else society would crumble."

Japan was its people. Not the land, but the culture, history, and values that tied them together. To be Japanese meant suffering together and rebuilding Japan into a brighter country. To help the sun rise again.

Suzaku frowned. "The Honorary Britannian system takes away what makes us Japanese. It isolates them and in a generation or two... they wouldn't know how to return to Japan even if they wanted to."

Tohdoh nodded. "It's a well designed trap that takes away everything which makes our identity. Without your identity, you accept what it means to be a Number and Britannia wins. Do not begrudge those who accept the offer. For many it is the only path to survival. And for those who recognize the danger, they make convenient spies."

"I won't," Suzaku promised.

Frowning as he checked his watch, Tohdoh said, "I need to go. Please... talk to me if you need anything. And maybe, later, we can play another game of shogi?"

"You always win," Suzaku grumbled.

"And it took you months to perfect your spin-kick. You're improving."

Suzaku dipped his head and watched Tohdoh hurry out and the familiar sounds of boots falling in line behind him. The JLF demanded all of his attention, but he always tried to make time. Often, Suzaku felt guilty for monopolizing his father's...

No.

Genbu Kururugi was his father. He had raised him. Taught him everything he knew... Never made the time for him.

Tohdoh was only Ko's father.

And would Tohdoh even accept him as a son? Suzaku had killed his father.

If only he could talk to his father one more time. Apologize for everything... but not question the ideals the man had instilled in him.

In the corner of the room, Ko began to cry as he woke up from his nap and Suzaku rushed over to see the brown eyes stare at him curiously.

"Hungry?" he asked with a small smile.

Ko gurgled. "Oni up! Oni up! Oni up!"

Laughing, Suzaku picked him up. His little brother was adorable. "It's Suzaku, Ko. Su-za-ku."

"Oni" Ko cried again, looking inordinately pleased. "Oni sad. Oni play trains."

Suzaku set his younger brother down on the ground who gave him a hug and then waddled to the corner to grab the wooden blocks that functioned as trains. Was this what Lelouch had felt watching Nunnally grow up? The overwhelming love and desire to protect?

Ko drew the world in and even when Suzaku felt alone, his little hands would curl around his finger to pull him elsewhere in the small apartment.

Ko… Despite the misery around him, was a blinding sun.

Whenever Suzaku stared at his face and the small tiny white teeth revealed with every smile, he felt so guilty for the dark thoughts that encroached on his mind. The thought of atoning for his crime never passed his mind. Ko needed him and so Suzaku would survive.

Chiba pearly laughter echoed off the bare walls when she caught sight of them and Ko's attempt to vigorously inspect his mouth. "I see you're having fun, Suzaku. Come on, Ko. Help Mother with dinner?"

"Yes!" Ko cried eagerly. "I'm Mommy's best helper."

"Yes, you are. Can you pick that bag up for me? It's sooo heavy."

Ko grunted but pulled up the bag and the single meager loaf of bread. "I'm strong."

"Suzaku, go wash up." Chiba ordered.

"Yes, mo—Chiba-san," he called back and fled outside to the communal bathroom. His heart pounded.

First with Tohdhoh. Now with Chiba.

He had parents. Good parents.

Dead parents...

They had cared for him, provided for him. He couldn't dishonor them by replacing them. It was just...

They were a family now. Ko was his brother in every way that mattered. But... was it a betrayal?

The vial of refrain he could never dispose of weighed heavily in his jacket. He was already questioning his father's ideals. His father who had been the Prime Minister and the ultimate authority on all matters. What right did Suzaku have to doubt him?

But Tohdoh did. He understood the actions Suzaku felt compelled to take despite knowing his father would disapprove.

His father would have died before submitting to Britannia... because otherwise he would bow his head and work as Britannia ordered. He would have futilely sought to change the system from within.

Suzaku couldn't abandon his father and all his ideals. It was wrong. He was replacing his parents. He had to be a good son. He had to do his duty.

But was his duty to his family? His country? Or the new home he carved out?

If only he could ask his father... see him again. Apologize. Beg for forgiveness. Have his blessing to move on.

