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Entry tags:	fanfic: code geass, pairing: suzalulu

Code Geass fic: Don't Forget the Kitchen Lights
Title: Don't Forget the Kitchen Lights

Fandom: Code Geass (bawwwwwwwww...)

Pairing: Mildly SuzaLulu

Disclaimer: Is belong to Sunrise, who is epically good at wringing pathetic tears out of the fangirls. And Taniguchi.

Summary: When you leave the house, don't forget the kitchen lights.

Notes: This is my coming to terms with the ending of Code Geass fic. It has taken me forever to grind this out in a way that doesn't completely eliminate the emotional impact of the finale, but makes it easier to swallow. Now that I'm done wallowing in my pain, I shall move onto to epic denial fic.

Also, preemptive apologies for the abuse of present tense.



”You will sacrifice all of your happiness for the sake of the world…eternally.”

“That Geass…I shall accept it.” – Code Geass R2, Turn 25

2019 a.t.b. – One year after Zero’s heroic elimination of the tyrant emperor, Lelouch vi Britannia.

“You worked hard today,” Nunnally tells him.

Suzaku looks down at the still crippled child in the wheel chair he was pushing and nodded. Even after conquering the geass Charles had placed on her, Nunnally remained crippled, years of disuse atrophying the muscles and the doctors had little hope that she would ever regain the full use of her legs. Just one of the many things time has taken with her.

Sometimes, Suzaku wondered how Nunnally could do it, smiling for the world when she cried herself to sleep each night. Losing Lelouch had been hard enough when he knew the reason, had been the one to deliver the final blow, but for Nunnally, to see for the first time in eight years since the tragedy of their mother only to be greeted with the death of her most beloved, the shock had been especially harsh. Occasionally, at times like these, when they had retired from a long day of negotiations with little progress to be made, it was all Suzaku could do to refrain from taking off the mask and comforting the girl, from breaking his promise.

And it was only the memory of the promise, made in barely a whisper upon a dying throne, that Suzaku continues, living in a constant stasis, being what the world needed him to be and suffering the punishment gladly. Of course, Suzaku suspected Nunnally already knew, the only reason she could allow her brother’s murderer to stand by her side, but there was no longer a Kururugi Suzaku under the mask, and Suzaku could see no harm in letting her keep at least this small delusion, to believe that the man behind the mask somehow still carries a thread of her brother in him.

So instead of dallying, or going to his knees to comfort the suffering empress, Suzaku guided her wheelchair into her room and took his leave, silent as the he always had been.

He doesn’t talk much these days, not since the day he pierced the flesh of his only friend. There didn’t seem to be much to say when the world wanted Zero only as an icon, not a strategist or diplomat. There are times when he entertained talking, interject his ideas at the idiocy the world was committing, but that, too, would be a breach of his promise. So he remains silent, and allows the world its follies.

Entering Zero’s private room, a sanctuary where not even Nunnally sets foot, Suzaku pulls off the mask, breathing deep at the semi-fresh air. Relaxing into the soft bed that had been provided for him, Suzaku closes his eyes to rest and lets his mind wander.

The world as it is, Lelouch probably would have been proud, or at least satisfied. And that’s how Suzaku thinks of him, not the 99th Emperor, not Zero, not even vi Britannia. Just Lelouch, an old friend and confidante, who entrusted into his hands the fragile, tender hope of the future, much like himself.

Of course, not all was perfect. The world still had disagreements, conflicts still existed, and there were always some who were better off than the rest. But Suzaku knew, these things were not what Lelouch had wanted to eliminate. A kind world was not necessarily perfect, something Suzaku had learned himself. Or rather, Zero has learned, in this new world of his making. A kind world was about mercy, forgiveness, and the hope of a better tomorrow.

And hope was there, before his eyes, growing through the past year at a steady pace. The economy had been regaining its footing, its growth measureable by days. People everywhere had celebrated in a delirium of frenzied joy, parties of different proportions being held almost daily. His…Kururugi’s old friends had gotten married, first Toudou, then Cecil, then, a few weeks earlier, Kallen. This joy, this prosperity, Suzaku knows, is all thanks to Zero’s existence. People could look to him and see a glimmer of hope, so that they can pull themselves from the mire of war to place that hope into their future. Unfettered by hatred, without the desire for revenge, the world was a happier place than it had ever been.

