damned_institute | Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

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Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

[from here]

He really had beat the rush. Suzaku found a chair as close to the corner and as far from the bulletin as he could, and turned it to face the wall before curling up in it. His nurse frowned at him again, but she was still being cooperative, and frankly he didn't care what she had to say in the slightest. He didn't care even if he got sedated. All he cared about was finally having a few moments to himself, to sort out what Euphie's love meant and what the hell Lelouch's problem was.

It felt like he had all the pieces of a puzzle and was just too stupid to figure out how they fit together. What Lelouch had said about Shirley at breakfast and the tone he'd taken with Euphie on the board, Lelouch asking how Suzaku was, Lelouch dying. . . "All we can do is move forward and look out for the ones we care about." Euphie struggling to get out her last words, pain overtaking Suzaku's consciousness while he fought pathetically to carry out Lelouch's order. . . The last couple days, when he'd felt like he was finally figuring this out, seemed so far away now.

There were a couple things that were certain, at least: he hated what Lelouch had done, he always would. But he -- he didn't hate Lelouch, and he hadn't for a while now, and that wasn't going to change. And he didn't have much time, because everyone but Suzaku was terrifyingly mortal. And Lelouch was an idiot, but he still wasn't sure about the how and why of that one yet.

[for the Saucinator]

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The Sun Room was slowly filling with people. Lunge paused in the doorway, scanning the room for curious eyes and a waiting face but finding nothing. If Lelouch was here, he was keeping a low profile. Useful for him, perhaps, but without a description to go on the inspector was left somewhat stranded.

With a sigh, half irritated and half resigned, he made a slow circuit of the room, fingertips idly brushing across the rough-soft surface of the chairs and sofas. Kinetic experience was so underrated these days. One often forgot how useful it was to feel as well as to see and hear. That wasn't to say, of course, that observational skills were surplus to requirements. Without them Lunge would most definitely not have noticed the familiar young man- slender, dark-haired, curiously effete up close as well as at a distance- stretched across the seats of a couch with his eyes closed, undoubtedly feeling the effects of that little dose he'd received for his troubles.

Well. Here was as good a place as any to sit. Lunge made himself comfortable in an armchair opposite the young man. Hopefully (more for their sake than his), they wouldn't mind a quiet observer. Just how strong were the sedatives they used here, anyway?

Unfortunately for Lelouch, actually falling asleep wasn't an option, and although it took a moment or two for the fact that he very nearly was to sink in, he was... relatively quick to drag his eyes open again. Damn Rolo. It would have been difficult enough to concentrate on anything after last night-- hell, all twenty-four preceding hours-- without an untimely sedation piled on top of it all. He'd had plenty of doubts about his ability to carry through with his next meeting before it, too, and now...

He sighed again and rubbed at his eyes before slowly pushing himself into a seated position, one hand blindly reaching out for his journal and-- wait a minute. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?" Lelouch asked, eyes narrowing imperceptibly at the... black-haired, blue-eyed man in his early fifties-- goddamnit, how the hell had Lunge found him? Unless it was only coincidence that he'd chosen to sit there, but the way he was watching him--

Lelouch looked away with a small frown that did little to conceal his embarrassment. Of all the ways to start a meeting-- well, at least he knew for certain now that this thing had been doomed from the start. "Inspector Lunge," he amended, straightening his posture and planting both feet firmly on the ground before he ventured eye contact again. "I apologize for not greeting you more formally. I was..." He trailed off, trying and failing to think of a way to adequately explain this lapse in good manners through the drug-induced haze surrounding his mind. If Lunge had caught anything of what had happened at breakfast, it would hardly be necessary, but if not, he had to at least say something.

The only thing that came to mind wasn't very helpful at all, though, and with a slight grimace, Lelouch finished, "Today didn't get off to a very good start."

The young man stirred, spoke and then...

Well, well, well. Apparently, Lelouch Lamperouge had been here all along. More surprising, he of all people had been the one caught out at breakfast. Lunge's hand twitched ever so slightly against the arm of the chair: I hate you! I hate everything about you! I've wanted to kill you for the longest time, but I just kept missing my chance to do it! Strong words.

Back to the present. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed- though was that embarrassment at being caught vulnerable or at being caught off-duty? Perhaps some combination of the two, although he was more inclined to lean towards the latter. There was a fluid sharpness in Lamperouge's movements as he righted himself, a careful correction of the features, that suggested a certain degree of discipline- that thoroughness that more often than not seemed to come from breeding. He would have been able to tell if the manners had been forced, that Lunge was sure of.

So. Was he dealing with an aristocrat of sorts? That made things easier, on a simplistic level at least. As wary as he was of making premature assessments, after this morning having a little something to travel by was only sensible.

The smile, when it appeared, was gracious, almost apologetic. If Lunge had thought anything of the incident he certainly didn't let it slip in his voice. A measure of calm compassion would do here. "So I saw." He held out a hand. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. It's a pleasure to meet you."

