Chapter XI

He paid Anya no mind.

Why should he?

They both knew where he had been last night. She had worked for him long enough to know the necessary bits and pieces of his past to piece together his whereabouts last night; nor was she stupid. She had probably gone into his room earlier that morning while he had been out on his jog, just as she always did, only to find the sheets cold, untouched, and completely void of wrinkles – as they should be, for he hadn't slept in his own bed. How could he have? After what had happened in C.C.'s room? The discussion had lasted for hours, and by the time she had fallen asleep and he had carried her to her bed, he had had no inclination to leave her. He didn't want to spend even a second without her. Not after the past few years that had been stolen from him.

Not after all of the tears he had shed.

Not that he really cared that she knew. He was confident that the secret would remain with her. If he wasn't, he would have done something about it by now, and though he trusted very few people, if any, he trusted Anya Alstreim's discretion enough to let her go. She wouldn't disappoint him. She had seen far darker secrets, after all, and had told no one. She would remain silent. Even if he couldn't say the same for the others, he at least knew that Anya would be faithful to her instinct and good sense.

Or so he told himself as the double doors opened and C.C. walked out into the gardens, ushering her son into the gentle morning light. Rising, the young man waited until the boy had clambered into his seat and had finished yawning before greeting him as one should to their superior.

"Good morning."

"…Who're you?" he mumbled. Rubbing his nose, he groggily blinked at his mother. "Maman, who's that?"

"That's Uncle Lelouch, my sweet. Do you remember? Maman's friend?"

"…Oh."

"Well?"

"…Good morning to you too," he muttered upon his mother's prompting. Lelouch glanced at C.C., who merely gave him a tight smile before offering to butter the boy's English muffin. Taking his seat, he rubbed his legs nervously – he had never felt so unsure of himself, had never been at such a loss for what to do and what to say. It was unsettling. Never had he ever during the past four years not known what to do.

To think that a four-year-old had done what the worst of Pendragon's underworld hadn't been capable of… He had known that things wouldn't be easy, that the boy would put up a fight. But even though he had braced himself, he was still confounded. All he could do was hope that this transition wouldn't be nearly as rough or take as long as the introduction of his new identity had been.

. . .

During the car ride there, Leopold had barely been able to contain his excitement. Plastering himself to the window, he had eagerly looked out, straining for – and excitedly pointing to – the telltale flash of blue that was the sea. He could hardly wait as the car came to a stop, not even caring about the man who had suddenly intruded upon his carefree life, tumbling out before sprinting to the white sand. Very nearly dancing, he had shrieked excitedly at the clear blue waves tickling the shore and the seagulls soaring overhead, thrilled to finally stand before the great blue ocean he had sought for so long.

Sayoko and Anya, that funny woman with bright pink hair, had come with them, as well as Jeremiah, none of whom he minded. But the one he did mind was "Uncle" Lelouch, who had quietly helped his mother out of the car and had taken it upon himself to ruin their paradise. So he was more than just relieved to see them separate, with his mother walking out to the sand and water to play with him while the man took a seat in the shade besides Anya – just where he belonged, hidden away in the dark so no one could see him and feel that horrid sense of disgust that so easily spoiled even a beautiful autumn day.

But even with that, he still felt apprehensive and vulnerable. There was just something about the way his mother and the man acted near one another – it almost made her seem like someone he didn't know. So he tried his best to distract her. He whined and resisted the sunscreen twice as hard, insisted on games twice as long, and demanded twice as much of her attention. It was exhausting work, but he refused to let the man gain the upper hand. How could he? How could he call himself her son if he betrayed his love for her and gave her to him without so much as a fight? How could he possibly allow her to turn into someone and something that she clearly wasn't?

Lunch was a particularly difficult time, as they had sat directly across from one another, meaning that they had only to tilt their heads up to send private messages to which he wasn't privy to. Which meant that he had had to overcompensate, and had done so to the point of his mother having no other choice but to finally admonish him for his behavior. Afterwards, he had sulked and very nearly thrown everything away – why should he work so hard when she obviously didn't care? But the beautiful thing about the innocent was that they often times very easily forgave and forgot. When the dishes had been cleared away, Leopold almost immediately took to his mother again, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the shore and away from the man. Or that was what he had intended until she had gently resisted in petition for a break. He had reluctantly conceded and returned to the sand castle they had been building since that morning, alone and bitter with disappointment.

