115 ////// CG fic ;; Memories
TITLE: Memories
RATING: PG-13/T
SUMMARY: Building memories from the ground, up.
FANDOM: Code Geass
OTHER: Um. Super post R2. Like. 20-27 years past. Also I fuck around with things. And am awful to Suzaku.
This can be taken as Nunnally/Suzaku, or Suzaku/Nunnally/C.C., or Euphemia/Suzaku in the past, etc etc. I just kinda left it open.
ALSO LOL hideously unbetad.
Suzaku watches Nunnally get old with a growing sense of horror. Zero doesn’t age; Zero remains ever youthful and strong, he stays by her side through all things, and…
And watches her grow old, realizing forty doesn’t seem old until you are it.
He’s lucky, in some ways. The mask hides most everything, and he’s kept in near-perfect shape (I’ll protect her for as long as I can) so he can do his job and do it right. Sometimes he wishes that he didn’t have to see her grow old; he wants her to stay the youthful, sweet princess he knew from when he was younger (naive) and less bitter.
Things never go the way he wants them to, not even years later.
When he loses his sight (he’d never seen the mine, ha ha, isn’t it funny) in a scream of metal and flash of white-hot pain that sends blood pouring down his cheeks, he regrets ever thinking he’d be better off without it.
--
Lloyd does everything he can-- he’s not a doctor, though, so his job is to try and assess the mine that went off, try to figure out how to fix his eyes, maybe determine if there’s transplants that they can do, or if there are implants.
Nunnally doesn’t leave his side except to shower and take care of only the most important things; otherwise, she sleeps by his bed, her wheelchair kept close at all hours, because no one denies the Empress anything. It aches to watch those bandages peeled off for the first time; Suzaku’s sedated for it, breathing evenly and slowly, and the bandages come off stained red and brown.
She looks away, and feels cowardly for it, but Kallen’s hand on her shoulder and voice in her ear tells her it’s alright, because she did too.
“It’s too much of a mess,” the doctor says bluntly, while a nurse carefully lifts Suzaku’s head, wraps bandages around his face, covering the eyeless sockets, covering the mess of wounds that still bleed a little bit as he heals. “There’s nothing there to even save.”
Nunnally nods mutely; what else can she do besides that?
--
Nearly a week later, Suzaku’s still heavily sedated while the talks go on, in his room (Nunnally won’t leave, not for this). Twelve people is a lot to pack into one room, but it’s done, and they speak quietly, casting furtive glances at the man on the bed every time he twitches in his dreams, or maybe nightmares.
“You know there’s no other choice,” Kallen says tiredly, holding a new mask, scratch-free, strange, for that very reason. “It’ll take too long to find someone and by that time everyone will know something is wrong. It’s better to just say that he died due to complications.”
The room erupts into angered whispers, protesting (Zero can’t die!), and Nunnally stays silent through it all, head lifting when the door opens and a woman steps in, casually brushing past the guards, tipping her head to the side. “Well,” she drawls, and barely glances at Suzaku on the bed, hooked up to wires and machines. “You need time.” A pause, and her lips tilt up into a slightly bitter smile. “Time, I have plenty of.”
Jaw clenching, Kallen hands the mask over, her glare silencing any and all protesting form the other members of the Black Knights assembled in that room. She doesn’t ask why C.C. came back, just looks away and says this is how things will be done until they figure out who will be Zero.
--
A month later, Suzaku sits in his bed, fully grown, a blindfold over his eyes until they heal (scar) fully enough for fake ones to be put in. At his side, Nunnally lifts a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, quietly telling him when it gets close, and makes sure not to spill any on him, repeating the process.
“I hate this,” Suzaku spits out, tone still soft-- he’ll never, ever raise his voice to her, and his jaw clenches. “Let me do this, Your Highness.” A pause, when she doesn’t respond, and his voice almost cracks. “Please.”
“...Alright,” Nunnally says softly, breath shuddering out of her, and carefully, she gives him the bowl of cereal, and takes his hand, showing him where the spoon is. When he doesn’t move, however, she frowns a bit. “Is something wrong?”
