Chapter X

The body of a five-year-old could only take so much, so naturally, after Leopold had run about the ivy-covered villa for an hour in the name of a vigorous round of hide-and-seek, it had demanded a nap. His mother, glad for the respite, took him to bed, after which she herself with the nanny and discussed what the future held for leur petit prince.

"Schneizel never gave you instructions?" Sharply looking up from the untouched coffee, C.C. frowned. It was highly unusual for her husband not to relay orders. Had the Weiss Ritter finally met their match?

"No, ma'am. We were told Mr. Lamperouge would direct us upon his arrival. There was little time for anything else."

Unease flickered across her face. To think that Leopold had been in so much danger that even a minute couldn't have been spared… Though she would have preferred for him to avoid death and pain altogether, she was relieved; he was far from those politics now. It didn't matter what the situation had been yesterday, so long as his life was ensured in today's. There was no point in fretting over something that had already ended. It would merely consume what little sanity she had left, and God knew how fraught with chaos her life was.

"I…don't expect the present circumstances to affect Leopold significantly. He will be under the impression that Mr. Lamperouge is a close, personal friend of mine and will address him accordingly, but that is the sole exception. Leopold's life will not change in any fashion. Lelouch Lamperouge's only connection is his duty to protect him from the enemies of the Weiss Ritter, and he will not have any impact – positive or negative – on Leopold's day-to-day life. All else will remain the same."

"Shall I relay this to Jeremiah and Anya?"

"Please."

Nodding, the nanny excused herself, leaving the young woman alone with dark thoughts of her son. Leopold was fatherless, and from what she could see, would remain so. No matter what or who she ultimately chose, nothing would change for Leopold. She would make sure of it. Even if it was the last thing she did, he at least would remain untainted by the world his parents were chained to.

. . .

Hair damp, Lelouch ran a hand through, clearing the dewy strands from his glasses as he stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror. He had been holed up in his room all day. Though he knew it was cowardly to, he had sought – and found – reprieve from the boy's thrilled shrieking as his mother found him squatting besides a potted plant in the garden or the faint tickling of the piano's ivory keys in the sanctity of his bedroom. Not that he had been in his room solely because of the child. No, far from it. He had business to tend to; the boy's ignorance was merely an unforeseen, albeit welcome, side-product.

Schneizel had been unable to receive his call, but the consigliore had volunteered himself as messenger. An indefinite period of time had replied the man to his question of how long they would be in hiding for. The Hóng Hè were proving to be an adversary they had severely underestimated, and though the Weiss Ritter still held domain over the city, their grip was loosening with every insult their reputation suffered. Lelouch had been dismayed to hear the news – not because of his brotherhood's misfortune, but rather due to the nonexistent termination to the torture he was subject to. But what other option did he have than to surrender to his master's will?

Ms. Croomy had also contacted him in lieu of Lloyd to inform him that research for the cure was underway. She asked after his health, and for once, he answered with the complete truth and admitted to his humanity – wasting away, he had told her. Though the immediate danger had passed, his body could still very much feel the poison slowly spreading throughout him. He had already thrown up what little food he had had and had barely managed to keep down Lloyd's prescription. Ms. Croomy had sympathized – she had always cared too much for the wrong people – and reassured him that they would work day and night until he was cured. And though he had genuinely felt gratitude towards her, he returned to his lies once twilight fell and he had mustered up the energy to call Shirley.

At one point during the call, he had made the mistake of glancing at his reflection, when his pacing had brought him by the mirror. The room was dark; what little natural light there was had slipped in through the drawn curtains of the large windows. Nonetheless, it had been more than enough for his expression to strike him dumb with its apathy.

A few years ago, he would have never dreamt of using someone the way he was using Shirley now, much less act upon it. But a few years ago, he hadn't gone through all that he had suffered. A few years ago, how he felt towards someone wouldn't have put his life – or hers – in danger. Not that it made the deed any more excusable. He knew it was unforgivable, what he was doing to her. Toying with her mind. Taking advantage of her honesty. Feeding her false hope. But he needed Shirley right where he had her, and how he had her, to maintain the façade, so he pushed himself to call her and comfort her, all the while neatly sidestepping where his guilt should have been.

