Title: And in blood
AN: This chapter is all yours, Kallen. That aside, I have to change one fact from canon, which would be Kallen's revealing herself at Ashford. In this AU, that never happened.
The picture was a weight, heavy with nostalgia and idealism before reality coiled its chains around the world—carried with it a time when Naoto wasn't a corpse too mangled to identify, left for dead by a cell who had never fought, never knew the fear of death. By cowards who called themselves the Japanese resistance, but were nothing except rats afraid of Britannia's iron hand. In days when she was small and the Earth was large, and things meant something because they were, not because of the secret motivations that made them.
"It must be nice being as lazy as you are," it was silky and ran like poison as her stepmother slipped into the room, "Some of us have to work for what we get instead of stealing from our fathers. Oh, but I guess you don't understand that."
'Shut up! That's all you do!' The woman was a slut kept to hang off her father's arm; to let him masquerade as a man younger than he was, and more impressive to bastards willing to let their eyes drink in a body instead of a person. An idiot he paraded like a trophy because she was Barbie perfect and blonde and Britannia—the embodiment of three prerequisites to status and power. The thing he adopted to remove suspicion of mingling with a Japanese woman in some other life. 'Coward! Take responsibility—why the hell did you even have children!'
She hated them both. Britannia, all of it. Kallen was eager to steal back to the rebels—they were her family, the people she cared about. They accepted a young, eighteen year old girl with a crooked grin that liked her hair messy and natural while playing 'boy's games.' This was just a hellhole of codependency and pretense; not a home, not a place where she could be herself. Nothing.
It came slow and deliberate, "You've been going out a lot lately."
She kept careful control of the anger spilling into her voice, "I can do what I like."
"Well, I just don't want you dirtying up your father's good name. Running around all hours of the night . . . we can't afford anymore harlots in this household, after all," she paused, lips pulled into a tight frown, "But I suppose Eleven women aren't worth much more than cleaning beds or spreading their legs on them—"
"Shut up, you bitch!" Her hand connected, the sound cracking the tentative silence, and she crumbled into a heap, clutching at her cheek as it flared angry red.
Her hiss was hateful as it tore from her throat, "Get out, ungrateful brat! You are lucky you even live here, and not out on the streets like some urchin!"
Kallen fought her grip when she clawed at her wrist and bolted out into the safety of the hallway, "Fine, I'll go! Who even gives a damn about you—you're a bigot, and going to hell, too!"
She spat a furious, "I don't need to take this from a filthy little mixed girl! Get out, get out of my house!"
"Ha! It's not your house! You're just my father's whore, and he'll leave you like all the rest!" Hurtling past the door frame, she watched as twilight cast a blanket of shadow over the world as it seeped into the city streets, setting the horizon ablaze in a hazy glow of fiery orange and red. In a blur of motion, she tugged Naoto's headband free and threaded it through a veil of paper-straight auburn. He would be so damn ashamed if he saw her now—listened to the fights, the insults they threw at her before false peace exploded into accusations and verbal abuse, and how she accepted it like a weakling.
The woman's personality was a disease in and of itself, but Kallen burned at the thought that she truly believed the shit that spewed from her mouth. She trusted in the Emperor's eugenics, his promises that White Anglo-Saxon Protestants were a chosen race born to lord over others like false gods! Agreed that she was empowered as soon as she left the womb! The bitch had never worked, never done anything praiseworthy except smear herself in make-up and sneer how everyone did not meet her expectations! The stupid, arrogant fool did not even think on her own—simply sat idly by and parroted the views of her father!
It echoed in her skull, low and harsh as Zero was bathed in caked blood:
'You, who use the name of Stadtfelt to further your own agenda. Does your life reflect that of your Japan? You use the weak, just as I do.'