Guilt choking him for a moment-- he can’t even get the words out, Suzaku lifts his head, voice almost dull. “Leave the room, please.”
It takes her a moment to realize why, and when she does, she ducks her head, placing a hand on his forearm, and wheels out quietly, shutting the door behind her, but goes no further, leaning against the door.
There’s a quiet click of glass on metal as he slides his spoon into the bowl; she’d been blind for so long that the image spills itself across her mind easily. Another click as it slides back in, and she almost smiles, picturing him spooning it into his mouth on his own and--
Jumps, when there’s a loud crash of glass breaking, and the spoon follows soon after, tossed against the ground. There’s too much force to call it dropping, even she knows that.
“At least you weren’t in there,” C.C. says offhandedly as she walks past, and she almost sounds like Lelouch, save for the lilt in her voice that is all hers. “He’d hate to ruin one of your dresses because he’s having a temper tantrum.”
And she almost raises her voice to chastise her, how could you say that, how could you be so callous, when C.C. glances back at her, taking the mask off, leaning against a wall.
“Don’t pity him, Empress. He’ll loath himself all the more for it.” And she vanishes down a hallway as silently as she had shown up, leaving Nunnally to wonder when that woman had come to get to know Suzaku better than she, at times.
--
“It’s her, isn’t it,” Suzaku says suddenly, his hands on the back of Nunnally’s wheelchair. It’s no longer he that leads her, but she that leads him, knowing it’s the safest way to make sure he doesn’t bump into anyone. He’s a rather badly kept secret when it comes to the Black Knights, but twenty years didn’t lend itself to much secrecy after it needed to be revealed to the higher-ups who was leading them once more. To some, it was no surprise. To others, trust became a learned behavior.
“Who?” Nunnally asks, voice ringing quietly in the empty halls, turning out a door into the newest garden. Suzaku had his own wing, locked off completely except to those who had a key, to keep his secret safe. “...Who, Suzaku?”
“Zero,” he says quietly, patiently, and lifts his head when he feels sunlight, stopping, hands releasing her wheelchair so he can just stand there for a long moment, soaking it all in, wishing he could see it. “It’s her.” And Nunnally doesn’t answer, just turns her chair, coming back to him. It’s answer enough. “I thought so.”
There’s no answer given, and he doesn’t expect one, just sighs when she takes his hand and presses a flower into it. “A rose,” Nunnally warns before-hand so he doesn’t prick himself on it.
His hand clenches and tightens around it until the thorns dig in and blood pools in the tiny marks; Nunnally just swallows and takes his other, pressing it to her cheek as they stand there in the garden.
--
Seven years later finds Suzaku sitting at his desk, and C.C. at his back, silent.
“It’s a lot of pictures,” she says carefully, evenly, watching his head lift and turn, fake eyes fixed a little right of where the photos actually are. “They’re….”
“All I have,” Suzaku says roughly, and reaches out for the sixth one in the row, near the center; when C.C. sees who it is, she realizes that it’s because he’s had practice. “Do you know what happens when years pass and you can’t see pictures of people you love?”
C.C. pauses, uncertain for once, not sure what he’s getting at. She knows what happens when years pass, but she’s always been able to see. “No,” she settles on finally, peering over his shoulder to look at the picture of the smiling girl, holding a bunch of flowers, cheeks pink as pink as her hair as the person holding the camera takes a shot.
“You forget.”
He puts the picture back in the same spot carefully, and sinks back into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair, aching from his head to his toes, all the way to his heart. The witch says nothing, knowing there’s no words to say, callous or kind, that will make it better. Instead, she rests a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, then slips out of the room, and closes it behind her.
--
“She thought I should see you,” Nunnally says softly, the soft mechanic whirr of her wheelchair coming closer and closer, until she is at his bedside. From there, she pushes herself up, crawling up onto the bed with a soft noise as she almost slips, startled when Suzaku reaches out abruptly and catches her, tugging her tight against him. “...Thank you.”