How could it not? Suzaku hummed silently in amusement at the thread of his thought, self deprecation raising its head. By earning all of the world’s wrath and gaining no followers, supporting no faction, Lelouch had effectively stopped the cycle of hate with his own death. No one wished to avenge the fallen tyrant, and consequently, no one objected to the new world order. Zero became a symbol of hope for all, not just the downtrodden, and without a faction, party, order leading the fight, the world learned to compromise.

I wonder, Suzaku thinks as he stares into the dark maroon canopy of his bed, color of dried blood against one of many of his Zero masks – a mask he tucks away for safe keeping, taking out only to remind himself when he feels lost, I wonder if Lelouch could have been happy.

It was a silly thought, even in the hypothetical, because here, in this room full of memories and nothing at all, Suzaku knows the only time Lelouch had been happy was that brief year they had spent together. With no worries about his status, about the royal politics, and even forgetting in sporadic moments the trauma of his dead mother, Lelouch had been as close to carefree and happy as Suzaku had ever known him. Had he lived, his much too responsible nature would have not allowed him to enjoy even a moment of peace.

It was ironic, how the living knew the dead better than when they were alive. And in this small moment, where Suzaku was Suzaku once more and not the ubiquitous Zero, he can regret the lost time spent during their living moments, fighting blindly for his redemption and Lelouch’s revenge. There was no redemption to be found, Suzaku has learned, not when one dies, not when one lives. And revenge was bitter, cold, and stale, offering no comfort. All they can do is blunder on, and keep their hopes afloat, through whatever it takes.

Even if at the heart of that hope is what they despise the most.

It was a novel experience, when he donned on the Zero mask for the first time. Suzaku had lived with many masks of his own making, but to wear the mask of another, he thinks he truly understood the weight upon Zero’s shoulders. To become Zero, Suzaku had thrown away his self, burning away desires and wants to uphold what Zero has come to represent, a faceless metaphor of a thought, and to think that he had once demanded a friend of this.

But Lelouch had always maintained himself, somehow slipping between Zero and Lelouch in the blink of an eye, wearing a mask that was nothing near as solid as the one weighing in his hand, but many times more impenetrable. That mask had, at least, fallen at death, and Suzaku sometimes wonder if maybe in that short instance, Lelouch was happy again.

Suzaku holds onto the thought, tugging it close like a mental lifeline, holding him above the surface of Zero and something resembling himself. He hadn’t been able to protect his princess’ vision or honor her last wish, but for his emperor, his sweet prince, he can at least uphold this.

So, when he hears the tentative knock against the locked door of his room, he slips on the mask, unhesitant, becoming Zero once more. Opening to the door, he prepares to greet his visitor only to stop in shock at the familiar green haired girl, leaning against one arm and looking pained.

“I have a proposition for you,” she tells him without preamble.

Suzaku glares behind his mask, knowing the effect is lost, and considers the girl’s words. Of course, this could be a trap, but Lelouch, for whatever reason, had trusted her, and that will have to be good enough for Suzaku. Without answering, he silently steps back, letting the girl through and watches as she flops into the bed he had been lying on only moments ago.

“I shall grant you the power to carry out this ideal of yours,” she says, eyes glittering gold through her lashes, “and in return, you will grant my wish.”

Is this how you trapped him? Suzaku thinks, wondering what could have pushed Lelouch to accept such a bargain. An uncertain price attached to an unthinkable power, even a man like Lelouch must have been very desperate indeed to take on such a contract.

“What could you possibly wish for,” Suzaku began, words rough from disuse, “a witch who gives the gift of death to her mortal toys?”

“Are we back to that again?” she asks, amused. As she was wont to, in the short few months that Suzaku had become her accomplice.

No, not hers. That position remained as Lelouch’s, though he is dead. Suzaku was merely privy to her interactions. He had never liked her, not her casual dismissal of things he had once held dear, nor her flippant outlook on mortality. He still doesn’t like her, as she sits in his bed, looking smug and despaired at once.