That wasn't to say that he wouldn't be watching her though. He sacrificed half of his attention for his mother, who was now seated besides the one person he had worked so hard to distract her from, wary of what could happen during the few seconds he momentarily gave up his vigil for his art.

So when he next looked up, he was overjoyed to find the seat besides his mother empty, and the back of the man vanishing behind the doors of the resort. To do what, he didn't care, to go where, it didn't matter, but he was filled with a misguided happiness nevertheless. Thank God he was gone from his mother's side, taking away his stupid sweater and stupid sunglasses and his entire stupid being far, far away from his precious mother.

Of course, that was to be excused. As a child – as a youth who had seen very little of the world and consequently knew very little of the damage that had been inflicted upon the man he had judged so severely – he was unaware of the picture the man made, doubled over, gagging and throwing up the bile in the back of his throat as waves of nausea assaulted him, a side effect of the poison flowing through his veins and the medication taken to guard against it. And because he didn't know, because he didn't understand, Leopold accepted the very corruption his mother toiled to save him from and vowed to hate the man with all his being.

Regardless of whether he knew the entire truth or not.

. . .

C.C. gently smoothed her son's hair as he lay asleep with his head in her lap. He had evidently exhausted himself – but happily so – and had promptly fallen asleep within the first five minutes of their journey back home. Wrapped in a towel, he tightly held Charlie to his chest as he sighed and turned over in his sleep. A smile flit across, lighting up her face, before her grimace settled back in. Though she was glad he wasn't suffering from any of the nightmares he as prone to, without her usual distraction, she found her attention gravitating towards the young man sitting in the seat in front of hers.

Back at the beach, he had abruptly walked away, only to return nearly an hour later without so much of an explanation. While she wouldn't have cared or concerned herself normally, having brushed it aside in forced apathy, she couldn't this time. The way he had held her for so long last night, his warmth and the look in his eyes, his gentle touch as they had lain together in bed, was so fresh in her mind, so vivid, that it was simply impossible. Even with years of experience, she could only barely hold up her stone mask, and that had only been because of Leopold's interference. But now, as her son lay asleep, and he suddenly demanded that the car be pulled over, she could feel splinters and cracks as it began to fracture under stress.

She watched, her brows knit together, as the two cars rolled onto the shoulder of the road and he stumbled out before they had completely come to a dead stop. Anxious, she debated between sitting in the car and venturing out to see what was wrong, when she saw him double over, clutching his stomach with a hand clamped over his mouth. The moment she saw him retch, she quickly followed after him, no question left to answer.

He tensed when she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, but, upon realizing who it was, eventually relaxed. She studied him, searching for any other traitorous signs of weakness, when he slowly straightened up as if a great weight were resting on his shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak – probably to feed her another white lie – when he gagged again and was forced down to his former position.

She heard car doors open and slam behind them and turned to see Anya Alstreim staring with blatant curiosity. There didn't seem to be a complete absence of concern though, as she held a small pouch of peppermints in her hand. But before she could offer one, he had recollected himself enough to raise a hand and choke out: "It's fine. I'm fine. It must have been lunch."

Pursing her lips, C.C. glanced between the man, who was still bent over, his breathing ragged, and the quiet young woman who had obviously seen through such a thin lie, just as she herself had. Tightly gripping his shoulder, she made up her mind and spoke in such an assertive tone that even he couldn't protest.

"Anya, you and Sayoko will go home with Jeremiah and Leopold. Leave your car with us. We'll follow shortly."

"Yes, ma'am."

She ignored their curious looks as her orders were carried out; what they thought were the least of her worries right now. She could always address their gossiping later, but this couldn't wait. She remained silent until the crunching of the gravel faded away and they were completely alone before tending to him.

"Lelouch—" she started, but he cut her off.

"I need to go somewhere quiet…" he breathed. "Somewhere private. We're too exposed here. It's too—" He coughed. "It's too dangerous to stay here."

"…Where?"

