Coup d'�tat

November 2nd, 2022 a.t.b.

Kallen caught up with Lelouch not because he was bad at running--although he was physically not up for anything more strenuous than a five-minute brisk trot. He was waylaid by no less than three aides about matters regarding the delegates desire to wear their cultural costumes, the order of their presentation after the coronation and the matter of security at the reception.

“You’re still taking care of all the small details, even now,” Kallen said, amusement evident in her tone and demeanour as she watched Lelouch bark out orders in the middle of a long gallery lined with what looked like priceless works of art. He was obviously annoyed by all the petty concerns coming his way.

“It has to go without a hitch,” Lelouch said, looking up at last. “The whole--”

“The whole world is watching, I know,” Kallen parroted. “When has it not been watching?”

She held up her hands in surrender when Lelouch looked like he was about to go into a long dramatic spiel about how they had waived the right to privacy the moment they had chosen to become rebels. “All right, so tell me how you’ve been. Asides from taking over the Empire, I mean.”

“Busy.” Lelouch afforded a rare smile. “And yourself?”

“Busy and exciting at the same time,” Kallen replied. “How’s Nunnally?”

“She’s fine,” Lelouch said, looking happier to be talking about his sister. He was a lot less defensive and secretive about her now. “So . . . the others?”

“We’re trying our best. It’s not like we can’t manage without you--you had to do what you did . . . But that doesn’t make it any easier,” Kallen said slowly. “For me, at least.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Kallen injected quickly as Lelouch froze. “It’s just hard knowing that I have to lose good friends even after the war. I lost my brother and many others before you even came along. I almost lost my mother before I woke up and stopped being a jerk to her.”

She took a deep breath, aware that she was beginning to ramble. “Just don’t cut yourself off. You still have friends and we’ll be here for you. If you want.”

“You’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.” Lelouch looked . . . surprised at her offer.

“The arrogant jerk act was a bit off-putting at first, but you’d be surprised what people can get used to,” Kallen said brightly. The Order had been staffed by a great many eccentric characters, back in the day. It made their absence all the more noticeable now. Some members obviously had no future in the civil service of their respective countries and it had rankled a little that certain people were necessary in wartime but not in peacetime. Lelouch vi Britannia came with too many unwelcome associations--and he knew it all too well.

“I’ll remember that,” Lelouch said, “if we survive the next few weeks.”

“Give my regards to the pizza woman,” Kallen said. “I’m not sure if I can find her in this pile.”

“You can tell me yourself,” C.C. said, emerging from a hallway to the side as though she had been summoned.

“C.C., you haven’t exploded yet from too much pizza,” Kallen said coolly.

“Kallen, you haven’t been blown up in a freak Knightmare accident yet,” C.C. said, equally frosty.

Lelouch was taken aback by this chilly hostility. He almost took a step back so as not to be caught in the crossfire of their glares. Then Kallen cracked first and grinned.

“We’re joking! You should see the look on your face!” Kallen said, breaking out into honest peals of laughter.

“It’s been a rather trying month, as you might have noticed,” Lelouch snapped. He looked like he was regretting that outburst in the next moment as C.C. nudged Kallen and whispered something to her behind her hand.

“It’s all right, we understand,” Kallen said, nodding sympathetically. “You have to catch up whenever you can. Should I say something to Suzaku?”

“Say what to Suzaku?” Lelouch’s brows drew together in suspicion.

“Maybe we should hint it to him instead,” Kallen said to C.C., who shrugged.

They were saved from the inevitable hissy-fit when a mobile phone went off in the vicinity of Lelouch’s pocket.

Lelouch looked at it in surprise before toggling the "answer" key and that alone should have warned Kallen that something was not quite right. He did not speak, obviously waiting for the other party to identify itself.

"This is a private number," he said after a moment. "You got it from--"

C.C. and Kallen looked at each other as a long pause ensued. Lelouch was obviously holding his expression carefully blank as he listened to whatever was being said.

"All right. We should discuss this privately. In ten minutes." Snapping the mobile closed decisively, he turned to find Kallen and C.C. looking at him appraisingly.

"Something came up?"

"You could say that. If you would excuse me--"

“Fine, go on,” Kallen said, resigned. “You can call us when you get the important things settled.”

“If this is as important as it’s supposed to be,” Lelouch replied, though he did look apologetic as he turned to go.

“Well, that was progress,” Kallen said to no-one in particular. C.C. looked amused at her reaction. “How do you stand it?”