And he could. The vial of Refrain was in his hands.

Suzaku didn't deserve to be happy, but Ko did. Ko deserved to grow up Japanese.

To move forward was to betray his past. To betray his father. To betray Lelouch...

To move forward was to accept Ko as his brother. Tohdoh and Chiba as his parents.

He couldn't...

He sank to the ground and clutched the vial.

Why did he cling to the past? Why did he yearn to betray it? Why did he think himself worthy of a new family?

A good son was loyal to his father. He just had to remember.

Suzaku leaned back, rested the syringe against his skin, and plunged the trigger.

A Cell

"You're lying... you're not a prince."

Lelouch leaned back against the wall and stared at Art as he opened a wooden box with shaking hands. Funny, how even when knowing the truth, he didn't believe it. Royalty was spoiled. Inconsiderate. Cruel. The Count believed it. She didn't even bother to consider that Lelouch might not be like the rest of his family.

Spoiled. Lelouch wanted to cry or laugh.

Art knew a smidgen of the truth. He had spied on his friends and heard the stories. He saw Lelouch as a soldier and couldn't reconcile it with the truth.

Lelouch smirked tiredly. "I wish I was lying. The Emperor's Executioner is my mother."

Art stared into the box. "Your mother collects French films... and the Emperor hides them?"

"He probably has someone else do it. Used to drive her absolutely mad and she would bribe us with sweets to find the films." Lelouch chuckled. "Sometimes, we found them in the oddest places months later. Mother redesigned the garden once and found a few in the soil. Everyone could hear her screaming at him over the phone."

Lelouch closed his eyes and tried to ignore the knots in his stomach as he considered what was coming next.

At least Nunnally wouldn't have to learn he lost a finger. She would have been terrified. Knowing he was alive would assuage her worries.

"What's the Emperor like?"

Imposing. Domineering. Inescapable. Everywhere one went, his shadow shackled their feet. His power was absolute and wielded without care.

"Cruel," Lelouch whispered. "Everyone is a pawn: a tool to be used. We were living in Japan, but the Emperor still ordered the invasion to maintain the element of surprise. He burned cities down to the ground and ash rained from the sky. You could smell the dead long before you saw them. They towered over you while the stupid flies buzzed." He paused and blinked away a few tears. "All the people we knew and cared for us, died."

"That's your worst memory, isn't it? Not Br—the Count."

"No." Lelouch peeled open his eyes and glanced at the buzzing, pulsing light. "I have no idea. I remember lying to my mother to save my best friend, watching my sister condemn a man to death because she wanted to protect me, listening to the screams and standing by, feeling Edgar's blood pool over my hands as I try to stop the bleeding, and now, not knowing whether my comrades will live once my mother finds out."

Art pushed the box away and entered the cell to sit criss crossed in front of him. He shook his head. "You were willing to lose a finger."

"Of course," Lelouch muttered, "but my sister would have been devastated... and maybe my parents will think I am here willingly and spare the division."

"Your friends have no idea," said Art wonderingly. He leaned back and reached through the bars to grab two bottles. "Drink. You'll need it."

Lelouch accepted the offer with trembling hands. "I hate lying and I trust them... but if they knew? It wouldn't be fair to them."

The silence between them stretched as they both searched for something to put off the inevitable.

"Does your mother love him? They always look so... together." Art took a shaky sip of water.

"What choice does she have?" Lelouch asked. "She was a commoner and he was a prince favored to become the next Emperor. She couldn't have said no even if she wanted to. I used to think she was a real life Cinderella."

"You don't want your friends to lose their ability to choose. You could always order them," Art trailed off and glanced out of the cell. "Oliver drew a picture of your mother... he gave it to me. He really admired her and thought Britannia would become better because your mother proved weakness wasn't physical."

Lelouch groaned. "It's so weird and creepy. Why is everyone so obsessed with her? Even Roy. He collects newspaper clippings."

Snickering, Art said, "She's a national hero."

"She overreacts constantly and never bothers being subtle. She executes people to send a message and thinks she's always right."