He nods, mute for the moment, and rests his chin on her shoulder when she curls into him like they were children again, and he could make all the bad dreams go away when her brother wasn’t there. “You should be in your own bed, Highness,” Suzaku says softly, finally, but there’s no force to his words, even less tension in his body when she hugs him tighter, the first contact like this they’ve had in years upon years-- the first contact Suzaku has allowed since Kallen dragged his bleeding body back from the bomb fragments and let the doctors work on him.
“I can’t sleep.” Nunnally whispers, tucking her head under his chin, daring, to make up for all the times that she’s shied away from touching him for fear of him drawing back. “C.C. said you would be up.”
Muffling his rough exhale, almost a laugh, he tugs a blanket up over her, tucking her in, sightless eyes fixed on a point on the bed that’s just a bit away from her. “You can stay as long as you need, Highness,” he offers quietly, keeping that last bit of distance between them, too tired to fight her now, too tired to push her away and keep her from the taint that surrounds him, because he knows now he’s not strong enough to fight her.
They’re silent for the most part, just laying there, listening to the crickets chirp outside, listening to the soft breathing from the other, until he breaks the silence first. “I can’t remember her face,” he whispers, voice rough and uneven, like he’s telling her a dirty secret, something he’s ashamed of-- which he is. A better person could remember Euphemia’s face, a stronger person could keep her memory in their head and not let her face fade with time.
Someone worthy of her could remember, but he had never had any illusions about being worthy of her.
“She was beautiful,” Nunnally says quietly, cheek resting on his shoulder, grasping his hand with hers, imagining her in her head; it’s easy, she still has pictures to look at, years of memories to draw on. Suzaku has a few months and a few pictures, and then nothing but his memories, fading with time. “You remember her hair, don’t you? Long and--”
“--pink,” Suzaku breathes quietly, heart aching, imagining her standing there with them, smiling and beautiful. “It smelled like roses, those pretty pink ones she used to take and sneak into my room when I wasn’t there.”
Laughing quietly, Nunnally squeezed his hand. “You remember how short she was? All of our brothers and sisters were so much taller than both of us, we always had to ask for help reaching the shelves and getting things.”
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, but he nods, and something inside him eases as they quietly build a picture of her back inside his head, the details coming back with each word spoken, until he can picture her fully, holding her roses, giggling at something. Next comes Lelouch, their voices softer, building the picture from the inside out. Nunnally closes her eyes for it, and isn’t surprised to hear the door open and then close again.
“Am I intruding?” C.C. asks offhandedly, and doesn’t bother to wait for an answer as she steps into the room and sits on the bed next to them. They don’t bother to wonder how she knows, they just continue, spilling detail after intricate detail until he’s built up too, standing next to Euphemia.
“Shirley next,” Nunnally whispers, and C.C. leans against the headboard only commenting a bit.
Little by little, the memories are refilled back in Suzaku’s mind, from their childhood, to high school, and he sighs when it’s over, heart aching, almost able to see them through all that blackness- the only thing he does see anymore.
Silent, C.C. sits there, watching them, and then tilts her head to the side, lips curving up in a slow smile. Nunnally doesn’t ask what she’s looking at; she can almost see them there, Lelouch leaning against a wall, Euphemia with her flowers, Shirley giggling, Rolo clutching his locket, people who’d died throughout the war, people they’d never wanted to say goodbye to, or people they’d only met once.
“It’s time to go,” C.C. says quietly, but abruptly and pulls away from them, sliding off of the bed, the moment broken. The other two are silent, Suzaku’s eyes still closed, Nunnally’s on C.C. until the woman tilts her head just a little bit, bidding them a goodnight, leaving them alone to fall asleep.
--
Yeeeah. This is why I don’t write at 3 AM. Uuuh, it’s left kind of ambiguous, I know. It’s up to you to think if they really showed up at the end or if it was just memories, blah blah blah, I’m a horrible bitch to Suzaku.
