damned_institute | Day 43: Waiting Room/Lobby 2, Third Shift

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Day 43: Waiting Room/Lobby 2, Third Shift

It would have been impossible not to see this coming, but after the night he'd had and seeing Euphy in the cafeteria-- hadn't the past twenty-four hours been enough? He couldn't do this anymore, not after seeing her walking around as if nothing had happened and knowing that Suzaku was going through a similar ordeal. His knight-- no, former knight now-- had been so transformed by her death, and having to behave now as if none of that had occurred had to be-- but it was out of Lelouch's hands now. Both of them were, and although he would have liked nothing more than to speak to her again or tell Suzaku why he couldn't tell him what had happened, he couldn't do that to either of them. It would be easier for them this way.

For him, however, the torment was just beginning. There was a wide variety of people the institute staff could have chosen from that would have a deep impact on him, but when the most obvious choice would have the worst-- he couldn't do this! He had spent almost all of his time here carefully shutting out thoughts of Nunnally after Suzaku had told him what would happen to her, but if he had to come face to face with her-- the walls were already beginning to crumble, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he knew his nurse would have grabbed and probably sedated him the instant he tried to bolt, he would have done so immediately.

As things were, he allowed himself to be led placidly through the Sun Room and the main hall, eyes downcast and shoulders beginning to quake ever so slightly with barely contained emotion. Nunnally-- he hadn't had a conversation with her-- a real conversation, not something rushed over the phone that hid more from her than he ever wanted and not something filled with lies and false reassurances, but a real conversation where he could ask how her day had been and lightly cradle her hand in his as she excitedly told him about the latest tidbit Sayoko had told her about Japanese culture or expressed worry about something in class she hadn't fully understood or sweetly smiled at him as she--

Lelouch shut his eyes tightly, barely hearing the nurse as she left him in the lobby to find a seat and somehow keep himself preoccupied while he waited and tried his hardest not to remember what the rest of his conversation with Suzaku had held that night. If he did...

Slowly, he began to walk over to one of the chairs, all but collapsing into it once he'd reached it and sagging forwards so that his elbows rested on his knees and only barely kept him seated upright. He didn't know how much more he could take, and if his visitor was Nunnally, then-- then what? He wasn't sure. And Nunnally-- what was he supposed to tell her? What could he even say? How could anyone expect him to talk to her now as if everything was normal when he had to-- when there was no way he could--

He stared down at the floor and waited, face blank. He would just have to get through this somehow, and after that-- he would deal with that later. He had to.

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Her eyes narrowed more, something suspiciously like care mixed in with her confident anger. The girl's hand dropped without a fight in the matter, then fixed her stare on the boy in front of her. "Nothing happened," she echoed, neutral tones almost mocking. "I'm sure that's incorrect. You may be many things, but careless wouldn't be one of them."

She rolled her eyes, then; anything to reaffirm her self in this. A hand brushed through her own bangs in habit. It was...strange. Seeing him like this after everything, as if nothing had changed. Was it that... she had missed him? Missed the one person who could understand her, to a degree. She was uncomfortable was this realization, but accepted it all the same. He was her brother. The only one, in her mind.

"You know," she went on, tone firm. "You can stay away from them here. A word to the..." Her gaze settled around the room, irritatedly. "People in charge here, incompetent as they may be, and you won't have to see them at all." Her eyes returned to his face, something pleading dancing far behind her eyes. "I'm sure everything would be fine if you weren't around them. You wouldn't get in trouble, get hurt...." The unfinished sentence spoke volumes: You could leave.

His sister was correct. She was always correct but never entirely right, and that in itself served as an overwhelming source of nostalgia. Nigredo had not spoken with her since... Since? A knot formed at the base of his neck; the once subdued migraine flared anew. His eyes closed momentarily, giving the impression of careful analysis.

"I was careless," answered Nigredo quietly, "and I made mistakes." Far too many mistakes, if she wanted specifics. "Could we please drop the subject?" And return to the more critical topics, such as her presence.

