Disclaimer: Code Geass – with its characters, settings, and all other borrowed elements here – is the sole property of its creators. I own nothing, though you know – I would if I could.

(for overall warnings, see act I)

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full house

act iv

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While the games he played against many a nobleman were always predictable, the gambling den itself was not. Sometimes everything would go smoothly, and he would either slide into his seat in front of an untouched board (Black, always) or take over a 'hopeless' position left by an inept player who didn't believe in second chances. Other times the rooms would be double-booked, and until a space opened up he and Rivalz (or Rolo) would be forced to either wait or wander the halls.

Occasionally, Lelouch would try the latter. Once, he made his way past poker tables and slot machines, drawn to a small crowd that had congregated around a lanky man with a wide-brimmed hat and an even wider smile, standing behind a counter.

His challenge was simple enough: 'Find the queen.' He showed them the Queen of Clubs that day, and placed it between two other cards - Aces, Hearts and Diamonds - before turning all three over and shuffling them across one another.

The first few times, the stakes were low and the Queen of Clubs was always in the center. But on the last shuffle, after the exact same hand-motions and a particularly drastic ante-up, she was just no longer there.

"I saw what you did," Lelouch murmured to the man as soon as the crowd had dispersed.

The man didn't look up from counting his take. "Hmmm?"

"During the last round." Lelouch picked up the cards without asking permission. "You did it differently. Instead of throwing the Queen down, you did this." He pinned the card against his ring finger, allowing one of the Aces to slide into its place instead. He let the Queen fall and flipped it over, proving his point. "There was nothing remarkable there, it was just sleight-of-hand."

"Good eye." The man chuckled, and refuted nothing. "But it doesn't matter. Not everyone has that. And people only ever react to what they see." He took the cards back and thumbed them together in one hand, grinning the whole way. And then he laid them out on the table: the entire Royal Family, of the suit of Clubs. "Even if it's a lie."

"Lelouch?"

The memory fades and vanishes at the sound of that voice, and with a blink Lelouch turns away from the window. "Sorry," he says with a smile. "Did I wake you?"

Suzaku shakes his head. Moonlight seeping through the glass sends soft shadows playing over the bare skin of his torso, his legs tangled in the sheets beneath. His wrists are tied together above his head - cloth, this time, looped around a column of the wooden headboard. "What are you doing over there?"

"Just getting some air," Lelouch answers him, truthfully. "Go back to sleep. I'll join you in a bit."

But Suzaku merely shifts on the bed, as much as his bound wrists will allow, until he is lying on his back and facing the ceiling. He heaves a sigh, and then he doesn't speak for some time.

"I had a dream. About Nunnally."

Lelouch cracks a small smile. "Oh?"

He nods. "It was that time we tried to make you a cake for your birthday. The servants at the house had no idea what half of those ingredients were, so we had to..." Suzaku laughs a bit, fondly. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Of course it was." He recalls peering through a crack in the kitchen that day, at the half-opened bag of dry ingredients purchased from the market across town. There, he was able to watch a nine-year-old boy ineptly following Nunnally's patient, spoken instructions, with flour and sugar and egg yolk smeared over his face and hands...for all of thirty seconds, before he realized this was ridiculous and joined them in the kitchen. "But I appreciated it nonetheless, no? And you would have burned down the kitchen if I hadn't intervened."

"Yeah." Suzaku isn't smiling. "I wish we could do that again."

Lelouch drops his gaze. "Me too." There's no denying he wants to see his sister again; he wants to see what she looks like now, after seven years, face-to-face and not through a second-hand snapshot in a newspaper. He wants to hear her voice. Bringing her here will be difficult, if even possible at all.

But he managed it with Suzaku, didn't he? Maybe, if he can time it so that -

"Lelouch...I didn't mean to kill her..."

He frowns, unsure of what to make of that for a few seconds. He crosses the room with long, quick strides the moment he does, seating himself on the edge of the bed and taking Suzaku's face with his hands, tilting it towards the feeble light.

(His eyes are hazy, half-lidded, with the pupils dilated. And while they seem to be focused on Lelouch's face, he isn't quite sure what they see.)

"...Go back to sleep, Suzaku," he manages.

Suzaku shakes his head again, weakly. "I never should have let them equip the FLEIJA - "

"Go back to sleep, Suzaku," Lelouch says, loudly (tightly) this time.

"I know you won't forgive me for what I did," he whispers. "I won't forgive myself, either. But, Lelouch...if this is the only reason you're going through with this..."