Comments looooved, derp derp.
RATING: PG-13/T
SUMMARY: Building memories from the ground, up.
FANDOM: Code Geass
OTHER: Um. Super post R2. Like. 20-27 years past. Also I fuck around with things. And am awful to Suzaku.
This can be taken as Nunnally/Suzaku, or Suzaku/Nunnally/C.C., or Euphemia/Suzaku in the past, etc etc. I just kinda left it open.
ALSO LOL hideously unbetad.
Suzaku watches Nunnally get old with a growing sense of horror. Zero doesn’t age; Zero remains ever youthful and strong, he stays by her side through all things, and…
And watches her grow old, realizing forty doesn’t seem old until you are it.
He’s lucky, in some ways. The mask hides most everything, and he’s kept in near-perfect shape (I’ll protect her for as long as I can) so he can do his job and do it right. Sometimes he wishes that he didn’t have to see her grow old; he wants her to stay the youthful, sweet princess he knew from when he was younger (naive) and less bitter.
Things never go the way he wants them to, not even years later.
When he loses his sight (he’d never seen the mine, ha ha, isn’t it funny) in a scream of metal and flash of white-hot pain that sends blood pouring down his cheeks, he regrets ever thinking he’d be better off without it.
--
Lloyd does everything he can-- he’s not a doctor, though, so his job is to try and assess the mine that went off, try to figure out how to fix his eyes, maybe determine if there’s transplants that they can do, or if there are implants.
Nunnally doesn’t leave his side except to shower and take care of only the most important things; otherwise, she sleeps by his bed, her wheelchair kept close at all hours, because no one denies the Empress anything. It aches to watch those bandages peeled off for the first time; Suzaku’s sedated for it, breathing evenly and slowly, and the bandages come off stained red and brown.
She looks away, and feels cowardly for it, but Kallen’s hand on her shoulder and voice in her ear tells her it’s alright, because she did too.
“It’s too much of a mess,” the doctor says bluntly, while a nurse carefully lifts Suzaku’s head, wraps bandages around his face, covering the eyeless sockets, covering the mess of wounds that still bleed a little bit as he heals. “There’s nothing there to even save.”
Nunnally nods mutely; what else can she do besides that?
--
Nearly a week later, Suzaku’s still heavily sedated while the talks go on, in his room (Nunnally won’t leave, not for this). Twelve people is a lot to pack into one room, but it’s done, and they speak quietly, casting furtive glances at the man on the bed every time he twitches in his dreams, or maybe nightmares.
“You know there’s no other choice,” Kallen says tiredly, holding a new mask, scratch-free, strange, for that very reason. “It’ll take too long to find someone and by that time everyone will know something is wrong. It’s better to just say that he died due to complications.”
The room erupts into angered whispers, protesting (Zero can’t die!), and Nunnally stays silent through it all, head lifting when the door opens and a woman steps in, casually brushing past the guards, tipping her head to the side. “Well,” she drawls, and barely glances at Suzaku on the bed, hooked up to wires and machines. “You need time.” A pause, and her lips tilt up into a slightly bitter smile. “Time, I have plenty of.”
Jaw clenching, Kallen hands the mask over, her glare silencing any and all protesting form the other members of the Black Knights assembled in that room. She doesn’t ask why C.C. came back, just looks away and says this is how things will be done until they figure out who will be Zero.
--
A month later, Suzaku sits in his bed, fully grown, a blindfold over his eyes until they heal (scar) fully enough for fake ones to be put in. At his side, Nunnally lifts a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, quietly telling him when it gets close, and makes sure not to spill any on him, repeating the process.
“I hate this,” Suzaku spits out, tone still soft-- he’ll never, ever raise his voice to her, and his jaw clenches. “Let me do this, Your Highness.” A pause, when she doesn’t respond, and his voice almost cracks. “Please.”
“...Alright,” Nunnally says softly, breath shuddering out of her, and carefully, she gives him the bowl of cereal, and takes his hand, showing him where the spoon is. When he doesn’t move, however, she frowns a bit. “Is something wrong?”
