Chapter 2. Not much to say. Please let me know your thoughts; it went in a slightly different direction than I was anticipating!
"Suzaku?"
The young empress' soft voice in his ear was the first thing to break the silence after their tears finally subsided. Suzaku raised his head from where it had leaned against hers, but could not quite bring himself to look at her tearstained face.
"Yes, Nunnally?"
She cradled his gloved hands gently in her own and traced the creases in the dark leather.
"What are you going to do now?"
Transfixed by her thin white fingers, Suzaku did not answer for a moment.
"What Lelouch always wanted me to do," he finally said. "Stay by your side and protect you."
Those fingers suddenly gripped his hand with a strength almost disproportionate to their size, and Suzaku could feel them trembling.
"Really?"
Nunnally's voice trembled as well, laden with unspeakable hope and sorrow in equal measure, and Suzaku, troubled, recalled her words to him when their eyes met for the first time.
I've been so lonely.
It had been Lelouch's intent from the beginning of the Zero Requiem for Suzaku to take up the mantle of Nunnally's protector. The staggering consequences of the emperor's death, however, also required his attention, and as Cornelia had appeared to spirit her younger sister away to safety almost as soon as their brother breathed his last, Suzaku only offered a silent plea to Lelouch for forgiveness, and got to work.
In this moment, however, he cursed every meeting he had attended, every speech he had given, every responsibility he had accepted that had delayed his and Nunnally's reunion. And once more he found himself apologizing to Lelouch in his heart.
"Really," he said, squeezing Nunnally's hands, and, finally daring to lift his eyes to meet her own, he smiled.
She smiled back through fresh tears, and Suzaku thought his heart might burst from the beautiful ache that suffused his chest like a baptism of rebirth.
. . .
Despite his promise, Suzaku found himself only two weeks later sprinting from Zero's private transport and into the Britannian imperial palace, having not set foot there once since escorting Nunnally back from the summit in Tokyo. Imperial guards saluted and let him pass without question, and Lelouch would have thrown a fit—You could be an imposter! You could be an assassin! You could be anybody!—but Lelouch wasn't here right now, and Lelouch would've been equally displeased to know that Suzaku had been absent from his sister's side for almost twelve days now.
There was really no winning with this job, Suzaku reflected with a grimace as he nimbly avoided a gaggle of maids who stopped to gape as Zero, the savior of the world, the slayer of the Demon Emperor, skidded around a corner and dashed on towards the empress' private quarters.
Although the fallout of Lelouch's assassination had not been violent, the lack of remaining government and infrastructure brought almost every newly independent nation to the brink of a socioeconomic collapse. Everywhere Suzaku turned, provisional governments and rudderless communities were looking to Zero for guidance as they struggled to rebuild what he and Lelouch had systematically torn down.
How could he say no?
Very easily, he thought, the moment he flung open the door to Nunnally's office and she turned to face him with those beautiful, kind, and open eyes. He thought for a moment she wouldn't be able to restrain herself from shouting his real name, and this time he really should remind her that it wasn't safe…
"Zero," she said sedately to the man doubled over, panting, in the doorway, "I hope you didn't hurry too much on my account."
If her eyes didn't sparkle like that, the cool humor of her question would have reminded him too much of Lelouch, and he realized with a guilty start that, once again, he had underestimated her. In his mind she was still a little girl, but she was not the 100th empress of Britannia for nothing. Yes, she was kind, and gentle, and trusting, but she was also intelligent; she both knew and understood her brother's goals, and what he and Suzaku had done to achieve them. She might not approve, but she would never endanger the long hoped-for peace through carelessness or sentimentality.
So he smiled underneath his mask as he caught his breath, then stepped fully into the room and allowed the door to shut behind him. The moment it settled fully into the frame, Nunnally's face transformed into an expression of girlish joy, and Suzaku lost his breath once more.
