Love Nothing [Code Geass, NC-17]

[grendelity]

Love Nothing
Code Geass // Suzaku/Lelouch, NC-17
12877 words
End of series AU, wherein Zero Requiem did not go as planned. Suzaku is tired of ghosts.
Loosely based on a lovingly detailed kink meme prompt for an AU where SPOILER Lelouch does not tell Suzaku that the Zero Requiem actually involves HORRIBLE DEATH and so on, and Suzaku fakes it all and doesn't kill Lelouch and instead spirits him away in kind of a beloved captive scenario. I basically shot the prompt to hell, though. I think I'm squeamish. But also I think Suzaku would be a really terrible sadist.

Warning for...the kind of beloved captive scenario, initial dubious nature of consent.



“It’s a bit selfish,” CC said, cocking her head to the side. Her voice echoed in the bare room. “Doesn’t it ruin things?”

“I’m tired of killing people.” Suzaku did not look at her. “I’m tired of death.”

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Mm. I thought you weren’t supposed to think about these things. Being his sword and all that.”

“You’d rather that he die?”

She sighed. “Are we being a coward about this?” She jumped when he snatched her arm, and then her eyes sank half-closed and they gleamed in the grey light. He squeezed, his fingers meeting around her slim upper arm, and she smiled. “Have I struck a nerve?” she said sweetly.

“I am not a coward.” His voice was low and dangerous, but she laughed.

“Don’t try to convince yourself too hard. I’m not the one you have to explain yourself to. I’m done here.” His grip went slack, and she shook him off. “He can’t help me anymore.”

When she looked down, her face finally softened to something inscrutable, and Suzaku followed her gaze. Between them, Lelouch was pale against the hospital sheets, his breathing thin. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and the lines of his neck and collarbones were unhealthy juts over his skin. There was the steady drip-drip-drip of an IV loaded with sedative, its line snaking down to plug into the juncture of his elbow. Handcuffs linked his skinny wrists to either side of the bed. CC brushed her fingertips over Lelouch’s bangs, smoothing them over his forehead, and she murmured, “He will never forgive you.”

“Maybe,” Suzaku said, his mouth dry.

“Enjoy your delusions.” She rolled her eyes at the room: it was windowless and mostly bare, harsh. It smelled faintly sterile. The air was eerie and stagnant, and finally, she let out her breath. “Goodbye,” she said softly to Lelouch’s still form. She leaned forward and kissed his lips, her fingers on his cheek. She pulled back and hesitated, but he didn’t stir. She straightened and turned to Suzaku. “Goodbye,” she said again, her voice now just a bit mocking, and she stood on tiptoe and cupped his cheeks and kissed him, too.

He stood stock-still as she leaned against him, watching her closed eyes, and when she pulled away, she smiled and shook her head. One of her hands moved down to his shoulder, her fingers tracing the wide collar of Zero’s lapels, the gold trim drained to a weird grey in the darkness. “Have a nice life,” she whispered. She smiled, and then she turned and she was gone.

The door hissed shut, its automatic lock sliding heavily into place, and Suzaku looked at the bed again, at Britannia’s greatest lie. Without CC standing over him, Lelouch was a bundle of limbs and sickly pale skin, the edge of bandages peeking over the sheet. Suzaku reached out and put his hand lightly on Lelouch’s chest. His thumb and middle finger pressed against the sweep of Lelouch’s collarbone. He could feel Lelouch’s weak breathing under his palm, the faint beat of his heart through the soft fabric of Zero’s gloves. If he slid his hand up, just here, he could squeeze, and things would be fixed. Zero would be a savior; Britannia’s last emperor would be dead. If he crushed Lelouch’s windpipe, drowned him in his own blood while he was mired in a drugged sleep, half of this would not be a lie.

Enjoy your delusions.

Lelouch was meticulous by nature, with an impressive eye for detail. His years as Zero had honed his sense, his mistakes forcing him to cut corners in a sort of agony. In the beginning, though, he was obsessively exact. As Zero he had crafted his suit from only the finest fabric. Gold on purple, red on black. Utterly recognizable and borderline absurd. It fit him as few things ever did. It sat and folded attractively, its color rich and full, and even though it was made for Lelouch and not Suzaku, fitted originally to flatter a slimmer frame and made to withstand very little actual wear and tear, it didn’t rip, even when Suzaku jerked it from his shoulders and fumbled to pull his legs from the trousers. He heaped it on the floor and threw the cravat and gloves over its top. As he tore the black undershirt over his head, he heard his own breathing and its frantic, sobbing pace. He swallowed and swayed on his feet and dropped to the floor, leaning his back against the edge of his bed. He hugged his knees to his chest.

