Chapter III
"Eh? What's this? Jesus fuck, how many fuckin' junkies are there around here? Oi. Oi! Get up. Get up from the ground, you son of a bitch, you're blocking the way, the Boss can't go inside with you here. Oi!"
If there was one place you could travel to in the entire world… Where would it be?"
"There's a fountain in Rome," she whispered, "And the local people there say that if you go to the fountain just as the sky clears after a storm, and look into the water, you'll see the face of your soul mate…"
"Hey, he's not going to listen. He's too stoned, it's no use."
"Fuck these druggies. What the fuck do they think, that everyone can wait on them? Listen up, you bastard. Our Boss is on his way, and when he hears that you're in his way, he's going to fuck you up so much more than those drugs are, you hear me?"
"Whose reflection do you think you would see?"
"Whose reflection do you think I'd see?" She giggled, and he smiled before leaning in for a kiss.
"Fuck, man, we don't have a lot of time. We got to clear the way for the Boss."
"Motherfuckin' Christ, I don't know why I even bothered being nice." The tattooed criminal pulled out a gun and pointed it towards the intoxicated man lying desolately on the cold, wet ground. "Oi. I'm a pretty good-natured guy. So I'll give you one last chance. If you don't get up in the next three seconds, I might just blow your fuckin' brains out unless you get up and fuck off. You hear me? Huh, you pathetic bastard?"
"What is it?"
"… Lelouch."
"One, two, thre—"
"Why don't you put the gun down?"
The two gangsters looked up to see a well-dressed man standing in front of them. Glaring suspiciously at him, the one with the firearm narrowed his eyes before spitting, "Who the fuck are you to tell us what to do?"
Unfazed, the mysterious gentleman calmly spoke. "This individual is one of my own. I suggest you leave him be, lest you wish for misfortune to befall you."
"Now you look here, you son of a bitch. The ones with the guns, the bullets, huh, are right here. We're the ones holding the trigger, not you, so what I suggest is that you, and your fancy little suit, run off before we decide to waste two bullets today, instead of o—"
The inhabitants of the buildings flanking the alleyway screamed and panicked as a series of rapid gunshots sounded throughout the streets. Completely unperturbed by the giant puddle of blood pooling on the concrete, Schneizel el Britannia bent down to the mess of man and drugs who was lying at his feet.
"Lelouch Lamperouge. I've been watching you for some time, and I've taken an interest in you. It's time you're pulled from the dark side of the moon and come join us at the light, for what awaits you, young man, is everything you could ever wish for."
"Lelouch, do you love me?"
"I love you, Ceci. I will until the day time stops," he whispered. "Forever and always."
She smiled.
"Lelouch?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" Shirley looked at him anxiously; he had been staring off into the distance, completely blind and deaf to his surroundings. She would have let this go, but he had been doing it more and more often lately, and it was starting to gnaw on her nerves. What was wrong?
"… I'm fine." He gave her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to navigating their way through the heavy morning traffic. And though she didn't believe him, she let it slide. Just this once. He looked tired and weary, and her nagging him wouldn't help him.
"Well… Thank you. For taking me to work."
"It's what a good boyfriend should do, isn't it?"
Her smile faltered at his reply. It was always, "It's what a good boyfriend should do." Always. Never had he ever said anything the likes of "It's because I want to" or "I get to spend more time with you, so it's okay." Not even once. It was always just "It's what a good boyfriend should do." As if he was only going through the motions of a relationship, as if this was just a test that he had to pass. As if he didn't really mean it. Did he even love her? Rather, did he even like her? And… And would he even care if she were to walk out of his life? At all? Did he care about her at all?
"… Le—"
"Are you free after work today, Shirley?"
"Um…"
"I was thinking that we could go to the restaurant in Little Italy that you wanted to go to so much." He glanced at her, as if gauging for her reaction. As if he were checking to see if he had said the right thing. Shirley struggled to smile.
"Oh, um… Sure, why not?"
She couldn't nitpick with him. It was impossible to, he was the perfect boyfriend; he held the door open for her, he was punctual, cordial, kind, knew the right compliments to tell her at the right time, paid attention to everything she said, remembered even the most minute details, and yet…
There was something missing, it was… It wasn't authentic, it didn't feel like a real relationship, she didn't… There was no love. There was no warmth, no feeling, it… It was all empty. Void. Meaningless. Like they were simply actors, and they were only reciting lines from a script.
"… Lelouch, I… I want to…" She drew in every ounce of courage she could. "I want to talk to you about something important."
"I'm listening."
She froze. Could she… Could she really ask him this? Would he get angry if she did, if she asked him… If she asked him the question, if she asked him if he really loved her? Wouldn't he get annoyed? Was she even ready to ask something like this, was she mentally and emotionally prepared for whatever answer he would give her? It… Oh, it was just so— She— Time.
That was it.
That's what she needed, a little time, a little time and space, to think before saying anything rash. Hadn't he always told her to be careful, to be cautious before making any final decisions? Yes, what she needed was a little time. She would go to work, take her mind off of the matter, maybe discuss it with Georgie, and if, by the time thy were sitting at the dinner table, she still felt the need to know, still felt doubtful, that was when she would ask. Not now. Then.
"I'll ask you later, when we have more time," she replied. He only nodded absentmindedly.
"I'll pick you up when you get off of work."
"Okay. I'll see you tonight then."
She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before hopping out of the sleek sports car. Standing on the curb, she waved him goodbye until he was swallowed by the thick flow of morning commute traffic.
The second the tail lights vanished, Shirley let her hand and smile crash to the ground.
She was the envy of her colleagues and coworkers. The day she had walked into work, floating with euphoria as she delivered the news of how Mr. Lamperouge, her darling fairytale prince, had asked her to be his girlfriend on their third date following the dinner he had first asked her out to a month ago, that day had been the beginning of a new era, an era in which she, Shirley Fenette, would be the most blissful woman on earth.
It seemed like that day had been so far away, had happened an entire lifetime ago, when it had only been a month in reality…
If she knew what her relationship with him would end up like, would she have been so happy that day?
