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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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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