(I trust your aim, Lelouch had said, a little smile on his lips as he placed his hand on his chest over his heart. Here.

And Suzaku had nodded and said, Yes, something inside him turning to stone, but when it happened--when he was standing there wearing those fine, absurd clothes in front of however-many-thousand people and Lelouch in white, smiling at him like they were fulfilling some great destiny--he did not aim correctly. It should have been a clean stab, pushing the blade in and out the other side. It should have been easy, except for Suzaku’s stupid heart and reasons why he couldn’t murder Lelouch that he didn’t want to think about too closely. He was used to betrayal, mostly.

And so a change, at the last second, that was just a shift in his grip on the sword’s hilt. A slash instead of a stab: a long, arcing wound that knocked Lelouch back in a spray of blood. Lelouch’s face twisted in furious surprise before he fell under Zero in a crumpled heap, and then Cornelia was there, yelling that Lelouch is dead. Zero’s sword painted in blood, and Jeremiah snatching up Lelouch’s limp, bloody form, taking him away to a place of morphine and bandages and unsuccessful surgery and secrets.

And Suzaku was left with the people chanting Zero’s name, blood splattered across his front and over the mask, the sword heavy in his hand, the trappings of Zero feeling very much like they would strangle him. At nightfall, CC was waiting for him at the embassy, her arms crossed tightly over her middle, her eyes guarded, and she said, Well. He isn’t dead yet.

She didn’t offer her hand to him, like she might have done with Lelouch to catch him as he fell, and Suzaku did not reach for her.)

“Fuck you, Lelouch,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to his arms. He twisted the shirt in his trembling hands. “I never agreed to this.”

The new candidates for the Knights of Rounds were scared of him. He could feel their fear from where he stood behind Nunnally, his cape wrapped tightly around him. From the vantage point of Zero’s mask he could study these young men and women--four Britannians and two Japanese, which was gratifying, if a bit forced--and see how his presence unnerved them. They answered Nunnally’s questions well enough: fighting to preserve the balance of the nations, respect for Japan’s reestablishment, and so on. They tried very hard not to look at him.

Gino did not. He stood to the side of the new candidates, his back straight, watching. Suzaku was very careful. He ignored Gino and ran his eyes over the candidates again. He wondered vaguely what their Knightmare Frames would be called. Gaheris, or Bedivere. Acalon. Anya’s Mordred was retired since she had left, and he himself had destroyed three others. There would never be another Lancelot, he knew that.

When Nunnally lifted her chin and thanked them, the candidates bowed deeply, touching their fists to their chests, and filed away. Gino followed in their wake, his sharp eyes still on the opaque screen of Zero’s mask. As he went to close the door behind them, Nunnally called, “Sir Weinberg? A moment, please, before you go.”

Gino clicked the door shut and knelt, his head bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Will the Knights be returning with us to the motherland?”

“Sir Enneagram told me that the capital’s construction would be complete within the next six weeks, Your Majesty. The Knights will go wherever is necessary.”

Nunnally paused. She studied Gino’s shoulders. “As one of the members of the Rounds chosen by my father...what is the Knights’ objective, now that Japan is an independent country?”

Gino stiffened and looked at the carpet for a long time. “To preserve the peace, Your Majesty,” he said slowly. “To ensure Britannia’s strength as a world power.”

“Even if there is no war?”

“If...”

“If the necessity of ensuring our strength and control is gone, then what is the Knights’ purpose?”

He raised his head and gave her a long look, his eyes inscrutable. “What are you proposing, Your Majesty?”

Nunnally straightened her spine, clasping her hands before her on the desk. “I’m proposing, Sir Weinberg, the dissolution of the Knights of Rounds once we have relocated to the new capital in Britannia. Possibly even the eventual destruction of our Knightmare Frames, after we have managed a complete withdrawal from Japan’s shores.”