It was so depressing. The realization that her dream wasn't as perfect as she had thought it would be tore at her; she wanted to cry. There it was, her deepest desire having been granted, and yet, at the same time, it not having been granted. How cruel reality was.
"Shirley? What are you doing standing there? You're going to be late!"
"I-I'm coming, Georgie. Wait up!"
"Hurry up, sleepyhead. I told you that you have to be careful with guys. They'll say and do anything to get into your pants. I bet you even Mr. Lamperouge—"
"We didn't do anything like that, Georgie." The ginger blushed. The very thought of, of doing something like that with him, it just— Oh, he hadn't even kissed her yet. How could Georgie even think to say something like that?
Her friend snorted. "Oh, sure, and I'm a Saint, right? Geez, I slept over at Kallen's last night just for the purpose of leaving you two alone. Are you sure? You're not lying to me, are you? Cause I will find out, I—"
"I'm telling the truth!" she passionately insisted. "Lelouch, he… He said that he… That…"
"That he what, Shirley? What did your perfect boyfriend say this time?"
Cheeks painted a bright rouge, she avoided making any eye contact with her inquisitive companion before mumbling, "He said that… That he was saving, that he was saving it for when he got married, which I personally think is very sweet and romantic of him."
She stopped walking. Confused by her reaction, Shirley turned around. "What's wrong?"
"Are you telling me," her flatmate said slowly, "that he's still a virgin? That Lelouch Lamperouge, the single sexiest, most attractive guy out there since whenever, is a virgin."
"Well, he—"
"You're lying. You're lying, it can't— No, wait, he's lying. How is he a virgin? If he's a virgin, how are the rest of us supposed to get laid? I mean, seriously, Shirley, you can't actually believe that, that's the stupidest thing I've ever—"
"No, Georgie, not so loudly," she begged. "I don't want the others to find ou—"
Tearing her mouth free from the embarrassed woman, the mischievous confidante shouted across the plaza. "Hey, Kallen, guess what Shirley just told me!"
The bleary-eyed redhead turned around, stifling a yawn, before asking, "What?"
"Well, apparently—"
"No, Georgie, don't!"
As she chased after her giggling workmate, Shirley allowed the dark storm could that had been hanging over her for some time to quietly float away. It hadn't dissipated yet. Not yet. But for the time being, for now, she would remain quiet and simply think. Thus, she ran after her friend, from the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her, and to carefree ignorance.
. . .
Gravel crunched underneath the tires of the gleaming car as its purring engine was silenced. The vehicle was immobile, lifeless, and yet, the driver never stepped out. He remained in his seat, gazing out over the placid lake in morose stillness.
Lelouch felt numb with grief. How long had it it been since the last time he had been here? This lake that he'd work so hard to avoid, to ignore? And how much time had passed since the first kiss they had shyly shared on its banks? Since he had proposed to her here?
He sat, completely motionless, save for the lazy smoke curling towards the sky from the end of his cigarette.
That was it, they whispered. Inhale, exhale. In, out, in, out, in, and out. Don't think about anything else. Just. Breathe.
"It's about time we left Pendragon. I've been wanting to get out of here since I was born, and now I'm finally free."
"Your mother will miss you terribly." C.C. only shrugged nonchalantly as she looked out over the lake.
"She will. But I'll come visit every chance I get. And it's not as if we're living in the Dark Ages. She'll live," she joked.
"That's not going to stop her from crying when you go to the hospital tomorrow to say goodbye to her."
She scoffed. "She'll probably be crying because you're leaving her, not me. She absolutely adores you, though I have no clue as to why she loves you so much."
"It makes up for your father, so I don't see why you should complain."
She grinned. "Now, my father is an entirely different story. It's a theory of mine that I'm more like Papa than Maman, what with our personalities and appearances and whatnot."
"Except your father hates me, whereas you like me."
"He's suspicious of you, you know. He wonders why a teenage boy would even bother spending his time with a girl, unless it's to try and get into her pan—"
"C2."
"You must have tried, or at least wanted to, at one point or other. For God's sake, Lelouch, you're a boy too, which means you're also susceptible to hormones. Even you can't deny that fact of li—"
"I went to see your father the other day."
She frowned. "Papa? When? And why did I not know about this until now?"
"I wanted to speak to him privately."
"… Why?"
The raven-haired man only watched the setting sun, rather than answer her query. Annoyed, she demanded, "Why, Lelouch? Why did you go to Papa alone?"
"C2, we met in ninth grade, didn't we?"
She looked at him strangely but replied all the same.
"When you were told to sit next to me."
"And we've been friends ever since?"
"Yes…"
"When I went to your father the other day, he and I, we spoke for a long time, but he eventually agreed."
"Agreed to what?"
A strange feeling began to settle over her. When he finally turned towards her, surprise smacked right into her. When had he… When had he grown to be so tall? Hadn't they been the same height? What… And his face. It was completely different, there was no trace of the awkward, lanky boy he had once been, he was… He was a man now. A full grown man. But when? When had he… And why hadn't she noticed until now? No, no, no, that wasn't right. She hadn't noticed just now, she had always known. Somewhere, deep within her, she had always know. She had only shut it up, ignored it, so that she could pretend that her feelings for him weren't changing. But they had caught up with her now, and she was caught, bound by his soft violet gaze.
"C2, do you remember that game we used to play during the summers when we were bored?"
"Hypothetically Speaking?" What was wrong with him? It wasn't like him to be so random, to just subjects like this. If anything, she was always the one who changed subjects as she pleased while he was the one who always insisted on finishing conversations to the very end.
"Would you like to play, as a commemoration of our high school graduation?"
"Lelouch, I thought—"
"Play," he said firmly. "Play, just this once. It can be the last time. It probably will be the last time. But just play this once, C2."
"… I assume you're going first?"
"Hypothetically speaking, if the reason why I rejected each and every one of those girls who came to confess during those four years was you, what would you do?"
What?
"Hypothetically speaking, if I were to tell you that I've been in love with you since that day we shared an umbrella freshman year, what would you say?"
He stepped forward.
"Hypothetically speaking, Cecaniah… Hypothetically speaking, Ceci, would you push me away if I kissed you right now?"