Art laughed. "Oliver got into a huge fight with Brie over the King Arthur stories. I think it was the only argument he ever won with her and he was so unbearably smug. Held it over her head for months until she finally joined the symphony."

Lelouch closed his eyes. Reconciling the Count as a person with a life, history, and a job was hard. She was the enemy. Art was the enemy. Yet…

Sorrowfully, Art continued, "In the winter, we would sneak outside and go sledding. The nurse would always give us an earful because it could aggravate Oliver's condition. He never cared. Hated being locked inside where no one could see the so-called demon child. He even climbed trees which... wasn't the best idea."

"You sound close."

"It was just the two of us for years while Brie was away and I moved in after my mother died. I would sit by his side, unable to do anything, as he had his episodes.. I learned to always carry a thick jacket, even in the summer, because we never knew when they would happen. After the attack, the seizures got worse and he couldn't go outside. I hated seeing him like that. And the noble? I tried for months to bring him to justice. I collected evidence and spent my meager savings on bribes. It did nothing. So I gave him to Brie."

The Count killed the noble then. Lelouch wondered if that had been the first kill or if a trail of bodies had always followed her. She killed a noble and never got caught. He shuddered.

Art glanced at his watch. "If things were different... Britannia killed Oliver... bombed Truro. I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

Returning with a syringe, he grabbed Lelouch's arm and hovered. The amber fluid formed a bubble at the tip of the needle. He set the syringe back down and ripped open a packet and began to clean the skin, once again stalling for time.

The water, the interminable water which Lelouch could never place, dripped.

"The Emperor didn't authorize Truro's bombing. He only does things that benefit him," Lelouch whispered.

"Just," Art said with regret that permeated the air, "think of something happy. It makes things better"

Happy. His sweet sister. His friends who always had his back. Happy.

And a kidnapper who still hesitated.

Lelouch forced a smile. "You don't have to watch. I'll be fine," he whispered while his mind screamed: escape.

The needle pricked and coldness settled underneath his skin.

"I'm sorry," Art whispered over and over, but he stayed.

Research Notes:

-Solitary confinement is legally defined as 22hrs without meaningful human contact. While Lelouch's perception of time is a bit skewed, he is experiencing a significant lack of human contact. Furthermore, children and teens seem to react extremely negatively although the research I found was rather limited.

-Common symptoms of solitary confinement include anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances (impaired memory and concentration), perceptual distortions (hypersensitivity to hallucinations), paranoia and psychosis, self harm, and suicide. It is not possible to predict which symptoms will occur although some are more often diagnosed or self-reported. A Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement by Sharon Shalev goes much more in-depth with proper citations (it's also free which is a plus).

-Torture is not an effective tool for gaining information nor is it, like George Orwell proposed in 1984, capable of changing people's minds/hearts. Victims will have long lasting psychological harm but often resist in numerous ways. And just because a person is complying does not mean they are broken, instead they are often waiting for a more opportune moment. In fact, torture is more likely to turn the victime vehemently against the perpetrator. A free resource that further digs into this is: "Does Torture Work? A Sociolegal Assessment of the Practice in Historical and Global Perspective" by Lisa Hajjar

Author's Note:

I do a fair share of research for my fic so decided to share some of it instead of doing Worldbuilding Thoughts. Last chapter, I mentioned draining my emotional battery and that is in part due to how much information I consumed and the various first hand accounts I read through. There are a lot of misconceptions regarding torture, often perpetrated by popular media (ex: any super hero/spy movie where they dangle the bad guy off a roof). I wanted to make sure that I treated the topic with the seriousness it deserved and not run into the gratuitous angsty torture scene common in fiction.

I can of course not promise that my portrayal of any issue is accurate, but I do try. If anyone sees any issues, please point them out. (Military stuff remains my greatest weakness because that information isn't conveniently available in nice journal articles.)

The next chapter is much shorter than normal and called: Memories. Should give you a hint as to why it's shorter.

See you next week. (Or via discord: discord (period) gg (slash)uSBegVj)

Thank you x1tears1X and Spaded Ace18 on FFN for your help with betaing.