Gino gaped. “But that would be--” He stopped himself and swallowed, his brow knitting. “I would not--advise that,” he said. “I do not think that would be...wise.”

“Do you say that as a pilot, or as a Britannian?”

“As both, Your Majesty.” He glanced up at her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded, giving him permission. He took a deep breath. “If Britannia deserted Japan and laid down her arms, it would be an open invitation for attack from anyone in the world. We can’t destroy our defenses in a gesture of peace. It would be too tempting for our old enemies.”

“But eventually?” Nunnally insisted.

He looked at her, despairing, and faltered. “Perhaps Zero can answer you, Your Majesty.” He ducked his head and stared at the floor again, his back stiff.

Suzaku cleared his throat. “As appropriate as a withdrawal may be, Sir Weinberg is right, Your Majesty. So soon after the Rebellion, the gesture might seem...a trick.” Gino winced. They all remembered the Massacre Princess. “A solid defense is not always an offense. Even the UFN maintains its military force. If you call for the destruction of our weapons, you may as well do away with our army and navy altogether. Britannia cannot afford to look naïve now.”

“But eventually?” Nunnally said again, looking at him. It was almost a plea, a desperate question from a young girl with too much responsibility.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “Give it time, confer with the UFN, forge an agreement. Ohgi would listen, as would Kaguya and Xing-ke. Britannia cannot do it alone.”

Nunally nodded, her mouth an unhappy downturn. She ran her fingers over the edges of the new candidates’ paperwork, scratching her nail lightly over gilt and ink. Finally, she said, “Thank you. You may go, Sir Weinberg.” Gino stood and bowed hastily, looking very relieved. When the door shut behind him, the room was quiet.

“Would it be that simple?” she said into the silence. “Just ask?”

“They want to believe in you, Your Majesty, after the last emperor.” She flinched. “It will never be simple. Ask your siblings if you want an experienced opinion. Prince Schneizel and Princess Cornelia would surely have something to say to the idea.”

Nunnally smiled bitterly. “Brother and sister would say to double our defenses. They can’t trust anyone.”

“Perhaps they are right.”

She sighed. “Thank you, Zero,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. She looked again at the stack of forms before her, sunlight slanting over her desk. She had no throne room, nothing but the grandest office the embassy had to offer. He thought broad windows and flowers suited her better than the grandeur of Charles’ or Lelouch’s tastes. “I believe we’re done for today. You may go.”

He swept into a shallow bow and stepped away, cape curtaining over him. Nunnally jerked her hand out as he passed, her fingers grasping at the cuff of his sleeve, and he froze.

“Thank you...Suzaku,” she ventured, peering up at him. The color of her eyes still surprised him, even now. When he was younger, he imagined they were something like Lelouch’s deep violet, but not this cool, clear blue. She studied Zero’s mask, her eyes seeking something human.

He took his sleeve gently from her hand. “Kururugi Suzaku has been dead for some time, Your Majesty.” He took care to not brush her fingers.

Her brow furrowed into a frown. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But--yes.” She folded her hands again and began carefully, “Sometime, though, I would like to speak with you, Zero. About a very dear friend.” She peered up at him again. “And about my brother.”

His heart ached. “Whatever Your Majesty commands.”

She thinned her lips and frowned again. “Yes. Thank you, Zero.”

Gino was waiting for him. Folding his long-legged length against the wall beside the long arch of a window, sunlight streaming past the smart lines of his uniform. His sweet, honest face was guarded, closed off. Private and worried, his arms crossed. “Zero. Will you let her do it?” He bit his lip. “Destroy the Knightmares? And the Knights?”

“I will help Her Majesty as best as I am able, Sir Weinberg. You would do well to follow suit.” When Gino hesitated, Suzaku snugged his cape more tightly around him. “You trust my confidance too easily, knight. Tread carefully. You have already shown your capacity for treason. A court-martial would not be pardoned agan.”

Gino jerked, his eyes furious. “Schneizel was attempting a coup. And Lelouch made everyone his enemy.” He straightened. “I am not disloyal to Her Majesty.”

“And the alliance with the UFN?” Suzaku wished Nunnally had ordered Gino back to Ashford to be with Kallen and Rivalz. Gino cared too much. He wanted so badly to believe in the things that he loved that he was dangerous. He would be a fantastic soldier if he ever had anything forcibly ripped away from him, if something ever really broke his heart.