Compose yourself, she ordered. Compose yourself, C2, and answer the damn boy.
"… Why don't you find out?"
He smiled, and her lips followed, before her first kiss was claimed by him on the banks of the lake on the Friday evening before they would leave for Juilliard. The sun was setting as he drew her in closer, as she wove her fingers through the soft raven hair she had often braided just to annoy him, as he broke away from the lips that had teased him before leaning down once more, and oh God, he had waited so long for this one moment, he had endured three and a half years of sitting on the sidelines, simply watching as C.C. had dated the stupidest boys who never understood her as much as he did, he had gone toe-to-toe with her father, who he had to admit was slightly intimidating in the way that he was so skeptical of him and protective of his only daughter. But it was worth it. It was completely and utterly worth it, he decided. In fact, he would go through all of those trials, and a thousand more, as long as it meant that he would be able to stand here, on the shores of the lake, looking down at the most beautiful girl in the world whom he could finally call his, and his alone.
"I love you, Ceci."
She buried her smile into his chest. "You are mine, and mine only, from this point on. Never forget that, Lelouch."
"I promise I won't," he murmured. And they both smiled, unreservedly drowning in euphoria.
They had been barefoot at the time, he recalled. Barefoot, and in love. So deeply in love, it was just… It made him wonder; if he had loved her less, if his feelings for her hadn't been so intense, would he have been able to let her go? Would he be suffering as he was suffering now? Or was it inevitable, a part of Fate's design, to be subjected to such torment?
He opened his tightly clenched fist and stared blankly at the small silver ring winking up at him from his palm. It was a simple piece of jewelry; he had had very little money to his name at the time after all. A single silver band with a singular pearl embedded within the thin ring. That was it. It was nowhere near anything like the wedding ring gracing her finger now. But this ring, it was more than just a ring, it was more than just a pearl and a silver band. It was the embodiment of his love, his promise to protect and love her for the rest of his life; with it, he had meant to show her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her. And she had accepted him, trusted in him, had agreed to share their lives together for the rest of eternity.
Or so he had once thought.
He didn't know why, or how he had held on to this fragment from his past life for all of these years.
How long had it been since she had left him?
Four years.
How long since the beginning of their eight-year relationship?
Twelve.
And how long since they had first met, since he had fallen in love with her?
Sixteen and fifteen years respectively.
Where had all of the time gone?
More importantly, where had all his sanity fled to?
He had come here to the lake for the singular purpose of throwing the ring away, to desert one of his last memories of that naïve, miraculous time. But now that he was here… Now that he was here, with the memory in his hand and the loch before him, the very loch where they had shared their first kiss, where he had knelt down in front of her to ask her to be his wife, he just…
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't do it, it would be like throwing a part of himself away, for throwing the ring away would mean throwing away his heart, for he still loved her.
He still loved her, she who was untouchable.
Putting the cigarette out, he started the car. The spinning tires spit out gravel as he backed out and drove away, ran away like the coward he secretly was. He didn't know why he had thought he could do it, there had been a reason why he had held onto the ring. Admittedly, he wasn't quite sure of it, but he knew that there was a reason why, and that that reason still held. He couldn't throw it away, no matter how much he wished he could.
But as he drove away, the raven-haired man vowed to himself.
He may not throw it away today, or tomorrow, but one day…
One day, he would.
He swore on it.
. . .
Shirley distractedly polished the cup. It had begun to gleam five minutes ago, but her thoughts were elsewhere, and thus, the teacup bravely endured the shining as best as it could.
What Shirley was so fixated on was a mystery. It wasn't about her boyfriend, fortunately, but it was close. Very, very close.
About a month ago, she had been invited to have dinner with Lelouch, and there, she had made several discoveries. For instance, she had found out that cordial, gentlemanly, warm-hearted Mr. Lamperouge was actually a kingpin in the most feared criminal syndicate of the century. She had also had her hand kissed by the leader of the very same organization, the König of the Weiss Ritter, Schneizel el Britannia, and had been acquainted with his beautiful, young wife. That night was also the very same evening in which she began to suspect that not everything was as it seemed, that there was something more between Lelouch Lamperouge and Cecaniah Corabelle. She didn't know what, or when, but there was something definitely there, and it was making her slightly uneasy. If she had to eventually compete against her, with a lady of that much grace and affluence, would she win? Could she win? She was so beautiful, and though she had seemed a little more than distance from everyone, and hadn't even smiled once during their meeting, Shirley could tell that Mrs. Corabelle's smile would be one of radiance and—
"Shirley, there's someone here to see you."
"Huh?" She looked up, startled. Who would be here to visit her? It couldn't be Lelouch; he had his own job to do… To do whatever it was that Mafiosos did during the day. So who could it be? Kallen, never one big on slow reactions, impatiently rapped the counter to call for her attention.
"You might want to hurry up and get out there to meet her. I don't think we should keep her waiting."
"Who—"
"Hurry, hurry!"
She was ushered out of the kitchen, the cup and cloth plucked from her hands, before she was sent on her way. As she walked down the hallway to one of the private salons, the ginger woman couldn't help but frown. Who could it be? It was obviously a woman, but most of her girl friends worked with her, or were working right now. And even if they had been able to visit, they would never be admitted into the tearoom, since they only accepted people of the highest class, the top 1% of Pendragon's socialites, it…
"Miss Fenette."
"Mrs. Corabelle?"
"Please, take a seat."
Though she was bewildered, Shirley obediently sat down in the comfortable loveseat across from her visitor, who had, once again, managed to succeed in making her feel inferior. She was dressed in a chic black dress, one that complemented her long, creamy legs, along with a white blazer that had undoubtedly had a price tag in the thousands. A necklace, elegantly studded with diamonds, winked at her as the sophisticated madame lowered a cup of fragrant tea from her rosebud lips.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."
"N-no, not at all, I would expect a lady of your status to come here like this, I was just… I was just a little surprised…"
"A lady of my status," she murmured. C.C. couldn't resist smirking at the irony. How funny. A lady of her status? She truly did know nothing. So Lelouch hadn't told her anything. Yet.