Guilt choking him for a moment-- he can’t even get the words out, Suzaku lifts his head, voice almost dull. “Leave the room, please.”
It takes her a moment to realize why, and when she does, she ducks her head, placing a hand on his forearm, and wheels out quietly, shutting the door behind her, but goes no further, leaning against the door.
There’s a quiet click of glass on metal as he slides his spoon into the bowl; she’d been blind for so long that the image spills itself across her mind easily. Another click as it slides back in, and she almost smiles, picturing him spooning it into his mouth on his own and--
Jumps, when there’s a loud crash of glass breaking, and the spoon follows soon after, tossed against the ground. There’s too much force to call it dropping, even she knows that.
“At least you weren’t in there,” C.C. says offhandedly as she walks past, and she almost sounds like Lelouch, save for the lilt in her voice that is all hers. “He’d hate to ruin one of your dresses because he’s having a temper tantrum.”
And she almost raises her voice to chastise her, how could you say that, how could you be so callous, when C.C. glances back at her, taking the mask off, leaning against a wall.
“Don’t pity him, Empress. He’ll loath himself all the more for it.” And she vanishes down a hallway as silently as she had shown up, leaving Nunnally to wonder when that woman had come to get to know Suzaku better than she, at times.
--
“It’s her, isn’t it,” Suzaku says suddenly, his hands on the back of Nunnally’s wheelchair. It’s no longer he that leads her, but she that leads him, knowing it’s the safest way to make sure he doesn’t bump into anyone. He’s a rather badly kept secret when it comes to the Black Knights, but twenty years didn’t lend itself to much secrecy after it needed to be revealed to the higher-ups who was leading them once more. To some, it was no surprise. To others, trust became a learned behavior.
“Who?” Nunnally asks, voice ringing quietly in the empty halls, turning out a door into the newest garden. Suzaku had his own wing, locked off completely except to those who had a key, to keep his secret safe. “...Who, Suzaku?”
“Zero,” he says quietly, patiently, and lifts his head when he feels sunlight, stopping, hands releasing her wheelchair so he can just stand there for a long moment, soaking it all in, wishing he could see it. “It’s her.” And Nunnally doesn’t answer, just turns her chair, coming back to him. It’s answer enough. “I thought so.”
There’s no answer given, and he doesn’t expect one, just sighs when she takes his hand and presses a flower into it. “A rose,” Nunnally warns before-hand so he doesn’t prick himself on it.
His hand clenches and tightens around it until the thorns dig in and blood pools in the tiny marks; Nunnally just swallows and takes his other, pressing it to her cheek as they stand there in the garden.
--
Seven years later finds Suzaku sitting at his desk, and C.C. at his back, silent.
“It’s a lot of pictures,” she says carefully, evenly, watching his head lift and turn, fake eyes fixed a little right of where the photos actually are. “They’re….”
“All I have,” Suzaku says roughly, and reaches out for the sixth one in the row, near the center; when C.C. sees who it is, she realizes that it’s because he’s had practice. “Do you know what happens when years pass and you can’t see pictures of people you love?”
C.C. pauses, uncertain for once, not sure what he’s getting at. She knows what happens when years pass, but she’s always been able to see. “No,” she settles on finally, peering over his shoulder to look at the picture of the smiling girl, holding a bunch of flowers, cheeks pink as pink as her hair as the person holding the camera takes a shot.
“You forget.”
He puts the picture back in the same spot carefully, and sinks back into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair, aching from his head to his toes, all the way to his heart. The witch says nothing, knowing there’s no words to say, callous or kind, that will make it better. Instead, she rests a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, then slips out of the room, and closes it behind her.
--
“She thought I should see you,” Nunnally says softly, the soft mechanic whirr of her wheelchair coming closer and closer, until she is at his bedside. From there, she pushes herself up, crawling up onto the bed with a soft noise as she almost slips, startled when Suzaku reaches out abruptly and catches her, tugging her tight against him. “...Thank you.”