Her eyes wandered around the open field of waving flowers. He tightly held her hand on his shoulder as he grunted and straightened up. Looking up at him, she watched as he wiped his mouth and muttered: "I know a place" before leading her down into the sunflowers below, all the while never letting go of her hand.

. . .

It was deep within the forest enough to have remained untouched by civilization for at least several years. The last any human eyes had seen the ruin had probably been when the once-glorious garden had been the recipient of love and care. Ivy draped the weathered stone, the broken fountain, and the lonely stone seats, its tendrils loosely curling around the overgrown wildflowers. The scent of jasmine and lavender mingled together within the walls of the garden, and the young woman couldn't help but marvel at the savage beauty that surrounded them, illuminated only by the green light filtering through the interwoven branches of the quietly whispering trees.

"How did you know this was here?" she asked, feeling the closest to her former self – to her younger self – as she had ever been during the past few years.

"It just…made itself known," he explained softly. "I've wanted to show you ever since because I…because I knew you liked this kind of aesthetic. Though I never would have imagined that I would have been able to actually show you," he added with a wry half-smile.

Frail and fragile, he sat down heavily on one of the worn stone benches and watched as she looked all around her in wonder, her expression youthful once more. It reminded him strongly of the times when they had enjoyed their time together even without having to go anywhere lavish or do anything extravagant, simply because they had been together. He'd often find places like here, quiet places tucked away and forgotten by their city, and take her there, the one and only incentive being the way her eyes lit up and the curve of her lips as she smiled before gently kissing him in thanks. That was all that he had wanted – for her to be happy. And it seemed even now, even with the blood on his hands and the tears in his heart, that wish had endured even through the trials and tribulations it had faced.

And though she didn't quite grin or kiss his cheek, she did thank him as she sat besides him, and a wave of nostalgia did wash over him as a flicker of pride passed through him, which quite frankly was good enough for him. The kiss and the smile, he could understand. His own position, after all, was more similar to hers than was different. Well…For the most part. There were some aspects which weren't, but he was fine with that too – there were some things he'd rather she be unable to relate to – such as his mortality.

"Ceci."

"Hmm?"

She tore her eyes away from the garden and turned to him, her surprise evident. Not from the way he had addressed her - though she probably wasn't accustomed to it after all the time that had passed. It was probably his expression (why was it that he had such a difficult time lying to her?), or maybe even the way he had suddenly reached for her hand. But whatever had caused it, it couldn't possibly compete with what he was about to tell her.

He loathed to tell her. It would only make her worry, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. He had always been honest with her; if not with everyone else, at least with her, he had been honest almost to a fault, and to keep her in the dark, especially when it came to something that was so important to her… She had a right to know how much time they had left. She had a right, and he would just have to content himself with his trust in her strength. She would worry, but she could handle this. She had always been stronger than him when it came to things like this; she would be better off knowing than not, and it was his responsibility to be open with her. It was only fair that way. Right?

"Ceci."

"What is it, Lelouch?"

"…I'm dying."

The words hung in the air, and C.C. could only blink as they stole her breath away. Tightening her grip on his hand, she clenched her jaw as she reeled from his confession. Desperate for composure, she dug her nails into his skin. He remained still and silent, for which she was grateful; it was hard enough to keep her head above the water. He seemed to understand because he simply lay a hand over hers, prying her grip away to lace their fingers together as he said in a low voice: "Lloyd is working on an antidote, but… It'd be best if we didn't depend on him. For everyone involved, it would be in our best interest if we just acted as if there's no cure."

"…How much time do we have?" she whispered.

"Four to eight months," he reluctantly replied.

There was a brief pause before she asked him what had happened. And so he told her of the poison, of the mistake he had made that night at the Blessed Isles with that drink. And when they had exhausted the subject, and she had exhausted herself of her fright, they moved on. First to Sayoko and Jeremiah and the question of whom they owed their allegiance to, and then to Lelouch's treatment of Leopold now that their connection had grown all the more complex. And while all of this talking was good and honest, both were acutely aware of how they were carefully avoiding the final berth that separated them.