"How are things with Mr. Lamperouge?" she questioned politely. The waitress's eyes snapped up from the skirt of her uniform to stare at her in surprise. "L-Lelouch?"
"Has he been treating you well?"
"Um, yes, he has, but, um… Mrs. Corabelle?"
"Yes?"
C.C. observed how she squirmed in her seat, wondering how in the world Lelouch managed to put up with that, since one of the things he absolutely detested was restless fidgeting. In fact, how did he even put up with this woman in the first place? She wasn't even his ideal type, and the raven-haired man was often a perfectionist. With his personality, he wouldn't have it in him to tolerate her, so how… Unless he loved her. Unless he really actually did love her. Her expression hardened at the thought. So he loved her, did he?
"… Mrs. Corabelle, what… What exactly, um, what exactly is your relationship with Lelouch?"
"My relationship with Lelouch?"
Her eyes dropped down to her hand, where her wedding ring silently glimmered with its glorious 24 karat diamond.
"… We used to be classmates in high school."
Shirley tilted her head to the side, curious. That couldn't be all. There was more to it, there had to be more to the story than she was letting on. She just knew it; Mrs. Corabelle's expression had looked so distant, so far off, as if she were reliving some memory of a happier place and time. Even if it was just for a split second, the expression was unmistakable, and it intrigued her even further. What exactly had happened between the two?
"Um, Mrs. Corabelle, I—"
"It seems that it's time for me to go."
Huh?
The emerald-haired woman rose from her seat before giving her a smile that didn't quite her eyes and a polite, "Good afternoon, Miss Fenette" and walking away. Stunned, Shirley blinked at the sofa where Mrs. Corabelle had been sitting just seconds earlier, before rushing to the window of the room. She didn't notice Georgie slipping inside until her friend asked, "What'd she want?"
They watched as the gentlewoman exited the building. A tall man bowed curtly before opening the door of a luxurious sedan for her. Shirley couldn't stop her wistful sigh.
"What do you think it'd be like, Georgie, to live like Mrs. Corabelle?"
"I don't know… Don't you think it'd be kind of boring? I mean, she can't do whatever she wants cause she has to conform to what society wants and expects her to be like."
"What are you talking about?" The car pulled away, and the young woman dragged herself away from the view to help her best friend clean up.
"You have to realize, Shirley, that having too much money can be a bad thing too. It can become a cage for some people. A gilded cage made of gold, but a cage all the same. I personally would hate my life if I were trapped like that."
"Who said that she was trapped?"
"Couldn't you tell? Shirley, does she look like someone who's happy to you?" Georgie shook her head out of pity. "If anything, I feel sorry for her. It'd totally suck to be like her."
"Well, I happen to think that she's a very beautiful person, and that it would be nice to get to know her better. Maybe even be friends with her."
"Maybe. But isn't she the wife of the Weiss König? Eesh, Shirley, if I were you, I'd be really careful around her. Piss her off, and you could end up as a mutilated corpse at the bottom on the Antoine River."
She became indignant. "She's not like that. She's very polite, a true lady."
"Hmmm, well, we all thought that Mr. Lamperouge was a gentleman, but then we found out the truth about him, didn't we?"
"What are you talking about? He is a gentleman, he—"
"I was just kidding, Shirls. It was a joke. Come on, we've got to get back to work, or Nina'll tell us off again."
As she was dragged away, Shirley couldn't help but frown. Was Georgie right? Was Mrs. Corabelle really caged?
It wasn't until lunchtime when she realized that perhaps, perhaps, the reason why Mrs. Corabelle had paid her a visit was because she was lonely.
Perhaps.
. . .
As the car dove into the steady stream of vehicles, C.C. berated herself. Why, she scowled, had she gone to visit Shirley Fenette? Why had she bothered to find out where she worked, why had she bothered going there, and why had she bothered to go through the trouble of gaining access to one of the most elite tearooms in all of Pendragon, all just to meet a woman whom her past lover had apparently decided to sleep with? Why would she care? Why?
She had no business with her. She wasn't friends with her, she wasn't conducting business with her. They were completely unrelated save for one man, a man whom she had decided to ignore. As it happened, the only reason why she even knew of her existence was because of Lelouch Lamperouge, and God knew how much she detested to be even mentioned in the same sentence with him.
C.C. drew in a slow, deep breath. She wasn't going to dwell on him. She had promised herself that she wouldn't, and she would make good on that promise.
"Jeremiah."
"Yes, Madame?"
"Go to Fifth Avenue. I want to speak to—"
She threw a hand out to catch herself as the car was violently read-ended. What the—
Her chauffeur suddenly sped the car forward in complete disregard for traffic laws and common sense.
"Jeremi—" But he cut her off. "My apologies, Madame, however, please bear the discomfort for just a little longer."
She could hear Sayoko speaking in a business-like clip. "System pattern rouge. Yes. Approximately thirty seconds ago. Yes, we understand."
"Sayoko." Her mistress called for her attention as the maid opened the glove box of the vehicle to pull out two pistols. As she reached underneath her seat to retrieve a satchel of daggers, she explained the present situation.
"We are currently returning to the Schachmatt as protocol mandates due to the aggression the Hóng Hè just exhibited towards you. Master Schneizel is currently moving towards the Schachmatt as we speak, as are every single capo within a hundred mile radius from the Schachmatt., along with their individual outfits. Madame, we— Jeremiah!"
They swerved violently to the left just as the glass right besides C.C.'s ear splintered. She stared as another bullet attempted to penetrate the bullet-resistant glass, followed by another, and another, and another. As shot after shot rain down on her, it became increasingly obvious how the window wasn't going to hold up for much longer.
"Jeremiah, they're closing in, we need to—"
The window shattered.
She could distinctly hear Sayoko saying something, either to Jeremiah or to herself, but she wasn't quite sure. She wasn't quite sure of anything really, as the sedan weaved around the other cars dangerously and the speedometer needle trembled at the reckless 200 mph mark. Everything was just a blur of cacophonous sound and smudged paint.