No, Kallen Kouzuki protected the weak! She was defending them, making sure they could hide behind the steel of her Knightmare Frame! Protecting them from people like her, like that idiot of a stepmother! So what if she only had a Guren because she stole from her father—the man had deserved it! Britannians beat and discriminated the Japanese in the first place! She needed their privilege or she could not have done anything, and that was the simple truth. She represented Japan; she was victimized, had faced prejudice, and needed the Stadtfelt name to hide behind! She had been born rich, yes, but that didn't—she wasn't playing a child's game!
Kallen could leave that house if she wanted, but she had no where else to go! That was all!
'Why does he have the right to judge me?! I'm not being hypocritical—I'm doing what I need to!' Besides, he was just as bad as her! Lelouch was enrolled in Ashford and had an elegant villa to himself once! 'Where does he get off!' What kind of pain had he experienced?! Nothing—he was just a seventeen year old kid playing hero for an audience he thought was stupid and relishing in the attention! 'A narcissist!'
'He's been pampered, too! So what!' Kallen raced through the ghetto, fists trembling as her nails ripped into her skin. 'What do I owe him, anyway! He used me!' She hung off his every word, took his speeches as absolute truth—what right did he have to lead her blindly! From the moment he took his place as leader she had respected him beyond all measures! Why would he criticize her of anything—she was fiercely loyal, and she strove for his approval. Kallen Kouzuki was dying for Zero whenever she sped through the battlefield like lightning—for Japan's miracle worker! He could at least give her something back!
Yet all he was these days was a sea of rage hiding behind the protection a doorway, always scoffing at their failures—who said he could take it out on them?! They made their best efforts, but succeeding was his responsibility. 'It isn't as though we can win without him! We've tried, it never works!' They were only human—did not have his intelligence or his skill, and couldn't be expected to do anything more than what was necessary!
There was a sick feeling swirling in her gut, and Kallen sent energy buzzing into her legs—ran, fled from Britannia and its rose-colored world where flowers flooded their pretty boxes and everything was a veneer of superficial beauty to cloak a quiet ugliness. She crept the streets of the city until it faded to walls covered in graffiti and barbed wire fences with shoes hung from their webs of steel; watched as the lines of reality blurred.
Her legs were lead as she forced them to move, feeling heavy and full with a knowledge she had never wanted. Naoto was not going to know his free Japan; he died before it happened, before they had done anything worthy of accomplishment. He was Lelouch's shadow, the leader without a name who led a cell that no one gave thought to. She felt a suffocating disgust coil itself inside her brain, overwhelming as streetlights sent lines of white streaking the concrete and asphalt—why was his memory suddenly just that: a memory! Naoto was a name in a roster abandoned to gather dust somewhere! The recruits had no idea of his sacrifice—they treated him like a failure who paled against Zero's limelight, and claimed he was worth replacing! He died for his revolution!
'Damn it!' Ohgi's door was a beacon as she climbed the steps to the shell of a building sagging on its street corner. Must clung to it like disease, perpetual and constant, while the white walls of the apartment hissed of old pipes and clamoring air ducts. Her fingers hung above the doorknob before she wrenched it open and eased inside, eyes adjusting to the film of murky fluorescent light. He'd have a damned Brit in there, so why not her—she had no need to ask for his permission!
Hesitating, Kallen left her shoes on the mat before meandering inside, "Hey, Ohgi! I'm coming in—you here?"
Her answer was a brief spell of silence as she took in the familiarity of his furniture—cheap, but in good taste for a guy doomed to live alone. It was clumsily well-kept, with coats strewn across the ragged couch as it sat against its wall, and papers decorating the coffee table. Order business, judging from the hasty chicken scrawl rippling across their faces. Zero was a man who spoke for the sake of never having to commit in writing, partially because it was politically detrimental and partially because his calligraphy was something far beyond awful.
"Kallen?" She managed a weak grin and he stepped out from his kitchen before tossing away a dishcloth,"What's the matter?"
Feeling heat flare in her cheeks, she didn't want to tell him she was tossed out and left to wander the boulevard for the past hour or so, "What. I felt like stopping by, that's all."
"Well," he said easily before ducking back behind the door frame, "If you want to, I won't stop you."