They both knew they were different. They had changed. Schneizel had subjugated her, tamed her through infinite indulgence and cruel kindness, and he had long abandoned the person he had once been. Both their personalities had been drained of color, made less vibrant and lively in order to suit the world's needs. After all, they had both lost something important to their own persons that grey morning four autumns ago. Both would be lying if they said that they couldn't sense the differences and changes in the other and that they weren't apprehensive and careful around each other in ways they had never been before. But C.C. had never really had much patience when it came to Lelouch, and she refused to go through with this…this masquerade any longer. Not after everything they had gone through just to sit here together again.

Not after what he had just told her.

So, even if he wouldn't like it, she tightly held his hand, determined, and broke their silent agreement to avoid the unpleasant topic.

"I'm willing to learn again if you are."

He looked up sharply, but she refused to blanch.

"I'm willing to restart and rebuild everything if you are. I know you've changed, Lelouch. But so have I. And be it for better or for worse, what happened to you won't change the fact that my feelings for you have always remained."

"Ceci—"

"No, just listen to me. I know you don't want to talk about this, but we have to. If we don't talk about this now, when will we? When you're on your deathbed?"

He drew his lips into a thin line but remained silent, unable to find fault with her logic.

"We have to be open and patient with one another. It's going to take time, and it's not going to be easy, but… But I think that if we decide to do it together," she said softly, "as long as we agree that this is what we want, I think we can make it through.

I still love you, Lelouch. Nothing is going to change that. But we have to work if we want this, and we're going to have to work hard. And… And I know it'll be hard and I know this is a difficult decision to make, but if you agree, if you do want what I want… Then that's all we need to get through this. That's all we need," she whispered, a fierce light in her eyes.

He sat stone-still, akin to the faceless goddess listening in on their conversation from the edge of the garden. He didn't move even when the skies darkened and the clouds pregnant with rain rumbled with discontent. Not that it was the rain that was bothering her; no, they would be safe for the most part so long as it didn't storm. The trees would protect them. What was pinching and puling at her nerves so mercilessly was his troubled expression. He was clearly struggling with himself. And though she wasn't sure if it was because he was beginning to regret telling her that he loved her – maybe he didn't actually? It was easy to mistake lust and infatuation for love after all – it still made the knot in her stomach tighten.

They were still on shaky ground. Not quite out of the forest yet, and the thought of him turning back, of him pulling away last minute… She wouldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to. That's not what you did to someone you loved, and she had no desire to delude herself. But the mere entertainment of such a possibility made her heart ache so terribly… She could find only the most meager comfort in resignation – the punishment should fit the crime, and God knew that would be perfect retribution for her betrayal – as necessary as it had been. So even if he did decide that he didn't want what she did, that what they had had wasn't worth all the trouble, how could she possibly think to argue—

"The world was wrong, Ceci."

His voice was quiet but firm as he tilted her chin up. His thumb grazing the corner of her lips, he softly said, "It wasn't us that was wrong. It was the world. And I won't rest until the world has no other choice but to admit to its mistake. Because we weren't wrong. Because we belong together."

"Because I love you and want nothing more than to be with you."

His words. His voice, his familiar scent, his black hair and violet eyes, his hands on her waist, his voice again; all stole her breath away, as did his lips, his hand cradling her head, lightly resting on the back of her neck, his arms bringing her closer, the cool rain and his warm breath making her shiver, the sharp contours of his face under her fingers, that look in his eyes, and then his lips again as he held her and she wound his arms around his neck

Even after they had broken apart, she refused to let go of him, as did he, afraid that the moment her arms fell to her side, the moment his hand left her cheek, he would vanish and she would lose him once more. But as dream-like as everything felt, he didn't, and she didn't lose him even when they stepped out from under the wisterias. He was still there even when they left the garden once the rain had lightened and a mist rose up over the fields. He was the one who held her hand all the way back, and he was the one who wrapped the towel around her shoulders, and he was the one who brushed aside her wet hair from her face and kissed her lightly before starting the car. Not a phantom as she had feared. Nor a figment of her imagination.

But the one, the only, Lelouch Lamperouge.

As C.C. looked out the window, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of her hand as had been his habit, she could feel her heart swelling in her chest, a feeling so foreign, she would have easily mistaken it for fear if not for the faint reflection in the window as her heart beat for the first time in what seemed like a long, long time.

A/N: The Legacy will be going on hiatus for the foreseeable future.