“I am the witch, but your friend is the demon king,” she repeats the meaningless answer back to him, an answer that Suzaku now knows by heart and still answered nothing. So instead of answering, he says nothing, waiting for the witch to continue.

And she does, looking at the room around her, words floating out like an ethereal wisp, “How long do you think this peace will continue if Zero died? How long do you think you can live?

“Lelouch’s plans, they’re always missing the small touch of reality. Life isn’t a chess game, he still has trouble grasping that.” Suzaku doesn’t gasp at the witch’s choice of tense, but allows himself the reprieve of biting his lips to keep silent. “This Requiem of his... He could give you everything, except immortality.”

And why should I wish for that, Suzaku thinks at C.C. The eventuality of his death was the only comfort Lelouch had allowed him, the small sliver of kindness he could never obliterate, no matter how hateful he’s become. In the end, Lelouch couldn’t be unkind, though Suzaku may not have been deserving of that consideration.

“Do you think it’s fair,” she asks, as though reading his mind, “to twist your promise to him upon his death to fit your own needs?”

Suzaku doesn’t take the bait and instead answers, “I don’t think he would want what you’re proposing.”

“You accepted his geass, but you now wish to resign?”

Of course he took it, even if Suzaku hadn’t been willing until it was much too late. The desire to live, as much a curse as gift, and Suzaku can feel its effects even now, chanting rhythmically in the back of his mind, “Take it, take it, take it.”

C.C. perhaps senses the power of geass in him, smiling as though she has already won. Then, perhaps unable to resist the temptation, she adds, “Of course, if you take my code, you will be able to enter the World of C at your discretion. With it, you’ll be as good as dead.”

Immortals live in stasis, Lelouch had once told him. Waiting for the final culmination of Zero Requiem, he and Lelouch had sat at the edge of the lake, sunning themselves with him not thinking and Lelouch murmuring little bits of nonsense.

All they know are gone, Lelouch said, they live in a perpetually changing world, but unchanging themselves. Powerless to stop the flow of time and powerless to follow, immortality is nothing but a glorified death.

Lelouch had never wanted immortality, and had never wanted to curse another with it.

“And why would I want to enter there again?” After all, Suzaku’s last experience was hardly heartwarming.

“You know as well as I,” C.C. informed him, eyes coming to rest upon him as she finished her survey of the room. “And you know for that reason, you’ll take my contract.”

“And your wish?” He doesn’t agree, but knows, now, this is mere formality. The power of Lelouch’s gift is already irresistible; Suzaku’s delay was merely buying time.

C.C. must know this, because she smiles as he voiced the question, genuine and satisfied, the kind of smile she reserves for when Lelouch surprised even her. “My wish you will know in due time.”

“Is that what you told Lelouch?”

“So you can say his name,” she smiles triumphant, the liveliness lasting only a moment as she returns to her previously melancholy state. “I never needed to tell him. But Lelouch…he is my wish.

“Stop his pain, Suzaku.”

The words choke him, deep in his chest, tightening until he has to gasp to draw breath. Fists tightening into the gloves that cover his hands, Suzaku ground out, “He’s already dead.”

Dead, like the cold stone that sits upon his grave, marking his own. Drawn and quartered before his eyes as he held a sobbing Nunnally back from following her brother to the next world. Feeling the too familiar burn of anger that had clawed at his chest for nights on end, begging for vengeance against all those who desecrated the already bloody corpse, the shuddering in chilled helplessness when he remembers the taste of revenge still a bitter coppery sluice at the back of his tongue. When the mob had finished tearing Lelouch’s corpse into shreds, there wasn’t enough left to bury.

Bloodstained gloves, dyed red from clawing at the remains of what had once been his friend, sits next to the bloodied mask, the only tangible remains of Lelouch to be found. Now, this witch comes and implies that Lelouch is still alive, and Suzaku could feel the old bubble of rage coursing through his veins.

“Only in body,” she explains, closing her eyes to some metaphysical pain. “You have been in the World of C. You know if his mother, Marianne.”