Except Citrine was not making this easy. Once upon a time, he might have humored her and offered an answer in half-hearted agreement, but the recent events had shaped an altogether different outlook. In that, the boy understood, perhaps for the first time in years. What he had proposed to Rubedo in the beginning of their stay and had acted upon later only served to escalate. Besides, Nigredo simply couldn't stay away altogether, couldn't be what Albedo had feared. That would be doing the unthinkable.

He locked eyes with Citrine. "No," he said, tone clear and solid. "I'm not leaving my own brothers. Besides, you must be aware such a request is impossible at night." The last remark was a calculated move, to see precisely how much his sister was comparable to the description from I.R.I.S.

The girl tilted her head carefully, sharp eyes locked on her brother with almost a trace of anger. This, however, she was let go for now. There were many other things to be angry with him for. He had never been one to be pushed into a corner. Too much forcing and he would close completely on you. There were other ways to coax things out of him. A moment, and then she nodded as if it didn't matter. "Sure," she replied, the first loose response she had given. "What would you rather speak about, since I came out all this way to see you?"

In truth, it hadn't really been that far, half a day's driving, but he didn't need to know that. The time they had was already leaking away, and such trivial things weren't needed. Not much really was. So when he spoke again, clear and firm, the girl's eyes widened the slightest fraction; a graceful gesture that was soon overcome with a kind of simmering anger. "One already left you, lest you forgot. And the other did something else. Have you forgot everything that happened before?" Did you forget trying to shoot our Father? she wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to say. Not so soon, would their visit be marred by that.

At night? Perhaps he was referring to yesterday evening. She shook her head once, an irritated gesture. "There's solitary, if that one keeps bothering you. I did read the brochure." A frown, something not quite hesitation. "I heard what happened to you yesterday. Just stay away from them. You're going to keep getting hurt. They're not going to...." She trailed off, a tight twist to her lips in decision. "They can't be what you want. I thought you understood this."

What would he rather speak about? The answer should be perfectly clear: Why are you here? Why are you dressed like that? What could you possibly mean by 'all this way'? Aren't you angry at me for...? For? Nigredo grabbed at one end of his shirt, his knuckles turning white from the effort. His face, on the other hand, remained as impassive as ever.

"You," he spoke without really thinking. "I'd rather we talk about you. We haven't seen each other for some time." The child couldn't imagine why, even with that edge of anger in Citrine's look. Nor her continuation on the topic of their brothers.

Nigredo dropped his gaze. "That was no one's fault." Just a matter of circumstances was all. He did not fully understand them himself, but... "How did you find out, speaking of which?" he asked, sounding more bland than accusatory. "I don't recall your presence that evening."

And apparently, she knew of yesterday, too. He could not help but raise an eyebrow. "Solitary?" repeated Nigredo, who then shook his head. "No. That's not going to... I can't stay away. I thought I made it clear." Obviously not enough to prevent a repeat.

"We haven't," she agreed easily. She hadn't seen him for a while before this, and not at all since he'd been admitted. The fact remained that he was the only one she would choose to see. That he was the one that she had some kind of misguided faith in to overcome this. He was special. He wasn't like the others. Except now... There was something settled in his mind, it seemed. Something that the events of that night created. Her expression settled into bland, granting his question. "I was there. I came later. After. Too late, it seemed, to prevent any of it." This was said in abstracts, pleasantly detached from the string of words it formed. "And I would have found out regardless. Even Father couldn't cover it completely up. Not from me." A beat. "You were gone."

Yes. Solitary. Something that was becoming more of a cheerful thought in the girl's head. If not one, then definitely the other, and since there was evidence--the day prior, and she had heard rumors of the first day as well, why wasn't that one in confinement? Because they were children. The twelve-year-old's face seemed aged, calm and neutral as it was. Children, she thought, were capable of many great and terrible things. Look at their little 'family', and the destruction surrounding them. Look at all that had came before it. She knew he still had the scars. All three of them did. Her mouth thinned into a line, eyes locked on her sibling. No. She wouldn't push this. There was little time, and she wasn't going to waste it by making him close up entirely. "Okay. What about me do you want to talk about?"