All she could make out was silver hair whipping in the wind, gleaming from the depths of the black van that was keeping pace with them, its doors wide open so that she could see a pair of psychotic black eyes gleaming at her with a bestial hunger.
It was the Hóng Hè. They had come to catch her, to kill her.
The savage murderer, with his dilated pupils and deranged smile, seemed to mouth, "Hello, darling" before raising the muzzle of a gun so that it was directly aimed for her forehead.
She closed her eyes.
. . .
"Yes. Yes, I understand."
Suzaku Kururugi eyeballed the raven-haired man, slightly concerned. Though his back was turned towards him, he could tell that he was incredibly tense, completely on edge. What was happening? What was the phone call about, what had the person on the other line said to make such a cool and collected person so furious?
He watched as the man set his cell down slowly, carefully, before picking up his gloves. It made the trainer uncomfortably, uneasy. The way he moved was deliberate, as if he was fighting something, probably anger, as if he was struggling not to break something out of rage. It was extremely unnerving to see a person such as him so out of control of his emotions.
"Lelouch, what—"
Bam.
If it weren't for his reflexes, Suzaku would have probably stumbled backwards from surprise and the sheer force of the right hook. What was—
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, sl— Lelou— S— Stop. Lelouch, stop, ta— Calm down, you have to stop before you hurt yourself, you— Hey. Hey, he— Hey!"
He grabbed ahold of his wrists before demanding, "What is wrong with you? What's wrong, Lelouch? What the hell happened?"
"Nothing—" he snapped. But he wasn't having that. "What do you take me for, an idiot? What happened, Lelouch?"
Emeralds drilled into amethysts before the latter tore his wrists free. Roughly ripping off the boxing gloves, he threw them to the ground. He stared as his sweat slid down the geography of his face before falling to the mats below his feet. He watched one, two, three droplets before finally speaking in a low, barely-controlled growl.
"Do you remember that woman I told you about?"
"… Your ex-fiancé? Why? Did you… Did you see her again?"
"Apparently, the König is her goddamn husband. She was so close this entire time, and I never knew…"
He laughed, cruelly, coldly, at himself. All this time… All this fucking time, she had been right there, and he hadn't been the wiser. All this goddamn fucking time.
"How… How is she?" Suzaku cautiously asked. He knew that Lelouch was a part of the Weiss Ritter, and he knew bits and pieces of the Mafioso's tragic past romance, but what he didn't know was what to say or do in reaction to the news. Ask him about her? Let him continue beating the living hell out of the heavy bag? What? What was he supposed to do? What was the right thing to do? To say? He had never felt so lost.
"Oh, she's quite well," he replied. "For someone who's sold her body."
"… Lelouch, I don't—"
"He doesn't even love her," he snarled. "He doesn't even love her."
"… Does she love him?"
There was no reply. Shit.
"… You know, if you want, I—"
"You asked me earlier what had happened. That was just from the König himself. A month ago, he told me that, in the event that the Weiss Ritter go to war with the Hóng Hè, I am to protect his wife. Be with her, most, if not all, hours of the day. Every day. With her. Alone. Following her around, like some dog."
"Does the König know about your, uh… Your past with… With his wife?"
"If he knew, would he have appointed me as her personal body guard?"
Suzaku frowned grimly. "What are you going to do?"
"What else can I do, besides do as he orders?"
Silence enveloped the room as the raven-haired man struggled to control the despair, the anger, that was rising within him. Why? Why did this have to happen, why was this— What had he done to deserve this? It was so hard, so hard, trying to keep her at bay already, to keep his feelings at bay, and now, now he was chained to her, and it just…
"I'm going to get some gauze," announced the Japanese.
Lelouch merely stared at the fragmented mirror, his work of art. How ironic; his reflection was just as he felt; broken and disconnected.
Clenching his fist, he ignored the pain shooting through his arm, ignored the blood dripping to the ground, and just stared.
"Promise me one thing, dear."
"Anything," he replied. He moved his chair closer to the frail woman lying in the bed, who was buried and nearly lost in the folds of her hospital gown. She held his hand in between two weak, pale ones of her own, as she made an effort to speak to him.
"Promise me you'll protect my daughter. I trust no one but you, Lelouch dear. You can do that for an old lady such as myself, can't you?"
"I swear to you that she'll come to no harm."
"Such a sweet boy…" She smoothed his hair before cupping his cheek as she smiled up at him, faint traces of her beauty appearing. "My daughter should thank her stars for meeting you. I should thank my stars for having such a kind, thoughtful man taking care of my Cecaniah. I know she can be difficult at times, but believe me when I say that I've never seen her happier than when she's with you. Protect her for me, Lelouch, and make her happy. So, so happy that she'll forget all about her sick mother. Can you do that for me?"
Rising, he gently kissed her on the forehead, the woman who had raised the love of his life, the woman who he hoped to be his mother-in-law one day. She smiled, patting his hand, before whispering, "You should probably go now, dear. She's most likely angry at me, for keeping you to myself for so long. And we wouldn't want an angry C2 on our hands now, would we?"
That had been years ago, before C.C.'s mother had succumbed to her breast cancer, before everything had gone downhill. Before tragedy had ravaged his life.
Everything had come full circle. Years ago, he had made a promise to be her guardian, and now, here he was, shackled by the exact same vow. His past had finally managed to catch up with him.
Affliction is enamored of thy parts, they whispered, and thou art wedded to calamity.
He most certainly was.
He most certainly was wedded to calamity.
. . .
"That's enough."
The maid bowed before rising and packing up the first aid material. Ignoring her, C.C. stared at her husband, who had only just arrived. His hair was slightly windblown, and his clothes were a little ruffled, which sent alarms off in her head. Schneizel was never one who stood for disorder, whether it came to the Weiss Ritter or his personal appearance. It was true that he had just flown in by helicopter, but this was Schneizel el Britannia, not some other man.
So it was this serious.
"Cecaniah."
"Schneizel."
He took a seat across from her and quiet settled into the spacious bedroom.
"The Weiss Ritter has just declared war on the ."
"I heard."
He nodded. "There are some things I would like to discuss with you, my love. It is imperative that you realize that many aspects of our lives will be changing with this war."