“I don’t have to. Suzaku gets to deal with his eccentricities. Along with the borderline incest, paranoia, shitty attitude and theatrics,” C.C. added. “I think that comes with being Britannian royalty.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Kallen said, eying the arches of the grand hallway they were standing in. The detailed friezes on the ceiling framed both nymph-like angels and war-like valkyries--appropriately reflective of the rather bipolar nature of Britannia’s role in the development of modern culture and the flat-out conquering of everything else. “I wouldn’t know how to deal with . . . well, all this. Must have been bad for a kid.”

Some people really should come with labels. Comes with baggage. Comes with a lot of baggage. Or Elusive and not-always-helpful but still a friend.

C.C. looked like she knew what Kallen was thinking. About her own baggage. That was the weird thing about C.C.--she was able to read most people but remained annoyingly opaque to others. To date, Kallen still had a very hazy idea of her actual motivations other than she had some long-standing connection to Kururugi Suzaku.

“I can’t say I blame him,” Kallen said when C.C. was obviously not going to offer any personal insights. Looking back, she could see how her own life had been influenced by her parents--who they had been and what paths they had chosen. “And Suzaku . . . he was only ten when he was orphaned.”

The other woman looked down the impressive hallway lined with artistic history--a great deal of it probably plundered from Europe--and her amber-gold gaze rested a while on a family portrait of some past generation of Britannian royalty. Kallen could not actually see any family resemblance to place them as Lelouch’s ancestors, but there was a certain regal arrogance there that practically demanded acknowledgment and a few bended knees.

“That’s what they do these days, right?” C.C. mused. “Blame their parents, their upbringing and background. Though it might be true for them . . .”

“Did you know Suzaku’s parents?” Kallen had surmised--after several years of observation--that C.C. had known Suzaku since he was young.

“Not his parents,” C.C. said after an odd pause. “Only his guardian. Before he joined the army. She was a translator.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

September, 2010 a.t.b.

Angela Nakamura was the product of expatriate parents. Her parents--Japanese father and Britannian-Chinese mother--had lived in different locales all over the world at one point or another when they had been working in foreign embassies.

Educated overseas, Angela had chosen to settle in Japan. She worked as a translator for the Foreign Affairs Ministry until the invasion of 2010.

After the war, she was offered her old job in the new administration--one of the few positions that the Britannians had been willing to concede because they needed native speakers--and as guardian to one Kururugi Suzaku. She was not blind to the fact that her dual nationality had secured for her a place in the new settlement and it had been with no small degree of trepidation that she walked into a private meeting with her superiors regarding a new assignment.

It was a delicate situation, she had been told. They needed a more neutral party to take charge of the boy--who was not, this was to be stressed, a hostage or pawn of the Britannians. Even the families of the conglomerates based in Kyoto and Tokyo who were cooperating with Britannia were not neutral enough for their liking. And the implications of placing the boy with a Britannian family might ruffle a few more feathers than necessary. Her parents had been former diplomats, right? Surely she could understand the potential ramifications here?

It was not exactly an offer she could refuse, although she had questioned her level of suitability for such a task. She would be fine, they said. It would only be for a while.

“Well fuck this,” she said in the privacy of the washroom stall afterwards.

It was a phrase she repeated mentally when she went to pick up an obviously shell-shocked boy of roughly ten years of age. She had seen that kind of look in the eyes of children who had fled the genocides of the African continent and survived the famines in China.

“He probably needs therapy,” she said to the officials who seemed to be in charge when they brought her to sign the forms.

They made assurances that something would be done. Things were not very settled right now. Maybe they could have the counsellor at his prospective new school do it? Could she sign this in triplicate?

“Officious pricks,” she muttered as they left with the forms and she was left to collect one traumatised child. There would not be real help coming any time soon, she knew it in her bones. It did not matter who was in charge, they would shove the matter right under the carpet if they could.

“Safety first,” she said as she strapped the helmet on him. “We’re getting out of here now.”

Fortunately for her, they had not asked about her driving arrangements and they were out of the car-park before anyone could notice that the motorbike was hers.

Her house was in a residential district that they had cordoned off for inclusion in the new Tokyo Settlement. It was good enough for a single woman, she had thought at the time. The route home always passed the road on the boundary between the bombed ruins of one of the largest metropolitan districts in the country and the new buildings being erected on the other side. The boy did look out at the landscape of shattered skyscrapers they motored past. Once. Then had continued to stare down at his lap.

“I’m thirty-one and not cut out for single parenthood,” she said to the boy. Who remained silent as he stared at his feet in the entryway of the house. “Just don’t touch the bike and we’ll be all right,” she said, relenting at last.

The boy had only nodded without looking up and she knew straight away that this was going to be a lot harder than even she had anticipated.

* * * * * * * * * * * *