... He'd seen. Marvelous. That was exactly what Lelouch needed: a potential associate witnessing his... somewhat less than stable reaction to the presence of a boy who, in all likelihood, was going to continue referring to himself as Lelouch's brother regardless of everything that had been said that morning. At least... Rolo seemed like he might, what with the way he'd tried to protect him from the nurses like that, but again, the motivations for that completely escaped Lelouch. He knew for a fact that Rolo would continue to consider the time they spent together precious, but surely after the things he'd said-- well, there was no sense dwelling on that now. He had a meeting to attend to.

Offering a polite smile in return and doing his best to minimize the shadow beginning to creep over his expression (the increased embarrassment was somewhat harder to hide, again, but then that wasn't as significant), he shook the proffered hand and said, "The pleasure's all mine, and that's quite all right. It's my fault for not being adequately prepared for this meeting." Not that he genuinely considered anything that had happened within the past twenty-four hours to be his fault, apart from scaring Euphy and hurting Suzaku, but sentiments like that had no place in the current conversation.

"That's actually one of the issues I wished to address," he continued, finally finding an opportunity to reach for his journal again and somehow managing to take hold of and thumb through it without fumbling... too much. He was having similar issues with remembering what it was he'd decided to tell Lunge earlier, but though that did mean he was speaking more slowly than usual and any thoughtful pauses were slightly longer than they might otherwise be, the inspector, as someone less familiar with him, would hopefully be less likely to pick up on that. Hopefully.

"In light of... recent events, it may be for the best if you were to simply borrow my journal for the day and read it at your leisure instead of discussing my notes with me right now. I'm... not certain how reliable anything I could say on them would be at the moment." That was much harder to admit in person than it had been on the board at Renamon, but at least he'd already done that and... sort of had practice at it. "Naturally, whenever you're finished and when my schedule allows for it, we can meet again to discuss them in more detail. Would that be all right?"

Lamperouge's face darkened just a touch. As he'd anticipated, knowing that Lunge had seen his little outburst was anything but good news. But therein lay the rub- why would someone so very conscientious of his appearance to others let himself lose control as he had at breakfast? I hate you. I hate everything about you. Lamperouge was an organiser and controlled to the bone, he could tell that much from his bulletin posts, so what was it (other than the young man he'd been speaking with, of course) that had rattled him?

"That's perfectly understandable," he answered pleasantly, but his mind was elsewhere. Lunge's eyes flickered from Lamperouge's face down the length of his body, taking in eyes and shoulders and legs with all the attentive care of a lepidopterist examining a new specimen. Long fingers fumbled with the pages of a notebook under his stare, dulled by sedatives. He was very young, wasn't he? Not much older than his late teens. And tired, too, very tired indeed, and not just because of the sedatives.

Oh...? Had someone had an... experience last night?

Taking that into account, the young man would have been far more likely to snap. Certainly Lunge had been expecting a man in his twenties or thirties. The pressure to perform must be hellish, Lamperouge, mustn't it? Especially when the Institute seems to do everything in its power to ruin you. Is that why you're so tired, Lamperouge?

Without skipping a beat, he cocked his head slightly at Lelouch. "Difficult night?" The tone had been honed to perfection- non-judgmental and sympathetic, yes, but with just enough of an edge under the surface to make it quite clear that a non-answer was not going to be tolerated. If at first you don't succeed, press until they break. It was simply a matter of where to press.

That was one less thing to worry about, then, even if it looked like there were plenty of others still waiting to be addressed. At least Lunge didn't seem to be interested in asking questions about the outburst itself. Lelouch knew that that was far from being indicative of any sort of dismissal of the incident, but for now... even if this only meant that Lunge was building his way up to it or else circling the issue and seeing what observing it from different angles could reveal, he could deal with that somehow. There was always the obvious solution, of course, but as he'd come to think of it in recent days, Geass would have to be his last resort.

His suspicions that Lunge hadn't let it go seemed to be confirmed with the next question. It would have made more sense for Lunge to ask when he was expected to return the journal or something else related to his notes than for him to inquire about his well-being, and although Lunge could simply be the sort of person who did asked about others as a matter of course, the question was a bit too pointed. Besides, Lelouch had learned long ago to believe only the very worst of people, and although he had been proven wrong on occasion, the times he'd been right had far outweighed them.

"It hasn't been the first," he replied, closing the journal and holding it out to Lunge. "I hope you can forgive the occasional editorial remark. There may also be several gaps in the information, but I'm having difficulty remembering where offhand. Needless to say, I'll be working on correcting those issues in the future." A short pause. "Did you have any other questions for me, Inspector?"

Knocked down at the first hurdle. He wouldn't have expected any less. "I can imagine," Lunge responded evenly. He took the book and leafed through it idly, all the while reformatting his plan of action.

While he had hardly pushed as hard as he could have done, it was all to clear to Lunge that forcing Lamperouge would be more trouble than it was worth, particularly so early on in their relationship. Which left one option: would it maybe be best to be frank with him? Establishing an open field now would obviously pay off in the future. But honesty was a two-way road, and if he was going to show his cards to Lelouch, he expected the same courtesy extended to him.

