Flashback

Milly Ashford gave an excited breath as she sighted what could be the Student Paper's best potential find in the history of its existence. Like a predator, she balanced delicately over the precipice of the roof as she sought a closer look with a pair of oversized binoculars. The night was young, with a provocative breeze and a warm, inviting grace that brought out the spirit in the Presidents lungs. She felt fresh, and ready to take on the world.

Of course, everyone took on the world in their own way. Lelouch and Suzaku did it financially, others made art to express their desires and values, and others provided a service to others. Milly counted herself in the lattermost category. She provided a service to all the various young lovers and singles of Ashford academy by providing them with the hope of what they could have if they tried. All she had was her camera and her subject, and she created art.

'Was that so wrong?' came the brief, quiet voice, holding little weight, ringing from memory as the question Shirley Fenette always asked, and the one Milly Ashford, Queen of Drama always had a reliable answer to.

No, it is not wrong if I do it.

And so, satisfied with her brief moral inquest, she looked on at tonight's victim, who had picked a bad evening for exercise. Suzaku Kururugi, in traditional martial arts equipment, was practicing kicks and punches, with firm, tense muscles and sweat dripping from every pore of his toned body. His thighs, tight and solid, formed a line with his shin as his whole body created art that would make any self respecting androphile excited.

The readers would love it.

She reached for her camera, complete with an extended lens for extra stalkery effect, and began to line up shots of the man in action. She could imagine the headlines. 'Tough on trees, easy on eyes'? 'Dressed to impress'? 'practise makes perfect'?

She liked the lattermost one, for as she watched it became obvious it was the case. Suzaku was not out of breath, staying within his limits, but with such fierce precision and method it was clear he had honed his skills to the millimeter.

She tried to imagine Suzaku's close friend, Lelouch, doing the same. Moving past what initially came to mind when the terms 'Imagine', 'Lelouch' and 'Suzaku' all came up in a sentence, it was a laughable notion that Lelouch would be this competent at anything physical in his life, however once again she moved on, trying to make the analogy fit an intellectual pursuit.

However the metaphor broke down, as she knew it would. Lelouch was a different animal; no effort, no study. She didn't know the Japanese teenager as well, however from what she had learned he was a hard worker, going above and beyond to do any work given and increase his ability. He was almost a force of nature when put to a task.

Heck, from a camera lens he was a force of nature right now.

No, Milly shook herself. This is not the time for that manner of thing. She was on student paper business. One must never confuse work with pleasure; she ahd a duty to provide a service to the deprived teenagers of Ashford.

She sighed. She truly loved her job. In any case, she resumed her inner monologue as Suzaku went for a break, noticing how he marked a timer, rapidly unscrewing a bottle of water, sipping slowly, and returning it to rest in a fluid, practised motion. Everything about it seemed rehearsed, but not in a way that suggested insincerity. Instead, it displayed a clear routine, a lack of uncertainty in motion, a sense that once he was going, he could steamroll anything with just the glint in his eyes and a lifetime's practise. It was almost intimidating, knowing that facing off against him would not just be a one on one; Suzaku carried the weight and wisdom of everyone he had ever learned from in his life.

And boy did it make for good photos.

The next morning, the roars and bellows of a wild animal was heard throughout the campus.

"ASHFOOOORD!"

Far away, Milly heard the scream above the morning radio, and paused to smirk. Maybe not practised enough, at least in terms of knowing when to just not bother.

"Checkmate."

Schneizel El Britannia took a little pride in the victory over his younger half brother, however he refused to show it, acknowledging that celebrating the defeat of a ten year old would be bad form, even in spite of the child's heralded achievements.

The child, of course, was Lelouch Vi Britannia, and true to form any disappointment he may have held was hidden within layers of apparent examination and intrigue, as the child observed the near empty board. His eye was critical, darting from square to square as he examined the nature of his admittedly close loss. Schneizel wiped his forehead, more out of habit than anything else as he feigned a conciliatory gesture, "That's another one for the tally. You played well, nearly had me on the ropes."

It was for neither man's benefit; each understood the meta and balance of how the match broke down, but again neither wanted to appear arrogant, and so Lelouch responded with "Indeed, and I nearly made a break down the centre in the midgame. Alas, I grew overconfident. Well played."

Schneizel nodded, and analysed the match. As seemed hallowed tradition, Schneizel set up defences as Lelouch forwarded pawns, which he had taken to calling 'skirmishers', to wreak havoc with his front lines as he built up his heavier units into attack positions. While the skirmishers were unpredictable and hard to trap, the long, sweeping attacks by Bishops and Rooks from afar were easy to spot and counter. While Lelouch knew how to divert Schneizel's movements, his guile was not yet sufficient to distract his eye.

Which really was the critical thing; if the opposing half the board was obscured for both of them, it would create a fascinating fight, as Lelouch thrived off surprise and ingenuity, compared to Schneizel, who studied tactics and stratagems dating back centuries to draw upon in any given scenario. It occurred to him not for the first time that Lelouch may not even know their names, let alone that they were codified.

Which, he reasoned, made sense, he was only ten, but it spoke to a larger point. Lelouch was not an armchair strategist; he needed to feel in the thick of it and even then he seemed to make few long term plans. In his further youth, he even made a whole show of pretending to be an actual Field Marshal, dressing up in a buttoned cloak and pointy hat in what proved a thoroughly amusing, if somewhat one sided, experience. While Lelouch had dropped the act, Schneizel had little doubt that there was a lack of dissonance at play.

Ultimately, this proved worrying to Schneizel, though this he would never admit even to the worst extents of torture. If Lelouch were this competent, at this age and with this effort, would he eventually be caught?

Schneizel was not a man for self reflection, living in the perfect present with full understanding and acceptance of his life with little need for emotional pause. This was an exception, and he was left thoroughly unsure on how to proceed.

He paused to collect himself; this was unlikely on multiple counts. Lelouch's style left little room to improve, as it had a limited ceiling and was easy to counter. Instinct was hard to develop, and while it gave a leg up, its rate of growth without dedicated learning was stunted. What he could deduce from this was that he didn't need to worry about Lelouch.

For now.

Still, Lelouch stayed true to form in another sense, requesting another match. Schneizel chuckled and ruffled his hair, knowing it would frustrate the younger Prince as their shared half sister Euphemia, who had been watching the match, came up to cheer them.

"Hard luck Lelouch! I'm sure you'll get him next time!"

The elder blonde gave a more genuine smile as the pink haired princess cuddled the target of her affections. She always had had a special place in her heart for him.

Perhaps enough to die for him.

Thank you to Titanfire999, MM Browsing, Patjeeson, and Arantir for reviewing!