She collapsed into the couch as he took care of his chores—cooked, cleaned, lived alone. She had never done those things; always her mother while she stared and gave orders, thinking she deserved to sweep the dirt from their feet for living as Britannia's dog. Hiding from her self-hate, she sneered a dry, "Hey, how's everything with the Order."
"Pretty good," sighing as she arched an eyebrow, Ohgi spluttered a jovial, "Haha, okay, I know that look . . . it's better than before, anyway. We've managed to hold some of the main roads, although Zero hasn't given us much to do. He's barricaded himself in his room; I talked to Miss C.C., who said he was researching."
She force fed a listless, "About what?"
"She said it was confidential."
"Oh," quiet fell over the two as she focused on the dirty cream of the shades, navy teasing at breaks in their plastic layering.
He grinned when he came to her side, beer in hand, "Hey, Kallen? You want one?"
". . . Why not," they drank quietly and he took a seat, bathed in blue light as pictures spun across the television; something on the news, Zero's face, a woman, Schneizel and Suzaku with his crutch hidden so the world couldn't see his faults. There was a delicate hatred that bubbled up, and she pushed it away, far away as she sank into the plush of the cushions.
"Hey, do you remember that gorge?" It was spoken to stale air, syllables slow and practiced.
"Yeah," he affirmed, tugging apart the old memories lingering behind his eyes—behind her eyes, "It was years ago, though."
"We used to all play together—you, Naoto, and me."
He laughed, bold as it rang hollow against the walls, "It was huge, and probably dangerous. I'm always surprised by how stupid we were back then!"
"And you guys were such . . . guys, too! Leaving me everywhere, because I was 'so irritating!' Ugh."
"Hey, don't worry, Kallen," Ohgi was tempted into a smirk, "You're still irritating now—"
Biting back a chuckle, she countered with a mocking, "Shut up! Like I need to take that from you."
"Hey, I wasn't that bad," he insisted breezily, waving a hand, "Kind of an idiot, but we were kids. Naoto was a lot worse."
Watching cracks run the drywall like spider webs, she remembered how the crags dipped and curved before collapsing in on themselves, how evergreen spilled into the pathway as her mother's wind chime voice sang before dying in air. ". . . We've gotten a lot older."
It was simple and earnest as he shifted, "You're way too young to feel old."
"I don't know, but I feel like I'm a lot older," it took hold when she began to think about now and tomorrow and who she was when one woman was worth nothing in the scheme of things. She wondered if it was borne of the war, with all its seas of blood and gore, or perhaps the police officer who came to her father's parties and smiled with his daughter. Even Zero, with all his broken promises that he never made, but she took as truth all the same. Maybe especially Ze—Lelouch, and how he was a friend whose name was all he told her.
Kallen's voice was soft as she murmured, "I want to go back there someday, you know? Just to see if it's changed."
". . . I'm sure it's still around."
She watched the beer can wink under the bulb light, heat tugged from her fingertips as she felt the cold aluminum, ". . . If something makes you happy, it can't be all that bad, can it?"
"Depends on the thing," Ohgi finished quickly, taking a deep swing as he fiddled with the remote in his hands.
". . . Why do you think people take drugs, Ohgi?"
It left him dead silent before he strung together a careful, "Some don't know what they're getting into. Just think it's fun. Others aren't sure how to . . . deal, or get control of their life, and drugs offer a solace from that."
"Control?" Kallen repeated and knitted her brows in concentration. There was thunderous silence as cold climbed up the back of her neck and she thought of her mother—of her sunken eyes, empty in their sockets while she smiled at a life that ended long ago, and how the tanks cut into the countryside with smoke barreling up from their guns as August began to bloom. The classroom the students abandoned and the sky—it was vivid, a perfect robin egg blue while she bounded home on the balls of her feet and found her mother sobbing in the den. There, seven years after the blood ebbed into the earth, she could still trace the lines of the Prime Minster's sharp features as he spoke, hand cut by God in the stone that was his aged skin.