He nods, mute for the moment, and rests his chin on her shoulder when she curls into him like they were children again, and he could make all the bad dreams go away when her brother wasn’t there. “You should be in your own bed, Highness,” Suzaku says softly, finally, but there’s no force to his words, even less tension in his body when she hugs him tighter, the first contact like this they’ve had in years upon years-- the first contact Suzaku has allowed since Kallen dragged his bleeding body back from the bomb fragments and let the doctors work on him.
“I can’t sleep.” Nunnally whispers, tucking her head under his chin, daring, to make up for all the times that she’s shied away from touching him for fear of him drawing back. “C.C. said you would be up.”
Muffling his rough exhale, almost a laugh, he tugs a blanket up over her, tucking her in, sightless eyes fixed on a point on the bed that’s just a bit away from her. “You can stay as long as you need, Highness,” he offers quietly, keeping that last bit of distance between them, too tired to fight her now, too tired to push her away and keep her from the taint that surrounds him, because he knows now he’s not strong enough to fight her.
They’re silent for the most part, just laying there, listening to the crickets chirp outside, listening to the soft breathing from the other, until he breaks the silence first. “I can’t remember her face,” he whispers, voice rough and uneven, like he’s telling her a dirty secret, something he’s ashamed of-- which he is. A better person could remember Euphemia’s face, a stronger person could keep her memory in their head and not let her face fade with time.
Someone worthy of her could remember, but he had never had any illusions about being worthy of her.
“She was beautiful,” Nunnally says quietly, cheek resting on his shoulder, grasping his hand with hers, imagining her in her head; it’s easy, she still has pictures to look at, years of memories to draw on. Suzaku has a few months and a few pictures, and then nothing but his memories, fading with time. “You remember her hair, don’t you? Long and--”
“--pink,” Suzaku breathes quietly, heart aching, imagining her standing there with them, smiling and beautiful. “It smelled like roses, those pretty pink ones she used to take and sneak into my room when I wasn’t there.”
Laughing quietly, Nunnally squeezed his hand. “You remember how short she was? All of our brothers and sisters were so much taller than both of us, we always had to ask for help reaching the shelves and getting things.”
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, but he nods, and something inside him eases as they quietly build a picture of her back inside his head, the details coming back with each word spoken, until he can picture her fully, holding her roses, giggling at something. Next comes Lelouch, their voices softer, building the picture from the inside out. Nunnally closes her eyes for it, and isn’t surprised to hear the door open and then close again.
“Am I intruding?” C.C. asks offhandedly, and doesn’t bother to wait for an answer as she steps into the room and sits on the bed next to them. They don’t bother to wonder how she knows, they just continue, spilling detail after intricate detail until he’s built up too, standing next to Euphemia.
“Shirley next,” Nunnally whispers, and C.C. leans against the headboard only commenting a bit.
Little by little, the memories are refilled back in Suzaku’s mind, from their childhood, to high school, and he sighs when it’s over, heart aching, almost able to see them through all that blackness- the only thing he does see anymore.
Silent, C.C. sits there, watching them, and then tilts her head to the side, lips curving up in a slow smile. Nunnally doesn’t ask what she’s looking at; she can almost see them there, Lelouch leaning against a wall, Euphemia with her flowers, Shirley giggling, Rolo clutching his locket, people who’d died throughout the war, people they’d never wanted to say goodbye to, or people they’d only met once.
“It’s time to go,” C.C. says quietly, but abruptly and pulls away from them, sliding off of the bed, the moment broken. The other two are silent, Suzaku’s eyes still closed, Nunnally’s on C.C. until the woman tilts her head just a little bit, bidding them a goodnight, leaving them alone to fall asleep.
--
Yeeeah. This is why I don’t write at 3 AM. Uuuh, it’s left kind of ambiguous, I know. It’s up to you to think if they really showed up at the end or if it was just memories, blah blah blah, I’m a horrible bitch to Suzaku.
Comments looooved, derp derp.