It was worth a try. With the briefest of pauses, Lunge threw down his proverbial hand. "Actually, yes. I've been thinking about what happened last night. I suppose you've seen the notes on the bulletin board already. If you don't mind my asking, did you happen to experience anything yourself?"

This time the words were honest, without the interrogating undertone, but Lunge's eyes remained stubbornly trained on Lamperouge's. Nothing would escape him, not even the tiniest lie. I don't want to treat you like a suspect, so don't make me. Not just yet. You're too valuable for that.

Was that his real focus, then? Unlikely, given that he'd had no real reason to suspect that Lelouch had gone through the same thing that so many others were talking about on the board. Being tired in this place was hardly uncommon, and while last night's... events were on the forefront of everyone's minds, they hardly accounted for everything that might have happened then.

At the same time, though, there was one very good reason why Lunge might have come to that conclusion, but why he should pretend ignorance of it didn't make much sense. Regardless of whether or not he'd seen the conversation Lelouch had had with Suzaku and the board and regardless of his motives for asking about it, though, the answer would be the same, and that at least did make Lelouch feel slightly better. Thinking about this right now was making his head ache.

"I both saw someone who had died and experienced their death myself," he said shortly, doing his best to keep any and all emotion out of his voice. Up until his arrival at Landel's, Shirley's death hadn't been something he'd discussed much, and although he'd been fine with that, last night-- "I'd prefer not to talk about it in detail, but I can answer any general questions you may have." Very, very general questions, that was. Even Suzaku wasn't getting anything more, so if Lunge didn't like that, he would just have to deal with it.

The question clicked and he was through. Lunge relaxed into his chair, more scholarly now than interrogating and apparently satisfied by the candour of Lamperouge's answer. If Lelouch was watching for body language at all, the inspector had let his soften around the edges. That was better. A partner was more useful to him than an enemy, besides which way two was far too early for him to embroil himself in mental warfare with someone of the same age as his daughter. Now, day three, on the other hand...

But that was irrelevant. He nodded, smiled briefly in what was his usual Considerate Officer of the Law expression and placed a hand on the arm of his chair in preparation for any interesting answers. Multiple cases would be in order before he could pick out a pattern, of course, but it was always good to have a starting point.

"Thank you. Don't worry, I understand that it must have been a difficult for you. I'll keep my questions brief." Now, onto the questions, and this was Investigation 101: Establish an MO. Anyone with an eye for pop-psychology would have known to ask. "Was there anything significant in the manner in which you 'died' last night, particularly for you personally? A yes or no will suffice, although if you don't mind elaborating..."

Lelouch was still too tired to really care about subtle shifts in the inspector's body language, but he did at least note that the man seemed to be more at ease now. That could mean just about anything, though, so he didn't read too deeply into it, much less allow himself to consciously or even unconsciously mirror the change. His defenses were low enough already.

"Significant? Apart from the fact that it was exactly how Sh-- that person died, not really." Perhaps this interview hadn't been the best idea. There was no way to back out of it now, though, so scowling faintly to himself, he abandoned his efforts to at least conceal Shirley's gender ("sh" could have easily been the start of "she" after all) and continued, "I was with her when it happened, so it was easy enough to recognize the injury. The institute also saw fit to provide me with audio of the moments leading up to her death, but the person I was with at the time didn't seem to hear it." Good thing, too. He had no idea how he would have been able to reassure Euphy if she'd heard how desperate he had been then.

Immediately Lunge's hand began to type along with Lelouch's description, logging every word and every tic with infallible accuracy. Hmm. That shifted the scenario from psychosomatic resemblance to a genuine understanding of the other person's death. It was the difference between death from a stab wound and death from a wound inflicted by a tailor made butterfly knife, and once again Lunge couldn't help but pause at just how closely the Institute had monitored their 'patients'.

The important question here, though, was why. Was it simply a matter of expressing what they perceived as unlimited control? An exquisite form of torture designed to attack the heart as well as the body? Or did it relate specifically to the Head Doctor's plight?

But back to his witness. Lunge doubted just how much more forthcoming he would be- that little frown wasn't encouraging- and so eventually gave a little nod and put his hand back into his lap. "Thank you. You've been very helpful. If there's anything I can help you with-" I don't particularly care, "- I'd be happy to return the favour."

The typing motions quickly caught Lelouch's attention, but once it became clear that there was nothing sinister about them, he dismissed them once more. He was fairly certain that there had been a similar movement from Lunge earlier in the conversation, but without any other cues as to what that might have been about-- whatever, he wasn't thinking about this right now. He could dissect Lunge's habits at their next meeting.

"You're welcome, and you can start by making sure you return that journal by lunch tomorrow." A faint, faint smile. "I can't guarantee that we'll be able to meet then, but since I'll need those notes regardless..." He trailed off, deciding to leave the rest unsaid. If he was going to find a way to save Nunnally at all, he'd need to start with the information he'd gathered on time travel so far, and from there-- "Anything beyond that can wait, I think." Lunge seemed like he would be doing something beneficial on his own anyway, assuming he shared his findings on the strange deaths from last night. If not, well, Lelouch could always find some other use for him.

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Day 44: Sun Room, Second Shift

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