"People hate to be powerless—over their situation, over their lives. It's sad because, well, I don't think you can really control anything in the world. Things just happen, and it would be a lot easier if we just tried to keep ourselves in check."
". . . What should you blame," she finished dryly, forcing a languid turn of the head, "Is it the drug's fault, or the person taking it. . ."
"I think it's hard to say. It's not easy to leave behind an addiction."
She snapped back to attention, bolting upright, "But they could have chosen not to!"
"Well," he mumbled, voice jittery under a somber facade, "You should blame the distributors then."
". . ." Tense as she swallowed her frustration, Kallen drank it deep—drowned herself in alcohol, and relished the burn as it licked her throat.
Their silence sank into her bones before he growled a stiff, "It's not right to trap an entire nation in conformity just by using drugs and their depression."
"You're just repeating what Zero said!" The words were ripped out of her, shrill and vicious, "You shouldn't believe everything he tells you!"
Ohgi was gentle as he whispered a tired, "Kallen . . ."
"What if he's lying!" She spat it like acid, aware of a disgusting burn teasing at her eyes—tears, but she would never cry, not over him! Not over a man who would throw away a people's hope! "How would you know!"
Ohgi hesitated, and forced a slow, "I don't have any reason to doubt him, and he's right."
"But he could betray us anytime he likes—we give him too much sway!"
"If he wanted to betray us, he would have done it by now," it was matter-of-fact, Ohgi left unfazed by her screeches, "There's really no reason to work so hard if you're not committed to the cause."
"All he does is hide in the background and let us put ourselves on the line—and when we make mistakes, he gets pissed!" Kallen flung her arm out, ungraceful as she fought to keep her voice steady, "What the hell do we even know about him?! He doesn't care at all! What does he lose from this war? Nothing! He'll just go back to Britannia and play some other game!"
". . . I think he may be suffering, too, Kallen," Ohgi finished and glanced at the reports scattered across the floorboards, "It's hard to lead."
"Oh, sure," she snarled, crushing the beer can between her cupped hands, "What kind of leader abandons their men on the field!"
"You left us, too, even if if was an order . . ."
Shock flashed across her features, and she snapped her mouth closed before sneering a sullen, "Tch!"
"But, ha, I'll admit that I'm happy it's him instead of me up there . . ." He was composed, voice empty of emotion, "Naoto used to complain about it. How no one could follow orders, things never went as planned, how stupid everyone was. You haven't gotten a lot of opportunity to lead cells by yourself yet, so—"
"You're just saying that because you're afraid of leading anything."
"Ha . . ." Ohgi was uncomfortable, stirring in his seat before forcing his eyes elsewhere, "Well, maybe, but you've been just as angry lately—although he's more intimidating, being Zero and all. Is something wrong?"
"Why would something be wrong just because I'm angry?! I could be angry about a lot of things!"
Looking down at his own beer can, he heaved a sigh, "I think anger goes pretty much hand-in-hand with frustration."
"So!"
"It's not healthy to let everything weigh on you until it becomes too much. You have a lot on your shoulders, Kallen—more than most people ever will."
She ran nervous fingers through her hair and shifted weight from foot-to-foot, pacing the rug in an angry loop, "Since when did you have any experience with this kind of thing."
"I was a teacher," his answer was leisurely, "I might as well have a degree in dealing with hormonal kids."
"Ah," Kallen thundered as she shot a dangerous glare, "You're clever."
"I don't think it's helpful to avoid trusting people. You have to live with them so, it's easier just to say what you need to," Ohgi paused, gaze on the ceiling before he added a simple, "Zero is included in that. He's human too, and sometimes humans complain or yell about stupid things."
"How could you defend him!" It came out choked and trembling, a broken whisper, "Because of Zero, people have forgotten about Naoto!"
". . ." Ohgi was alarmed, but kept all his replies silent while Kallen's fists quaked at her hips.
