Epilogue
Unshaven, he sat quietly in the shade of their wisteria tree as he watched them play. Smiling to himself, he enjoyed the breeze and the touch of the warm sun; it had been a difficult winter. But now that the snow had melted, and he didn't have to worry so much about their journey to school, Lelouch could loosen up a little. Of course, it would be slight: it had been years since they had buried the coffin, but the pain of it was still fresh as if it had happened last week, and so there was little he could do against the fear.
Looking up at the hand on his shoulder, he returned his wife's brief kiss as she tickled him with her long hair. Both of her hands resting on his shoulders, they watched the twins run around the fenced-in yard. At 7-years-old, they were a rambunctious pair, but as troublesome as it could be, neither parent could complain. So long as they were happy and healthy, they would gladly take on all their high energy.
"Jeremiah just picked up Euphie and Sakiko. They're fifteen minutes out."
"I should probably go get ready then, shouldn't I?"
"Only if you want. I don't think Euphie really minds; friends of 8 years tend not to care much about things like that."
"Anything not to shave with this." Waving his prosthetic fingers, he grimaced. "You'd think I'd have learned better by now."
Coming to sit beside him on the bench, she laced their fingers together. Ignoring the cool metal, she said, "I didn't marry you for your ability to shave."
But before he could reply, there was a shout.
"Papa!"
Both parents immediately turning their attention to the children, their hearts jumped into their throats for a second before relaxing. All was calm. It had been a plea for attention, not one of danger. Their children running to them, they each grabbed their father's arms. Pulling him up onto his feet, they dragged him to one of the trees drooping with fruit.
"Papa, may we have an orange please?"
"I'm not so sure they're ripe."
"Oh, yes they are," they said crossly. "We asked Jeremiah yesterday, and he said they were ripe. See how they're almost bursting?" Jumping up and down, they pointed at the fruit dangling far above their reach. "We need to eat them before they spoil!"
"Alright, alright. I'll get you an orange. But you're going to have to share one; we're going to have dinner with Aunt Euphie in an hour, and I don't want you to fill your stomach beforehand."
"Okay, okay." Nudging him towards the trunk of the tree, they impatiently swarmed around him. "But first, the orange."
C.C. watched with some amusement as her husband hoisted himself up onto the lowest branch in his dress shirt and slacks before carefully tossing down a fat orange. Their children cheering and clapping, they presented the gift to their mother for peeling. Taking a seat on either side of her, they eagerly awaited the juicy treat. Happily snacking on the fruit, they swung their legs and hummed. Giggling, they beamed at each other and their parents. And when their longtime friend arrived, they shared the orange with her too. After all, she had been their older brother's best friend. So if their older brother had liked her, she must be a good, fun person. And all the years they had spent together proved their brother's judgment as Sakiko was in fact wonderful to spend time with. And so they told their brother on their annual trip.
Leaving him an orange before being ushered away by their aunt, the twins looked over their shoulders at Maman and Papa, who had wanted a little time alone with their older brother. Wondering what it was that they always said to him (as far as they could remember, they were always so subdued afterwards), they glanced at one another before turning their attention to Sakiko. Perhaps she knew and would tell them. But even Sakiko didn't have the heart to tell them why their older brother had never met them, and how their mother and father could do little against their overwhelming grief. So instead she told them the story of a brave little boy who, against all odds, dared to bring light into a world entrenched in darkness.
End.