"I don't mind," she intoned passively.
"The Hóng Hè are not one to trifle with, even for the Weiss Ritter. I've assigned someone to accompany you wherever you go for your protection."
"Who?"
"Lelouch Lamperouge."
She stared, refusing to believe him. "… Lelouch Lamperouge is the one who's going to be staying with me for my protection."
"He'll be assuming his responsibilities tomo—"
"Why not Sayoko? Or Jeremiah? I'm sure they would—"
"No. They don't kill, and I refuse to allow harm to befall you. Lelouch Lamperouge is the only man who fits the requirements out of the individuals I trust most. I—"
"Did he have anything to do with this?" she demanded. He replied that he had no part in the decision being made.
C.C. sneered. "So this is all your doing."
"Cecaniah—"
"It's all your doing, you're the cause of this."
"Cecaniah, my love, you know I—"
"I know what? What do I know? That you tore apart a young man and woman who had nothing but each other? Yes, I know that extremely well, Schneizel, thank you for being so gracious to go as far as giving me a reminder my every waking moment by placing him so close to me. I—"
"My love, this arrangement—"
"You promised me. You promised me that you would keep him away from me, so why are you doing this to me, Schneizel? I trusted you, and I made no protest when you told me that we would be having dinner with him. I did just as you requested. But why must you feel the need to do this? Haven't you had enough?"
He said nothing as she broke down in front of him.
"Assign someone else, Schneizel. Anyone else, I don't care who it is as long as it's not him. I'm sure the Weiss Ritter has more than one killer within its organization, send—"
"I'm sorry, my love, but this is in your best interest. The person I trust most to keep you safe is Lelouch, Cecaniah. I'm sorry, but I can't risk your life because of the absence of reason within men who have too much power."
She only wept, and he embraced his wife.
"It's true. I do know about your past with him. And I do apologize, my love, for forcing you to suffer in this way. But Lelouch Lamperouge is obedient, and a gentleman. I've observed him for a long time, and he is undeniably a man of his word. He's proven to me that he won't betray me and will do as he's told. He is the only individual capable of this role. It upsets me that it has to be like this, but this is the only way I can be sure of your survival, my love. Please understand what a difficult decision this was."
She merely buried her head into his chest, her warm, salty tears soaking his shirt.
Lies. They were all lies.
She cried, and cried, and cried, even when her husband was kissing her. Even when he was carrying her to their bed and untying her silk nightgown. As he leaned over her and performed the sacred ritual performed by husband and wife, C.C. wept.
For her future, for the pain that was yet to come, the torture.
For her heart, Cecaniah Corabelle shed tears of despair.
. . .
Shirley gawked as she stepped through the doorway. It was absolutely enormous, an entire palace in its own right. He lived here? Alone? How much money did he receive on pay day to be able to live in such a… An elite, high-class place such as this? Shirley had always read about them in the tabloids, or on the internet, whenever some celebrity decided to splurge just to show off how little they cared for materialistic wealth, but she could never have thought that she would know someone who lived in one of the multi-million dollar apartments, that she would be able to step into one of these flats, much less the penthouse…
It was like a dream.
An absolute dream.
There was a wall made entirely of windows where one could undoubtedly look out over the city's harbor in the early mornings and bask in the magnificent splendor of the rising sun. Elegant furniture stood proudly in their rooms, as if they knew how fortunate they were to live in such a luxurious home. There was even a spiral staircase, which meant that there was at least a second floor, never mind a third. A second floor! And a pool! There it was, shimmering on the spacious patio outside, lit up with the illumination countless, hidden spotlights offered.
It was a never-ending apartment, an apartment without a limit on rooms and space. An apartment made of magic.
"Would you like some tea?"
"T-tea?" Shirley followed his voice into one of the most glamorous kitchens she had ever rested her eyes on. She tried not to gape.
"I also have coffee, mineral water, and juice hand-squeezed from various fruits. To be honest, I'm not quite sure which fruits specifically, but Anya should know, and—"
"Anya? Who's Anya?" A second woman, possibly?!
"The housekeeper." He rubbed the back of his neck abashedly as he confessed, "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a workaholic; Anya makes sure dust is kept off of the furniture and that the kitchen is stocked with fresh food whenever I bother coming home."
"Is… Is she here right now, or…?"
"She didn't come today since it's Friday. Why?"
"N-nothing. Um, do you have some chai tea?"
"I should. Ah, here it is. Why don't you go sit down in the living room, and I'll join you once the tea is finished brewing."
She nodded before scampering towards the milky white leather sofa. The crystal chandelier overhead winked at her, glinting off of the glass coffee table and reflecting off of the plasma TV. As she gazed all around her, Shirley couldn't help but worry.
She had yet to ask him if he truly loved her. They had gone for dinner, and she had asked him how his day had been, and what had happened to his hand since it was wrapped in gauze that hadn't been there in the morning, to which he replied that his day had been fine and that he had had a minor accident in which he hadn't been careful enough. When he had seen her frown, he had smile, promising to be more careful in the future, and that had been it. That had been all of the questions she had asked him.
Why couldn't she ask him? It was a simple question. Everyone did it. It wasn't as if she was breaking a rule by asking him, she was only asking for confirmation, for reassurance, so it wasn't as if he could get angry for her wanting to know for certain.
… But what if he did get angry? And what if his answer was no, that he didn't love her? What would she do then? What could she do? She didn't want to fight with him, but there was also a burning desire within her to know, to hear from him, that he loved her, and it—
Huh? What was this?
Tilting her head to the side, she blinked at the overturned photographs lying messily on the coffee table. Pictures? Of what? She reached for them before stopping short. Wait… Wasn't this an invasion of privacy? What if Lelouch didn't want her to look at them? But… But if he didn't want anyone to look at them, why would they be out in plain view? And besides. What could he possibly be hiding? She already knew that he was in the mafia for the goodness' sake, it wasn't as if there could be anything wor…
It was Lelouch. A younger Lelouch, in his late teens, early twenties, who was trying to cover the camera lens with his hands, a partially annoyed, partially embarrassed expression on his face. How cute. Smiling, Shirley reached for the rest of the photos, wondering what other adorable snapshots she would discover. Some fluttered to the rug, and she berated herself for being so clumsy as she bent down to pick them up. Why was she always dropping things, and…
It was Mrs. Corabelle.