She panicked, of course, but that was only to expected. For all she had known, he had been a corpse for the past two days, so her tears, anger, and shock were understandable. He accepted them with infinite patience, and when her passion had finally been spent, he apologized. He promised he would return to her, healthy and whole, and appeased her until her sobs had subsided to resigned sniffling. But the one thing he didn't do was tell her that he loved her. Because he didn't love her, because his heart belonged to another, and because Shirley Fenette deserved at least respect from him, considering his betrayal, he made no such concession to her emotions. Lelouch was cruel, but he wasn't heartless or ignorant. He knew she at least deserved the truth in this treacherous world they lived in and so quietly wished her well but did not utter those sacred words before disconnecting, having done his duty.

. . .

Dining alone wasn't a new experience for either of them. Schneizel rarely took the time to sit down for dinner with his wife and son, preferring the company of hardened men over his family, which suited C.C. just fine. She knew how nervous her husband made her son, so it was for the best if his charming, serpentine ways spent as little time as possible with the child. But that was also why she felt so strange and lost when she couldn't help but feel the weight of the empty chair across from her that would have belonged to their guardian if he had joined them at the table.

Fortunately, her son was there to serve as a distraction, and she gratefully submitted to this want for attention. Like now.

"Maman?"

"Yes, Leopold?"

"How long are we going to be staying here for?"

She watched him push his peas around his late before he furtively glanced up. Breaking her scrutiny, she speared the rose-colored salmon on her own plate as she said: "I don't know, sweetheart. Why? Are you homesick?"

"No, I just wanted to know because," tripping over his words, he gasped for breath as he struggled to tame his own tongue, "because I want to go to the beach. Because we're on vacation? And Sayoko told me how fun the beach is? And-and I also need to learn how to swim because I don't know how and everyone else does."

"Who's everyone else?"

"Charlie."

She glanced at the worn weasel sitting on its own stool between them and its glassy smile as her son eagerly recounted one of their ventures into Wonderland in which Charlie had had to pull him out of a river he had fallen into. Smiling at his excitement, she softly quipped, "Well, I'll have to remember to thank Charlie for his bravery."

"He likes caramel," he offered. "Caramel, not chocolate."

"Maman knows." It hadn't been the first time Charlie had saved her son's life after all. Setting down the gleaming silverware, she shifted forward in her seat, and the boy looked up from his fingers, which he had been using to help count the number of caramels he thought Charlie deserved, attentive – his mother rarely looked so somber as she did now, so it was only natural that he dedicate all his attention to what she had to say.

"Someone…is going to be staying with us during our stay here, Leopold and it would make Maman so happy if you were kind to him. Do you think you can do that? Be kind to our guest?"

"…Is it Father?" he growled, his expression darkening. When she shook her head, the dark clouds cleared, and he returned to his natural temperament as he asked who their companion would be.

"A very good friend of Maman's. He's a friend from when Maman went to school, and he'll be staying with us until the end of our holiday. So be good to him, Leopold. Okay?"

"When is he coming?"

"He came with Maman, but the trip must have exhausted him. He's been asleep all day long, But you can meet him tomorrow morning. I'm sure he can't wait to meet you."

Leopold nodded slowly as his curiosity soon poisoned into resentment for a man who was too busy and too good to come down and introduce himself. He knew he should be good. Maman had explicitly asked him to after all, and he wanted nothing more than to please her. But try as he might, he could feel irritation itch, and he had neither the will nor the discipline to resist scratching and soon lost his mother's wish to his injured pride.

. . .

Absentmindedly brushing her hair, C.C. sat before the mirror, staring at her reflection but seeing her son's stubborn frown. She had tucked him into bed earlier, reminding him of his promise to be kind tomorrow as she had smoothed his unruly green hair, when he had surprised her with his vehement denial of any intention to show goodwill to a man who prioritized sleeping over introducing himself.

He hadn't said it, but she knew what his accusation was – that Lelouch Lamperouge was so like her husband that he deserved only the most meager propriety. Upon the realization, she had been at a loss for words and had merely listened as he threw a fit, until he argued that he had no obligation to like the visitor if Maman didn't either, so why should he bother for such an ignoble man?

Because when she heard him say that she didn't like him, something snapped within her. Not just as a mother, but as a person. People left and right seemed to have plenty of ideas on her feelings without ever taking into account how she truly felt, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. She cared for him. She loved him, and she had never once stopped thinking about him since their forced separation, and no one was going to tell her otherwise. Not even her son.

So, veiling her frustration behind a smile (he hadn't known any better after all), she told him how much she liked their visitor, describing how good and strong he was, akin to the knights-in-shining-armor her son so admired from his favorite bedtime stories.