“The Knights will do anything to protect Her Majesty’s intentions,” Gino said firmly. He studied the mask, his brow furrowed, and Suzaku realized suddenly that Gino was alone. With Nonette in the motherland, Gino was the last of the Knights left standing in Japan. “You don’t have to doubt us.”

“See to it that I don’t,” Suzaku murmured. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Darkness and shadows hid what the mask could not: when he finally slipped into lowermost apartment of the west wing, Suzaku was trembling. He sagged against the wall and pulled off the mask. His hair was damp with sweat and tamped down all over his head; the cloth over his nose and mouth was stifling.

“She’s grown up,” he said aloud, pulling the cloth mask down. He shrugged the cape off and slung it over a chair, muttering, “I wasn’t expecting that.” He pulled at his gloves’ fingers and tugged them off. He shook his hands, feeling the cling of sweaty heat.

“No, I don’t know what I was expecting,” he said, looking at the bed. Lelouch was a still, supine lump under the sheets. Suzaku stepped closer and reached down, fumbling for Lelouch’s wrist. At its steady pulse, he nodded and carefully laid Lelouch’s hand back over the sheet. He fished a key from his pocket and clicked the handcuffs open. He stripped off his jacket and unpinned the cravat, pulled a box of gauze and antiseptic from under the bed, and sat.

He peeled away the bandage stretching over Lelouch’s chest, exposing an ugly snarl of stitches and the black crust of blood. A sheen of sweat broke out over Lelouch’s skin as Suzaku changed the dressing, a grimace knotting his features even in sleep, strongly enough that Suzaku thought with a burst of panic that he would wake, but it passed. Suzaku wet a cloth and carefully bathed him, working over the curves and edges of Lelouch’s naked skin.

You’re at my mercy, he thought as he ran the cloth over the lean dint of Lelouch’s spine. I could do anything to you. He spread his hand over the wing of Lelouch’s shoulder blade and felt Lelouch’s head loll limply over his shoulder. His hands were gentle, brushing Lelouch’s hair off his neck, laying him back against the pillows. “There’s a fairy tale like this,” Suzaku said, running his hand over the line of Lelouch’s belly, brushing through the coarse hair that trailed down to nest at his groin, his dick soft against his leg.

Lelouch did stir, then, a shift and another grimace to the fine arch of his eyebrows, and Suzaku stopped and peered at him. “A princess, right? And her knight. Or--no, he was a prince, too.” Suzaku nodded. “Of course.” He did pull back, then, lifting his hand away to keep Lelouch from struggling through the sedative to the surface of waking, and Lelouch’s features relaxed back into sleep. “Of course,” Suzaku said again, and drew the cloth down Lelouch’s leg and over his knee.

“A kiss woke her up,” he said, cinching the handcuffs back onto Lelouch’s wrists. He held Lelouch’s hand, his own skin hot and stifled, and said softly, “His love saved her.” Lelouch’s fingers were long and thin: aristocratic hands, royal hands. Suzaku pressed the pads of his fingers against Lelouch’s knuckles, the manicured edges of his nails, and brought Lelouch’s fingers to his lips. They felt cool and faintly dead, but even after so long in bed, Lelouch’s skin still smelled like him: something a bit like a dried flower, but darker, maybe with the metallic edge of blood. Suzaku wondered if he was smelling Zero, instead. He dropped Lelouch’s hand and stood and leaned forward, his hand pressing into the pillow by Lelouch’s head.

Lelouch’s lips did not feel dead. They were dry, a little chapped, but warm. Suzaku pulled away and murmured, “Good night,” and he retreated, gathering Zero’s affects around him for the walk to his own room. He slid the mask on last, and it closed over his head like a trap.

He woke at dawn, his body jacknifing as he came dreaming of Lelouch’s mouth.

The wreckage of Lelouch’s old alliances met him at every turn. The unhappy turn of Kaguya’s mouth, the wary cant of Ohgi’s eyebrows. He stood by as Nunnally spoke to them, her voice level and adult, and they answered her civilly enough, but he saw their eyes stray to him. He wondered, maddeningly, what Lelouch had meant to them. Kaguya’s arranged marriage, Ohgi’s superior. Their leader. He was very glad Kallen was away at school.