She looked much younger, and much, much, much happier and carefree. She was even smiling, her usual frown, her customary mask of apathy, nowhere to be seen. Lelouch was also there, and they were both wearing graduation caps and gowns. Lelouch was carrying her, as if she were a bride, as if she were his bride. There had apparently been a light breeze at the time, because her long emerald tresses were fluttering in the wind, mingling with the petals of cherry blossoms that were floating about. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, like a romantic-comedy or something that she would have loved to watch, if only it weren't her boyfriend and some other woman starring in it.
Shirley felt her throat tighten.
Why had he been looking at these? He had clearly been, if they were out here. But why? Why? And what did it mean? Did… Did— What was the meaning of these pictures? Why were they out here, as if he had been studying them, as if he had been reflecting on some period in his life she hadn't been a part of? It—
A tiny gasp escaped her as the pictures were taken out of her fingers. Looking up, she saw that it was the raven-haired man. He gave her a tight smile before swiftly carrying the incriminating photographs far away from prying eyes that were trying their best not to shed tears.
It was a long time before any one of them spoke.
"Um… Lelouch?"
"… Yes, Shirley?" He returned from wherever it was that he had hid the evidence, completely guarded against her. She could tell that he had put up a wall, that he was preparing himself for her reaction, bracing himself. It only made her feel even more miserable.
"… Mrs. Corabelle told me that you met in high school. I guess that's true?"
"… What she said is correct," he replied slowly.
"Um… Um, Lelouch, you don't have to answer this, but, um… What exactly was your relationship?"
"I told you, Shirley," he said in a patient voice. He sat down besides her, offering her her warm cup of chai tea. "She's the wife of the Weiss Köni—"
"No, I mean… I don't mean what is your relationship. I mean what was it?"
There was silence, in which Shirley didn't dare look at his face. She was afraid that if she did, she'd see the truth she feared so much, and that she would burst into tears. And she decided that if she were going to say goodbye to him, she at least wanted to do it in a dignified fashion, not as a blubbering mess. So she studied the cup of tea as she waited for him to answer.
"… We were friends."
"F… Friends?"
"We were only friends, Shirley. There was nothing more to it," he lied. Well, it was a half-lie. It was true that he and C.C. had been friends in high school. In fact, they had been the best of friends, incredibly close with another. But what he had fed Shirley was just half of the truth, an incomplete lie, for though they had been friends during high school, they had been in love, though it wasn't until college that they had moved on to the next level. So, technically speaking, he told himself, he hadn't lied to Shirley. He just hadn't disclosed everything to her. Not that he wouldn't shy away from deceiving her, from lying to her. There were just some things she didn't need to know, some things he didn't feel like sharing. Some things she wouldn't, couldn't understand. It was for the best, to keep her in the dark. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.
"Shirley, I—"
"Have you… Have you ever considered leaving?"
"Leaving?" He stared at her tight grip, her trembling hands locked around the mug of tea, as she said, "The mafia. Have you ever thought about quitting?"
He blinked at her before a dark chuckle accidentally slipped out. Confused, she frowned and looked up. Had she said something funny? Why was he laughing at her? She was being honest. She truly had been wondering if he had ever considered leaving the dangerous life he led for a quieter, safer one. So why was he laughing at her?
He leaned back into the sofa before replying, "You speak of desertion as if it were as easy as walking out of a room. They would kill me."
"Isn't that only if you become an informant for the law? I'm sure you wouldn't—"
"Besides… As the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, I'm earning an average of $12 million a week simply by breathing. What occupation is there in the world that would support the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to?"
What a stupid question she had asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid Shirley. Stupid! How could she think to ask such a dumb question? $12 million! Of course there was a reason why he hadn't left the mafia. Money, and the threat of being hunted down would be enough to scare any man or woman into staying. She looked up, the beginning of an apology, already on her lips, when he said in a soft voice, "I know you only asked because you're concerned for my safety, Shirley. There's no need to berate yourself for caring about someone."
"But it—"
"It's fine, Shirley. I'm sorry, for laughing when you were being sincere. It's just… After spending the entire day with Mafioso, it's a little difficult to remember that there are people left in the world who sincerely care and worry for others."
Lelouch internally cursed. He had overdone it, he had over-calculated. Now she was struggling with guilt, guilt for not being so understanding; she was probably thinking about how selfish she was, and how she was a terrible girlfriend. She had begun to waver, if she hadn't already, as she became increasingly unsure of herself, of whether she really deserved to be in this relationship.
She was going to break up with him.
He wasn't going to let that happen. He needed her. Not in the way that their connection required, should have elicited. But he did, that was undeniable. He needed Shirley Fenette, he needed her to act as a guard, as a wall against Schneizel. And he wasn't going to let her slip away from him; he had invested far too much time in her to allow that to happen.
"Shirley."
"Lelouch, I… Are you— Lelouch, why are we in a relationship? I mean… Is… Is this just a, a joke to you, or—"
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers every so lightly with just enough pressure, just enough emotion, to satisfy her. It was quick and chaste, but when he pulled away, her cheeks were painted a bright red and her eyes were wide open. The corner of his lip twitched. It had worked.
"Does that answer your question?" he asked gently.
"I…" She had been rendered completely speechless. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as he began to recite the lines his silver tongue was handing to him.
"I'm sorry, Shirley, if I haven't been very loving to you. It was an inexcusable to treat you in such a way, and I'd like to apologize. Will you forgive me?"
It's… I… I understand, it's… It's okay. I'm sorry too, for doubting you…"
He smiled at her, pleased with himself. He had her wrapped around his finger so long as he kept bribing her like this from time to time. He did feel a flicker of guilt at leading her on; she did seem like a nice person, a pretty girl (though short hair didn't really suit her, not that he particularly liked women with short hair in the first place). Pity she wasn't his type. Pity she wasn't C.C.
That was right. She wasn't C.C., she was Shirley Fenette.