“Marianne is also dead,” he returns, remembering the dark haired woman with amethyst eyes, so much like her son and nothing like his friend. She, like Charles, had been deluded into a blind fervor, losing sight of what they were doing, to the world, to their son. Lelouch may have been wrong, but never had he lost sight, even if Suzaku had to remind him sometimes in those last few days. For that, Suzaku could hate himself, as much as he hated the witch on Zero’s bed.

“Tell me, Suzaku,” the witch sneers, but her face remains an empty slate. “What is death? What is life? What is existence?”

“And now you’re the philosopher?”

C.C. smiles at him, like he was a particularly dumb dog she’d picked up from the streets. Twirling a finger through her hair, she continues as though Suzaku said nothing, “Lelouch had said it himself once. The geass is much like the wishes of humans. His entire existence has been altered by the power I gave him, but in the end he won’t die. Not until humans stop wishing him alive.”

Suzaku stares, worrying over the words, the throbbing of geass’ pull already taking over his faculties. But he still managed to grind out one last question, forcing his legs to remain still as he asks, “Why tell me this?”

“Because,” she repeats, now looking impatient, “I wish for you to stop his pain. He is at once alive and dead, you of all people should know how much he despised that.”

“And so you want me to…what? Kill everyone who remembers him? Obliterate any memory of him?” Suzaku demands. “How could I, if you offer me immortality?”

The witch smiles at him, knowing and sly, and much too smug for Suzaku to know what to expect. She stands and walks to him, almost gliding across the floor, and Suzaku resists the urge to pull away as her hand reaches for his mask, touching the same place Lelouch had in his dying moments, her smaller hand covering the invisible streaks of blood against his new mask. Suzaku shudders at the gesture.

“You are his friend,” she informs him, looking determined and no longer quite so apathetic. Pain, accumulated through years of experience, through her immortality, shows in the disappearing creases around her eyes. She smiles, a little deprecating, a little resigned, and continues, “You should know best how to end his pain.”

This time, Suzaku doesn’t resist the urge to flinch and retreats a few steps away from the too familiar position. Of course he knows what this girl-woman was proposing. Accept her offer of immortality and deny himself any escape from the pain, in return, remove her from the haunting memory of Lelouch that permeates the core of her being. He remembers the rest of Lelouch’s words now

They can’t escape and nothing ever fades, the stasis keeps each new pain fresh, while never allowing the old pain to fade. It’s an accumulation of experience that one day will drive them insane. The immortals, they’re truly pitiful people.

One day, he knows, his old age will forget the pain of his friend’s death, and if he does not forget, at least the hurt will be less and death itself will claim the last vestiges of his suffering. But, he knows, C.C. is correct, to accept the last of Lelouch’s kindness would be to destroy the wish for which Lelouch had died, and Suzaku couldn’t have that. It will be his pain to bear, his memory to serve, and Suzaku thinks he can continue, if only for a memory.

As he opens his mouth to accept the witch’s offer, he feels the ebbing of the throb of his geass, the incessant chant for life and survival replaced with the well remembered voice of one year ago.

”Stop,” it orders, the voice expecting nothing but immediate obedience. Suzaku whirls at the it, turning in search of the source, half a mind wondering if C.C. had been telling the truth after all, the rest wondering how long he has left before the last vestiges of his sanity is lost.

Behind him, the empty doorway mocks his sudden hope.

“So you feel it,” she murmurs, and Suzaku whirls back to the bed, the witch smiling at him from her perch, where she’d retreated after his rejection. “And even now, he still tries to save you.”

Suzaku bows his head and stares into an emptiness, feeling the foreign presence in his mind, settling like something comforting and worrying at once. Aloud, as though to himself, he asks, “What have you done?”

“Come with me,” she says, looking at the wall as though it had a window. “Come with me and see for yourself then decide if you wish for this curse.”

She holds out her hand, stretching fingers that reach to him, and Suzaku, for one last time, takes a leap of faith, and holds out his hand, too. She grabs for him, and as their fingers connect, even through the thick layer of the gloves, Suzaku could feel the coldness of her fingertips. The world whirls around them as though a vortex, the walls blending into a swirling blue hue. Then all motion stops, and Suzaku finds himself standing in the too familiar setting sun of the World of C.