Father evoked a sensation he'd only recently touched, and Nigredo found himself staring, eyes frozen in disbelief. "Father?" he repeated. What could she have meant to bring him up like this? "Father is..." Dead. Gone. No longer relevant. No longer worth commiserating.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It worked halfway. "This doesn't match my memory," Nigredo murmured dryly. Exactly how, he couldn't say. The distance and lack of detail in each point was enough for anything. His sister was doing this on purpose--to protect him, perhaps--but any attempts to probe died in his throat. As stated before, he didn't have the heart for this.

So instead, the variant turned to the least dangerous element in the conversation. "I want to talk about why you're here." He sighed. "And why you're not here."

She froze then, limbs stiffening. Once this subject was truly broached, there was no going back. No more casual words between them. For that, she stared at her brother, gaze empty. And completely ignored his words. There were other things to respond to after all. The fingers stretched on one hand, and then rose to trail through her hair again, unconcerned and lying. "There might be holes," she said. "Trauma has a tendency to do that."

Trauma, and the reasons she wouldn't touch on yet. Those things would create... discrepencies. Being disillusional did that. Her other hand subtlety curled into a fist at her side, nails scratching skin. And yet she had come here. And so....

She blinked once, the barest expression of puzzlement. "Explain."

The statement was clear of contradictions. Nigredo could not object. "Yeah." Probably. Except he couldn't remember feeling particularly traumatized. What had happened, beyond the unwanted, was expected. Fit for children (weapons) of their caliber.

But that was a thought for another day.

He looked at her, eyes fixed on the space behind her shoulder. "They told me I was getting a visitor today. I didn't recognize the name," he said. "The person who came, however, was you. I never thought they would bring you." Hoped they wouldn't. "You're not supposed to be here. You wouldn't be taken in with their stories, especially in light of the inconsistencies. But you're...exactly like her. I half-expect to hear you call me by number."

Though nothing changed in how the boy appeared, his voice took on a bitter edge. "So who are you?"

Insanity seemed more of a viable option than trauma at that. She wouldn't be taken in, that was true, but there were no stories given to her. She had seen the effects of that night--the house she had visited and now resided in a mess, her Father in the hospital, and the twins missing. Stories? The girl almost wished. It was something that made more sense than what had happened. There were no inconsistences, except with her brother himself. Which was so unlike him.

"Who am I?" she asked in return, anger slipping into a sneer. How dare he. If he wished to play games, she could get down to business then. She had no patience for things like this. He was wasting her time. So pleasantries would be dismissed. Care shifted aside. Perhaps that was why she had really came. "Tell me this, if we're asking questions," the girl said, even tone tainted with a rising anger.

"Who are you? Because my brother wouldn't shoot his own father. Am I wrong?" Her eyes narrowed with emotion that she didn't care to share. "Why," she spat out. "Why would you that?"

In a funny way, whether through the conscious or subconscious mind, Nigredo had anticipated every word. There was nothing strange in her line of questioning, and if he was being honest with himself, she deserved to lay the matter bare. Even if they were speaking of different things. Even if this girl was not his sister. Even if as everything fell to certainty, there still existed doubt.

He opened his mouth, features set in stone.

"Father deserved it. He had to die."

Die.

Disappear.

The emotion fell from her face like skin sloughed off of a wound. Her mouth worked once, eyes blinked, and then she was momentarily still. Nothing moved. The girl blinked again. "He... what?" The question was a demand, anger and surprise mixing fluidly now, and in all of that, there was hurt, and she would never understand why.

She had trusted him.

She could have said anything then, chose from a multitude of unanswered questions multiplied more by those simple two sentences, but she knew none of those would give the answers she actually needed. Pretty words and explanations, and the way two people could be speaking on the same subject and saying entirely different things. No. Nothing like that. She would.... "This is you, then. This is what you've chose."