"He tried! It isn't fair—he sacrificed himself for Japan, so why! Don't you hate them?! It isn't like he didn't care or was nothing compared to Zero! I—I really loved him! How can they just move on!?" She spun to face him, feeling vulnerable and alone as reality broke her open, "I hate how I go back to that house and they don't even care! That bitch and my stupid father—they think he deserved to die! No one deserves that—he was in pain because of what Britannia did to Japan! He wasn't the cause, but he had to fight for it anyway!"
". . . But Kallen," it was fragile and earnest, "I think Naoto would be happy if he saw how much we've done."
". . ."
"It might sound strange," Ohgi murmured quietly, placing the empty can on the coffee table, "But he wanted you to live in a liberated Japan. You were part of the reason he created the cell at all—he didn't want you to grow up thinking people were worth killing. Naoto did it for freedom, for the sake of a future that couldn't exist with Britannia in power. So you could see that there was more than just what authority gave to you."
Her heart throbbed in her chest, and she snapped a cutting, "That doesn't make me feel better!"
"I know, but everyone will eventually die. There's nothing you can do. . . even if you wanted to. It's already in the past."
". . ."
"It's difficult to lose people," something in his voice cracked—spoke of a fresh, festering wound. Did he miss that Britannia woman, miss her brother, when she had believed no one else cared, "Because then you realize that they were important. Notice things like how you two met by chance, that they made you happy, that they were there at all, what you would have said or done differently. . ."
Kallen choked out a lukewarm, "Ohgi."
"Yeah?"
"I'm tired of talking about this. Is," her tongue slipped as she worked to pull the sentence together, "Is it okay if I just stay here for the night? I don't feel like going back. I'm sick of fighting with them all the time."
"You don't have to ask next time." She waved him from the couch and buried herself in its waves of stuffing as he tossed her a blanket, callous and heavy in her hands while she struggled to wrap it around her body—enclose herself in its protection, in the quiet peace of his apartment as he shuffled paper somewhere to her right. It would be hours before morning crept into Shinjuku's ghetto, the sun ducking behind clouds as rain shuddered on the windowpane. Face down and despising the sounds tearing at her ears, she watched the shadows slithering across the floorboards before groggily shaking off the exhaustion clinging to her aching muscles.
"Morning, Ohgi," it was painfully indifferent despite that she'd wasted hours thinking of how she would apologize, ". . . I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"It's okay," he was cheerful as he scurried the length of his apartment, darting from corner to crevice before he headed to work, "I'm just glad you're in a better mood today."
She crossed her arms in a caricature of nonchalant and managed an aloof, "Do you mind if I told you one more thing."
He shrugged, "What?"
"Is it," she cringed at the sick feeling in her gut as she wrestled with the question tugging at her lips, "wrong if I hate my mother for being so weak sometimes?"
". . . What happened?"
"It's just . . . difficult to go there and have her never remember me," she would visit and force a smile while her mother's stare passed through her, little more than a ghost in the woman's world of make-believe, "Because she chose Refrain . . . she just seems irresponsible, but it doesn't feel fair to her."
"I don't believe you're doing anything inhuman, Kallen," his statement eased her mind, but it was short-lived as she remembered the guilt she'd carried for months, "Sometimes people get sick of each other."
"Could I—could I come here and live with you?"
"Kallen, I don't know—your father might—"
She hissed a cynical, "They don't care about me anyway."
". . ."
"I won't be a burden!" It was insistent, and Kallen was careful not the resent the desperate honesty in her voice, "But I don't want to rely on them. I want to do things myself, or I'm always going to feel like . . . Besides, I'd rather stay with you."
"Well," he mumbled awkwardly, reluctant to give her any absolutes, "I'll have to think about it. Why though?"
"What you said," it was begrudging as she clutched her—no, his headband, and felt the brush of its smooth silk between her fingers, "Maybe Zero. . . can be right about some things. I guess."
AN: . . . I'm sorry no one else got the chance to shine this time around. Also, I don't think I've ever written such a long conversation. Oo; (And yes, I do realize no one cares.)