And quite frankly, that made all the difference to Lelouch, for Cecaniah Corabelle was the only one he loved and would ever love.
. . .
She slipped out of bed easily. It wasn't as if it was difficult to. Her husband wasn't touchy-feel, he wasn't a very intimate person. Unlike Lelouch, who had always embraced her afterwards, refusing to let go even in his sleep. Not that she had minded. It wasn't as if she had ever wanted to leave his arms in the first place.
Wrapping her silk robe around her unclothed frame, she wandered out onto the balcony. Closing the French doors behind her with a soft click, she stood alone, shivering in the chilly autumn night. The moon gleamed at her from above, and she brought her hand up to the light.
There it was. Her wedding ring, silently twinkling at her, as if one of the countless stars from above had landed on her finger.
She knelt down onto the ground.
It had been a long time since she had prayed. She had been raised as a Catholic when she had been younger, and the world had been softer. Not a devout follower, but a catholic who was still faithful enough to go to Mass every Sunday morning. Of course, over the years, as the world had become harder and more unforgiving, she had gone less, and les, until she could no longer truly call herself a person of the Catholic faith. But still… Somewhere inside her lay the remnants of the little girl who had once worshipped God. Maybe she was still in there somewhere, hidden underneath the layers of weariness shrouding her.
"Dear Heavenly Father… Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will. That I maybe be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him. Forever in the next. Amen."
She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the gentle face of the moon.
"All the bright, precious things fade so fast." She quietly whispered to herself the words he had often told her, unable to draw comfort from them as she once had. "And they don't come back."
Only this time, instead of finishing the way he had, with a kiss and a, "But I couldn't' care less since I have you," she spoke to her tears in a rough, uneven voice.
"They don't come back."
Somewhere, miles off, at the heart of the city of Pendragon, a young man with raven locks and brooding amethyst eyes looked up to stare unblinkingly at the very same moon. He said nothing, and simply stood still, silently studying the heavens.
Shirley had left long ago, immensely heartened by their first kiss, thus leaving the prince alone in his cold, lifeless castle.
Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.
He felt a peculiar mixture of emotions. Anger was definitely one of them. Anger towards himself for putting himself in this situation, anger at the imbeciles who had the audacity to attempt to overthrow the Weiss Ritter, anger at Schneizel for taking C.C. away from him, for keeping her hidden from him, and anger towards the witch herself, for leaving him.
Fury simmered within him, but he knew that, underlying the screaming, raging Anger, was the strange fluttering of Anxiety and the intoxicating singing of Love. For the first time in four long years, Lelouch Lamperouge felt unsure of himself. He didn't know what kind of frame of mind he had had to have to successfully pass through this, he wasn't prepared for a situation like this, a situation that offered catastrophic outcomes only.
He didn't pray. He wouldn't pray. Unlike C.C., he hadn't been a very religious person. Not that she had been the most orthodox of Catholics either. But they were different in the way that he had abandoned God (or was it that God had abandoned him?) the moment he found himself completely and utterly alone in the world, his parents and sister cruelly stolen from him at the tender age of 4, while she had turned to Him for guidance, or at least some comfort.
He had always been alone until he had met C.C. How cruel it was of her to give him a taste of ambrosia, a peek of Elysium, before snatching it away from him. At least before he had met her, he couldn't really make any comparisons. But with C.C…. With C.C., he had realized that the decade he had lived through before he had stumbled upon her when he had won that scholarship for that elite private school had been a decade of loneliness. That his world had been one of darkness, until she led him towards the light, before she pointed out the silver lining to every cloud, whether it was intentional or not.
Lelouch prided himself on being prepared, and if not prepared, at least able to make swift decisions that allowed him to bypass the unexpected, and often life-threatening, situations unscathed.
But tomorrow…
He was ill-prepared and ill-equipped to deal with tomorrow, for tomorrow held the promise of a disaster of epic proportions that not even he could evade.
He didn't have a solution. He had nothing, he couldn't even do damage-control. There was just no other way but to simply accept the full force of the… The tsunami that was heading his way.
Lelouch Lamperouge wasn't scared. He had forgotten long ago what fear was. But he was confused, and if there was anything he learned about the underworld, then it was that confusion was often worst, and more fatal, than fear.
Tomorrow was most definitely the beginning of the end.
Indubitably.
. . .
"Madame, Mr. Lamperouge has arrived. He's currently waiting in the foyer for you."
"I understand. Thank you, Sayoko."
The maid nodded as her mistress rose from her seat. She stared at her reflection.
It was only brunch, she told herself. That was all. A small brunch at the Haven Rooftop at the Sanctuary Hotel. That was all to it, it was like any other day. She would go to the restaurant as was her custom where a table reserved by the staff would be waiting for her, regardless of whether she had actually called ahead or not. Nothing would be different, she reminded herself. Today would be just like any other day.
Everything would be different.
It was not like any other day, it would be the farthest it could be from her usual day.
As she descended the staircase, she chanted a mantra to herself with every step she took.
Brunch.
Hair appointment.
Brunch.
Hair appointment.
Brunch.
Hair appointment.
Brunch.
Hair appointment.
Bru—
"Good morning, Mrs. Corabelle."
He was being amiable, business-like. Polite, but distant. Good. She silently watched as he lifted her hand to his lips in greeting.
"Mr. Lamperouge."
"Shall we begin?"
She smiled stiffly before reclaiming her hand and slipping out of the house. It was a beautiful autumn morning outside. The sky was an impossible shade of blue. No one could have guessed that her world had come crashing down around her ears the evening before, that the world's most feared criminal syndicate had begun to mobilize for war.
And as the car pulled away from the Schachmatt to the Haven Rooftop, with Jeremiah at the steering wheel and Sayoko in the passenger seat as always, C.C. couldn't help but wonder.
The man seated besides her had asked her if she'd like to begin.
Begin what?
What beginning was there for the two of them? Beginnings weren't meant for them, endings were, and they had been robbed of even that. What in the world did he mean by beginning? What would begin?
Why, her very own personal apocalypse of course. What else?
Silly Cecaniah.
Silly, silly, Cecaniah.