"Suzaku," she exclaimed, "I'm so glad you're back! Did you have a good trip? Is there anything you need? I can call Sayoko—"
Her automatic concern for his well being touched him in a way that was both foreign and familiar. Back at Ashford, when he could just be Suzaku, her childhood friend, it would have been warm and comforting, but here and now, after a fortnight of perpetual adulation and appeal, it felt somehow incongruous. Zero had neither childhood nor friends. He was the caretaker of the world, and it never stopped to ask if he needed anything in return. That solitude was his identity now.
"Suzaku?"
Nunnally called his name again, softly. He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to physically shake away his thoughts.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," he said, bowing slightly. "No, there's nothing I need right now."
"Suzaku." Now her voice was reproving, almost hurt. "Please, just call me Nunnally."
What if someone walks in suddenly? What if someone's listening? Lelouch's voice was hissing in his ear, and it was both frustrating and amusing the way that brother and sister couldn't seem to agree—even from opposite sides of the grave.
But Lelouch wasn't here right now, and even if he had been, he would never be able to defend his final command that Suzaku have no life, no identity, but that of Zero. Not to Nunnally anyway.
So Suzaku smiled ruefully, bent his head, and removed his helmet.
What if—but he silenced his old friend's voice in his head with a small shake, and felt an exhilarating rush of freedom as he did so. The guilt might come later, but now all he wanted was to meet Nunnally's eyes with nothing between them.
"Suzaku."
"Nunnally."
He would try to tell himself afterward that it was the longing in her eyes that propelled him forward, but the truth was that he was moving before he even met her gaze.
"Suzaku," she repeated, stroking the head that rested on the arm of her chair as he knelt beside her—and god, would he ever get tired of hearing her say his name?— "Suzaku, I missed you so much." She paused. "Is that selfish of me?"
He lifted his head, letting her small, warm fingers slide down his cheek and cup his face.
"Not at all," he said gently. "This is where I belong now."
"Is it?" Her voice trembled, and it was remarkable the way she sounded both much younger and much older at the same time. "This isn't just where Lelouch told you you had to be?"
The question sent him reeling backwards. He recoiled from her touch, and looked at her with something akin to horror.
"No!" he exclaimed. "No! Of course n— How could you think—? Nunnally! No!"
The vehemence he felt choked him, and the final words came out strangled and almost inaudible. Unable to speak further, he found himself reduced to a slow, stupefied shaking of his head. His eyes fixed themselves on her hand, which still rested limply on the arm of her wheelchair, and he waited for it to reach out and grasp his own trembling fingers. Instead, he watched it withdraw into her lap and hide itself in the folds of her gown, and he felt infinitely more lost than he had already.
"I've upset you," she murmured. "Forgive me, Suzaku, I didn't mean it."
But she had meant it. He had seen it in her eyes—the fear kindled by the terrible knowledge of how he and her brother had achieved their goals. By manipulation and deceit. By cold, utilitarian tactics and the complete subjection of personal feelings to impartial calculation. And it would never matter how well she understood their reasons, how peaceful the world became, how much she loved her brother. She would always be haunted by what she knew.
Lelouch was dead, however, and therefore easier to forgive. She didn't have to trust him now.
Suzaku felt his bile rising, hot and sour, and he clenched his jaw and his fists against his body's rebellion.
"You never need to ask for my forgiveness," he said as evenly as he could manage. "But I must beg yours now, and excuse myself."
Without waiting for her dismissal, he stood, donned his helmet, and swept out of the room, hating every swish of the cloak behind him.
Guards saluted and maids pressed themselves against the walls as he made his way to Zero's private quarters, but he took no notice this time. As soon as he was safely behind the heavy door to his rooms, he tore the loathsome fabric off his shoulders, pawed haphazardly at his cravat until it fell loosely around his neck, and flung his helmet into the farthest corner of the sitting area.
Then he threw back his head, drops of sweat flying off his dampened hair, and screamed.
So. My husband asked me what kind of story I was writing. I told him "angst."
Yeah.
I think that about sums it up lol.