The child, sensitive, must have realized is mother's earnestness, for he grudgingly compromised, though not without a warning that he couldn't make any promises. But it was more than enough for her, and her impatience was put to rest. At least until an hour later, when she couldn't help but wince over the recollection now that she was in the privacy of her room. A knight? Then what was she? The damsel-in-distress? But would the damsel-in-distress be allowed to be with the knight, even if she had been given to another? If she loved him enough, would it be enough to free her from the obligation that had been forced upon her?

A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts, and she gave Sayoko permission to come in. Leopold would have burst into the room and rushed to her arms without a moment of hesitation, and Lelouch… Lelouch wouldn't be calling on her. Not after he had so carefully avoided her today. It could only be Sayoko at the door, she reasoned, so when she saw Lelouch Lamperouge in the doorway, she could only stare as he gave a shallow bow in apology for the intrusion.

"…Please. Come in."

He hovered in front of the closed door, sticking to the edge of the spacious bedroom, as if he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between them. Which was only reasonable, considering all of the heartbreak she had given him.

After an awkward silence that pained her more than she would have liked, she asked him what she could help him with, to which he cleared his throat and stiffly inquired after any plans she had. She only had one – a pilgrimage to the shore – and told him so. He paused for a moment – was he remembering it too? Their vigils by the surf, her leaning on his shoulder, half-asleep as they shared a blanket and fantasized about their eternal future together? – before thanking her for her time and bidding her a good night, when she asked him if he had really meant what he had said when he had told her that he still loved her.

She had no idea what had possessed her to act so recklessly – maybe it was the way he had refused to meet her gaze, or maybe it was the reason why her ring had been quietly sleeping in her jewelry box since earlier that day – but whatever it was, it made her heart skip a beat and race all at the same time as she waited for his answer with bated breath.

She couldn't see his expression, but for once, she didn't want to. She didn't think she could stand the apathy, the mask he would wear when he inevitably told her that he had been lying and that it had only been a cruel joke born out of retribution. Because he didn't love her. Not really. He could claim that he did, but they had both changed with time. The world had willed their change, just as it had willed their tragedy, and they were now no better than strangers to one another. She was no longer the woman he had fallen in love with, just as he was no longer the man she had grown to love. Things were different now. He was just delusional; there was no way he genuinely loved her. She rejected both her love and his under the claim that it was illogical, irrational, impossible, when she heard: "I meant what I said, Ceci."

All accusations of delusion dissipated the moment she heard him call her the way he had always in the same exact gentle tone he had used a lifetime ago. Her heart clenched as he finally showed her his face and saw that he was speaking the truth.

"I do love you. I still love you, even after all the time that's passed. Even if you may not completely believe me. But you're severely mistaken if you think that I told you to influence and pressure you into pitying me. Ceci, I… I want you to be happy. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted, and- and if you think that I can't help you with that, then—"

"I want to be with you."

It was as if she were throwing up the words. There was no way to stop them. Not this time. Not after the years of silent suffering, not after the way he was so close and yet so far out of her reach. Not now. Not ever.

Not anymore.

"I have always wanted to be with you. Always." Choking on her tears, her voice broke as her tears finally spilled over. "You don't know how much it hurts to be without you. No matter what Schneizel says, no matter what I tell myself, I want to be with you. I love you. I want you. So why can't I be with you? It's not fair that everyone else gets to be with the one they love, and I can't. Why can't I? Why?"

Ignoring her surprise – when had he crossed the room? – she looked up from the tightly balled fists in her lap at the feeling of his fingers gently wiping away her tears. She could just barely make out his expression, but it was enough to fill her with the grief she had tried so hard to ignore. Tightly holding his hand, she asked him why she had been deprived of such happiness, what sin she had committed to deserve a punishment as severe as this one. How she had wronged the world in order for it to wrong her in this way.

Shaking, she released all that she had pent up, completely and unreservedly honest for the first time ever since she had accepted her husband's proposal, as he held her in his arms, her pain mirrored in his own eyes. Because he did know. He knew exactly how it felt to be stripped of that happiness, to curse the world for stealing away his right to be with the one he loved. He knew all too well how she felt because he had been standing there on that scaffold besides her when the verdict had been passed just before they had been ripped apart in the name of their cruel and unusual punishment.

Neither spoke. Neither could find the words to do their misery and agony justice. Not that they would have spoken if such words existed. Rendered mute by their inexplicably intertwined fates, the man and woman merely looked at one another, properly seeing the other for the first time, their eyes speaking louder than their voices could have ever, a result from a world where words were used to deceive and the silence was oftentimes more honest than the scripts that people chose to read from.