Kaguya was gracious and diplomatic, explaining that the United Federation of Nations would have to confer over Britannia’s proposal. They would contact the embassy with their conclusions. Before she closed the comm. link, she smiled at Nunnally and said she was glad to see that Nunnally had grown up so well. Ohgi nodded respectfully and told her to be well. Nunnally flushed with pleasure and thanked them.

“Are you prepared to compromise, Your Majesty?” Suzaku murmured into the silence.

“I will not compromise on the withdrawal.” She fiddled with a pen. “But I don’t expect anyone to agree to destroying the Knightmares,” she admitted. “Even if I ordered it, I don’t think it will happen, no matter what anyone will report. Brother and sister in particular.”

“Then what does Your Majesty want to happen?”

“I have a list. I’ve been thinking about this. There are so many things that need to happen, but first...I want to halt production and retire our current forces to storage in Britannia. Those are the only orders I can expect to be followed right now.” She smiled up at him. “I’ve been lied to my whole life, Zero. I’m tired of deception.”

He felt hollow. “Then perhaps Your Majesty should speak with Her Highness.”

The lines of Cornelia’s face were harsher than he remembered. She stepped with the sure, feline grace of a predator, a sword swinging at her side. She bowed and stood ramrod-straight until Nunnally explained what she wanted to do with Britannia’s military.

“What would be the point, Nunnally?” Cornelia said, her voice low and neutral. “Britannia needs the Knightmares. They are our greatest weapons.”

“Not in peace,” Nunnally replied. “Not in Japan. If they must exist, then they must exist in the motherland. Not as invaders on foreign soil. We have been here long enough.”

Cornelia’s lips twisted. “And the Tokyo Settlement?” She looked at Suzaku, and her eyes were unfathomable, closed. Her hand did not stray far from her sword.

“It was originally a Japanese city,” he said. “It should be theirs again.”

Nunnally nodded agreement. “This is not our home.”

“A complete withdrawal?” Cornelia sat down. She crossed her legs and smoothed the lines of her uniform. “There are a million Britannians in the Settlement. They’ve made lives for themselves here. Do you want to force them from their homes?”

“Sister.” Nunnally’s brow knit. “For almost ten years, Britannia has systematically destroyed everything precious to the Japanese. This is not our home. The Britannians who live here now may stay, but if they do, it will be either on visa or as Japanese citizens.” She looked keenly at Cornelia. “We will not be tyrants.”

Cornelia met Nunnally’s gaze, and her eyes softened. “I suppose you have a plan for the ghettos, as well?”

“Until our capital is rebuilt, our energies here will be devoted to healing Japan. We have a duty to atone for what we’ve done.”

Cornelia smiled at her: a brittle, sad expression that aged her into a very tired woman. “I wish we had had Your Majesty sooner.”

Nunnally’s face lit up. “You’ll help me speak to brother, then?”

“Of course.” Cornelia gave a tolerant little laugh. She looked at Suzaku, her eyes turning cold and sharp, and she said again, “Of course.” He could see very clearly in her face that she would not forget Euphie, or Zero in the role as her murderer, and he had the unsettling idea that she knew precisely who he was. He wondered faintly if she had loved Lelouch the way Euphie had. If she would ever be able to forgive him for what he did, if she was sorry to think him dead.

He wondered, if he was to tell her that Lelouch slept in this very building, weak but alive and healing, if she would go right then, run even, her hair streaming behind her, storm into that small room and put a gun to Lelouch’s head. Paint the bed with his blood, destroy his face beyond all recognizability in cold rage and brutal efficiency. Murder him in cold blood the way Zero did to so many with his geass. Lie to Nunnally, again. Fix things the way Suzaku could not, and then turn on him and hurt him any way she was able, driving fists and the butt of her gun. He did not think she would hesitate.

He wished he was so brave.

Three weeks and two days after the last emperor of Britannia died, Lelouch woke up. The slash across his chest was healing, its stitches almost overgrown, and Suzaku had gathered the vestiges of his courage, the ache in his heart. Lelouch could not sleep forever.

And so he woke up, early in the morning. It was a vague, shallow sort of waking, absent of the vitriol and bitter rage Suzaku had been expecting, and for the first time in a long time, Suzaku wanted very much to die.