The statements rose at the end, questions in truth. The first traces of a different emotion was trickling through the words; some kind of wishful thinking, pleading but not, hoping without much faith--living for a memory. Something would change in this moment, and she wasn't quite sure what would happen next.

Nigredo did not have to hazard a guess as to the face she wore. It might have been his own, had he stood in her shoes. For that, the younger felt the well-known pang of guilt, with the usual depressive tones. He clasped his hands together and looked away entirely.

"I'm sorry. This isn't what you wanted to hear." He had known how much she'd devoted herself to the man they had called Father. He'd known because once he had felt similarly. If this incarnation and his own emotions matched, then she would be...

A wistful smile touched his lips, albeit hope wasn't something he could communicate. Not after such a display. "Will you still visit me?" asked Nigredo flatly, knowing his chances for the positive were slim.

"What I wanted to hear doesn't matter," the girl shot back. He knew that. Facts and actual things were what did, and she needed nothing like coddling. "You didn't answer...." ...That was unslightly. A lax of following her sibling. Out of character. Unlike her. Was she actually upset? Her eyes narrowed, annoyed at her own behavior. "You did."

His smile added to her annoyance. Her brother was settled in his own decision, resolved in a way about it. From here, there was nothing to be done. She could put faith in the people here, they were paying enough money for her to do-so, but the little she'd seen--bruises and rumors of fighting--she wasn't convinced. And yet, she wanted to be. More--she still had some sort of untouched trust in him. He understood his own duty to his family. She knew he did. He would become something their Father would be proud of. She just needed to wait and see if time would overcome this surge of rebellion and instabilities.

The girl took a breath, letting it out slowly. Her countenance calmed, changed back to how it was previously. "Of course I will. Don't be an idiot." She slid something out of her jacket pocket, a small envelope. "Take this. Father made me do it--you know I don't enjoy that kind of thing--but it's something to help you." Maybe, she didn't add. She would not be uncertain. "Listen," she said firmly, stoic even in this. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Of course. That did nothing to change the fact, however, that the words were unpleasant factors for his sister. Nigredo could tell in a way. Given the risk of a well-aimed smack, unfortunately, he had no choice but to tactfully dropped his line of the conversation. 'Citrine' had the gist; there was no need to extrapolate.

In the silence, she spoke again, pulling his eyes toward her. To the boy's surprise, he caught the offering of a paper envelope, an item he'd only heard about but never seen. Nigredo accepted and at half-attention, he turned the envelope in his hand several times. The talk of 'Father' brought enough of a morbid curiosity to open the thing immediately, only to stop himself at the last minute.

The child looked up at his sister, not sure if he had caught the entirety of her sentence. To be sorry was a rare instance, especially when she didn't have to be. "Don't be." He smiled, one more pleasant this time around. One Nigredo saved for those he especially liked. "You were there."

That he took the envelope was enough; that he didn't rip it on the spot was fine. Holding onto it meant he was interested, at the very least, and that meant that perhaps they still mattered. No. Untrue. There was something permanent in the two stoic siblings' bond; things like brief insanity and horrific violence notwithstanding. She pursed her mouth, nodding as if to a question. There was no need to affirm that.

"I wasn't," she countered, with no real force behind it, but her eyes said she understood. What had happened would not have likely changed if she was there, perhaps. The questions she had at the beginning, the why's, the motives, were no longer necessary. She had enough to mull over for the time being. She stood, then, brushed off her pants, and looked at her brother. A large portion of her would rather just take him with her now. But nothing would change in that. Not the things that needed to. "I expect to see you shortly," the girl said, severe tone almost affectionate. "Get out of here soon. I'll be waiting for you at home."

A brief, curt nod, and then she turned, heading for the door. There wasn't enough said, and at the same time, it was enough, and either way, there was no need for goodbyes between them. There never was.

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Day 43: Waiting Room/Lobby 2, Third Shift

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