In the middle of the floating stone platform stands Lelouch, bloodied body and downcast blood red eyes, looking the same as the day of his murder-suicide.

“Lelouch.”

The name catches in his throat, and Suzaku finds himself surprised that he could still feel soreness of loss, that he could still react so violently to the presence of his long dead friend. He looks to C.C., wants to ask her what this was, a hallucination? Or something more?

But C.C. merely stares back at him, as though urging him to take matters into his own hands, to ask the questions to the only one who could answer. So Suzaku steps forward, eyes drinking in the visage of his dead friend, preserved in a moment of death, bloody yet whole, eyes vibrant and vacant.

“Lelouch,” he calls this time, hand reaching for the downcast face. His fingers brush against surreally tangible skin, warm beneath his fingers, softer than he remembers. He slides the fingers down to the sharp chin, feeling the curve digging into his flesh, and pushes up, forcing Lelouch’s gaze to his own. The red light of geass trembles in those eyes and Suzaku can’t tell if Lelouch sees him at all, or if it is merely a blank dead gaze.

Suzaku turns to look at C.C., this time inquiring. What is this? Can he hear me?

She shrugs her answer and Suzaku turns away, facing what should have been a dead man.

“Lelouch.” This time it’s a statement: You’re dead. You’re here. You’re no longer. You can’t leave. Stay. “It’s me, Suzaku.”

He startles as Lelouch raises one hand and covers the hand that was cupping his face, a soft pressure that gradually eases into a brushing of skin, of feeling. Suzaku chokes on his next words, remembering too much of things he thought he had forgotten. Memories of a summer spent running away from bodyguards, driving a car they’d stolen, proclaiming ever lasting friendship and swearing his allegiance to his prince, even when they were mere children. Memories of separation, reunion, and bitter lies twined in a fickle friendship from which Suzaku could never turn away. Memories of love lost and found, friendship broken and recast, of pain and sorrow and joy and happiness, of a palate of emotions wrenched from his heart by this boy during life.

Suzaku jolts as he feels the slip of warm, hot liquid rolling down his cheeks, the hand not held by Lelouch coming up to touch the wetness. Tears, salty in his mouth and wet against his fingers and Suzaku blinks in surprise at them, wondering when he had, somewhere in the year of hiding behind the mask Lelouch built, lost the ability to weep.

Like a broken dam, Suzaku shudders with the next wave of tears, swallowing thickly against the hurt noises threatening at the back of his throat. As though sensing his despair, Lelouch’s hand tightens, a calming pressure that Suzaku throws himself to focus on instead of the searing pain that was piercing his heart. Unclenching fingers that should have left bruises on the soft skin he was grasping but didn’t, Suzaku pulls into himself, careful not to dislodge Lelouch’s hand all the while.

“Lelouch,” he speaks the name wetly, throat still clogged by tears. Bringing the hand to his mouth, Suzaku presses into the slim fingers and muffles his next words into the skin. “Together, there is nothing we cannot accomplish. So tell me, your majesty, what do you wish for now?”

Suzaku looks up as Lelouch’s other hand caresses his face, a deathly mimic of their last moments. His lips move, yet no sound falls, and Suzaku stares, entranced, waiting for his order. Finally, Suzaku sees a familiar pattern and he realizes, in this moment on the overlapping world of life and death, Lelouch chooses to speak in the language of their childhood.

Yakusoku.

And Suzaku falls to his knee, hand over heart and face in the offered palm, swears his fidelity.

When he stands, Lelouch and the World of C was no more. Back in Zero’s room, by the canopy bed where the witch sits, watching him with calm eyes. The warmth against his cheek dissipates, and he is left cold once more.

“Your answer,” C.C. asks, already turning to leave.

“Keep your gift, witch,” Suzaku tells her, hands grasping at the last threads of heat, “and you may yet forget.”

Silence greets his answer, leaving Suzaku to drown in a long forgotten memory.

“It’s decided. I’ll make Lelouch an emperor.”

“Thank you. Then I’ll make Suzaku ―” – Code Geass Sound Episode, Stage 0.543