“Suzaku,” Lelouch said weakly, blinking up at him. He shifted and swallowed and darted a look around, his eyes hazy, and he tried to push himself up in the bed. Suzaku said nothing, his throat closed, and he slid a hand behind Lelouch’s head and helped him to drink, water running at the corners of his cracked lips.

As Suzaku lowered him back, Lelouch tried to reach out, oblivious to his restraints, and Suzaku took his hand before he could hurt himself on the metal cuff. “Suzaku,” Lelouch said again, pliant and groggy with the drugs. He pressed his face into the pillow and closed his eyes, taking a deep, easy breath. His face relaxed, his tongue wetting his lips.

Suzaku swallowed. “Yes?”

“I had a very strange dream,” Lelouch murmured. He patted Suzaku’s fingers, the touch light, weak. “CC....”

“She’s not here right now,” Suzaku said. His head hurt. He couldn’t remember how his voice was supposed to sound. He couldn’t remember how to lie. “You can rest.”

Lelouch laughed softly and hummed in the back of his throat. “Thank you,” he said sleepily.

Suzaku ran his hand over the curve of Lelouch’s skin, sliding his fingers over ribs and the soft flesh of his side. A blade would cut so easily, press and press against skin until it split and blood welled and spilled, and then until the heart shuddered to a halt. Lelouch’s chest rose and fell with gentle, deep breath, his heartbeat steady and real against Suzaku’s hand. He swallowed again, his throat too dry, and lifted his hand, brushed at Lelouch’s bangs over his forehead, touched his cheek. His stomach twisted. He bit his lip and tugged up the sheet.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

“Zero,” Nunnally said softly. “Zero.”

“Your Majesty?” He fought to focus on her face across the wide expanse of her desk. The light glancing off its finish was blinding. Jags of gold, like the gleam of CC’s eyes.

Enjoy your delusions.

“Japan needs you,” Nunnally was saying. “Will you stay?”

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled, tentatively. “Someone has to be here, at the embassy, when we leave for Britannia.”

He bent in a stiff bow, jerking like a badly-strung puppet. “Whatever Your Majesty wishes.”

“No, no.” Her wheelchair whirred. She came into his field of vision, her hands reaching for his. He let her take his hand, reluctantly, and she held it tightly between her own, her eyes searching Zero’s mask and oh fuck she knew. She really knew. “What do you want?” she said.

“I don’t think it matters what I want, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice blank.

“It does.” She looked at him, her face very serious. “You matter as much as I do in this alliance, Zero. I do not want to cripple your power. You aren’t merely a figurehead.” She hesitated. “You are Zero. You were--are--the symbol of hope for the Japanese. I do not think it would be right to force you back to Britannia with me and brother and sister and the Knights of Rounds.”

He stepped back, tugging his hand from her grip, and bowed again. “Whatever Your Majesty sees fit.” The room was airless, suffocating. He turned to go. He wanted to run.

“I want to know what you want, Zero,” she said sharply, and he stopped. “Negotiations with the UFN will begin soon, and I want to help you. They will not want anything for you. Neither will brother or sister.”

“Then give me nothing.”

“The people here need you.”

“It’s as you said, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, without turning. “Zero is a symbol. Zero cannot choose for himself. Symbols need nothing.”

She was quiet. He hesitated, and then turned and looked at her. She was looking at her hands in her lap, at her fingers intertwined. “That’s very sad,” she said, her voice soft. “That’s very lonely.” She shook her head. He thought she would say something, but she kept shaking her head, disbelieving.

He sketched a shallow bow. “Thank you for the thought, Your Majesty.” He slipped through the door before she could answer, feeling sick with her sunlight and warmth and gentle scent of flowers.

It was that evening when he returned, Zero’s cape tight around his shoulders, the mask suffocating, that Lelouch had really, truly woken up.

“What the fuck did you do?” Lelouch spat, his voice raw. Suzaku looked at him dully and did not answer. He thumbed the catch to Zero’s cape and let it fall in a curtain of fabric, dropped the mask to its folds with a hollow sound. “Answer me,” Lelouch snapped. He was trembling, his hands clenched into fists, the sheet rumpled around his middle. His bare back was bony and thin, pale in the half-darkness. He looked like a wild animal.

“What do you think?” Suzaku gave him a long look.

“What do I think?” Lelouch stared at him, his eyes blazing. He jerked at the handcuffs, his teeth bared, and Suzaku saw that his wrists were raw, ringed in blood. “I think--you--” He made an incoherent sound of rage and gripped the bed’s rails so hard that his arms corded, his knuckles blanched. “You ruined everything! I knew what had to be done! I was prepared!” He glared through half-slit eyes, shuddering with anger. Suzaku wondered how badly Lelouch had wanted to die. How badly he had wanted to atone for something. How badly he had wanted Suzaku to suffer a miserable trap.

“Say something,” Lelouch hissed.

“No,” Suzaku whispered.

Lelouch screamed and thrashed, struggling to claw at Suzaku’s throat, his eyes. Suzaku stepped back, that stone part of him weighting his heart, and he watched and waited. Lelouch fought until his arms were streaked with blood and sweat, the sheet tangled around his legs, and he finally slumped, panting, over the edge of the bed.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, snapping his teeth in a clear threat to bite when Suzaku took a step forward.

Suzaku ignored him and snatched at his bloody wrist. Lelouch jerked and tried to pull away, but Suzaku pinned him effortlessly, his other hand meeting Lelouch’s face and throwing him back down to the bed. He ground his fingers into a nerve in Lelouch’s wrist, squeezing tendons and bone. “Calm down,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t make me tie you down.” Lelouch glared up at him, his jaw clenching against Suzaku’s palm, but his struggling slowed.

“You’re useless,” Lelouch hissed, half into the sheets. “I never should have trusted you to do anything.” He grimaced as Suzaku tightened his grip, and his hand fell limp. Suzaku let him up and sat, pulling the first aid from beneath the bed. Lelouch pulled himself to a seated position and glared at him. Suzaku was silent, dispassionately dabbing at the cuts on Lelouch’s wrist with antiseptic and ointment, wrapping it in bandages. Lelouch practically buzzed with angry energy, but he held still as Suzaku doctored the other.

Lelouch’s skin was thin and pale under his fingers. There was a bruise forming around his wrist, perfectly finger-shaped. He shook for a time, little tremors that ran through him every few seconds. Suzaku wondered if it was an aftereffect of the drugs, or it he was nursing along his furious hate. Or if he was scared, having been thrust into cold reality after he very clearly did not expect to be alive. Blood dotted the bandage stretched over his chest.

“Is this what you wanted?” Lelouch finally snapped, after the silence had become heavy. He looked at the bandages around his wrists. “All along?”

Suzaku swallowed. “No.”

“Where is CC?”

“Gone.” Lelouch ran a nervous finger along the edge of the bandages on his chest. Suzaku’s eyes followed his hand. “She left a long time ago.”

Lelouch’s mouth twisted, but he said nothing. His hand moved, his fingers tracing the line of his wound, his fingertips pressing against what must have been the edges of the slash. His hand stopped over the left of his chest, his fingers curling as though he was trying to dig out his heart. He raised his face and met Suzaku’s eyes.

“Wasn’t it fitting?” Lelouch said, finally, and gave Suzaku a bitter smile. “Wasn’t it enough?” He let out his breath and his shoulders sagged. His voice was suddenly tired, the edges of his words blurred by the sedatives. He looked very small.

“It was too easy. You aren’t allowed to run away.” Lelouch rolled his eyes and looked away, hiding behind the swing of his hair, folding his hands in his lap. Suzaku looked at him a long time, and said, “You didn’t say. That it would be like that.”

And here, finally, Lelouch looked at him and smiled. Beatific. Not fake in the way Suzaku had seen in a year’s surveillance, or the deranged edge of Zero’s grin. Lelouch smiled and his eyes narrowed, sharpened to cutting, bright edges. “You’re a fucking traitor, Suzaku,” he said, his voice level. “Betrayal is what you do best.” He looked down at his hands, stretched his fingers and made an experimental, weak fist. The chain of the handcuff clicked flatly against the bed’s rail, and he laughed. “Get out,” he said, shaking his head.

Suzaku got out.

He retreated to darkness and stripped Zero away, dropped the mask and laid down, his eyes burning and dry. He did not sleep.

Part two.