Lelouch sighs, staring down at his hands. He wonders, if he leaves the room, if Suzaku's hallucination will fall apart. Or, if it will simply be replaced by something else - something more potent, perhaps? He wonders if this is part of the withdrawal process, or another malady entirely; as far as he recalls, they never had this conversation. "'This'," he probes carefully. "Zero Requiem?"

Suzaku nods his head. "Is there no other way?"

A small part of him almost wants to laugh. "Having second thoughts?"

"I'll do whatever you ask me to," comes the reply. "I promised you that much. But..."

Lelouch pulls back. "Suzaku - "

"I don't want to kill you."

For a long time he just looks into Suzaku's eyes; he doesn't know whether to think that the earnestness he sees in them now may have one day, seven years ago, been genuine. And all that pain, all that regret - whether it's coming from somewhere important, or really just a side-effect borne of abusing Refrain.

But if Suzaku is simply dreaming, he tells himself - well, it doesn't matter what he says, does it? Anything exchanged between them here and now will all be for naught in the morning, once the hallucination ends.

That's how it works, right? It has to be.

Lelouch buries his face in his hands. And then, he thinks of Rolo, and of the strange man running the three-card-monte at the gambling den, when he pulls his hands away to reveal a smile. "I'll think about it, Suzaku. All right? We've already come so far - everything from here on was planned with the Demon Emperor's death in mind, but..." (It's odd. Lying, he's come to learn, is supposed to be much easier than this, especially when it's for some higher purpose. But he stifles the part of him that finds this sickening and goes on.) "Maybe we can figure something else out. I'll try. Let me sleep on it, all right?"

If anything, the way Suzaku finally relaxes, leaning into Lelouch's hand on his head with a small sigh, is somehow worth the trouble. "Thank you." He smiles. "You'll think of something."

Lelouch's thumb ghosts over his brow. "I don't know about that."

"You will." Suzaku smiles more broadly now, and his eyes slide shut. "I trust you."

And here Lelouch can think of nothing to say that won't shatter the illusion. So he doesn't say anything at all.

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That morning, Suzaku wakes up to find Lelouch sitting at the side-table, blowing on a cup of tea, filling the air with the scent of lemons. He frowns when he notices his arms already untied. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, immediately, to which Lelouch shakes his head and flashes him a strange smile. ("No, Suzaku. Not at all.")

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Later that day, Suzaku grits his teeth as wind whips through his hair and catches on the ends of his trenchcoat. It's a welcome change from the sluggish heat of the past few days, he thinks, and yet still the thought of going back inside is tempting.

But he promised Lelouch. And he's almost done, so he can take a few more minutes of this.

The wind mercifully dies down a bit when Suzaku finishes nailing the last of the rungs to the stringers. With this done, he picks up the shipwright's adze at his feet (one that Lelouch salvaged on the second year, tossed among the rest of the tools and promptly forgot about) and runs it along the ladder's sides, and then wherever it can fit between the rungs.

Though, he supposes it doesn't really matter now, not when Lelouch has the Code.

Sighing, he looks over his handiwork and hoists one end of the ladder over the fence. There, one of Lelouch's sheep watches him boredly as he straddles the ladder and braces his hands against the stringers near the top, testing its strength.

"What do you think?" he asks in jest. The animal merely looks at him, continuing its program of slow chewing. "Yeah, I thought so." He slings the ladder over his shoulder without further comment, picks up the tools along the way and makes his way slowly back to the house.

He's going to miss this place, he realizes without really wanting to. It's not as lively as the city, nor as sophisticated as the Kururugi shrine, but...but. Something about how quiet it is here, how cut-off they are from the rest of the world, is oddly appealing. Even the insufferable climate has begun to grow on him, and it's barely been a week.

But it's better than he deserves, he reminds himself as he places the ladder on its side beside the house. And he made another promise, seven years ago. This is why he can't stay.

"C.C. should be here a bit before noon tomorrow," Lelouch tells him as soon as he enters the house. "The plan was to have you take the jet back alone. Will that be alright?"

"Sure." He thinks of Nunnally, how firm she was in that last press conference, and how delicate she'd seemed in the gardens. It's disconcerting to think that, in less than thirty-six hours, he'll be donning that mask and suit once more. He hopes the last order he gave was enough to keep Schneizel in check.

"Packed already?"

"I didn't really bring much," he confesses. He deposits the tools he borrowed in their usual spot before padding into the kitchen. Lelouch is busy stirring something in a large pot. "Sick of me already?" he jokes weakly.

"If self-deprecation were a virtue, they'd have built a monument in your honor by now." Lelouch rolls his eyes and Suzaku chuckles at that, but stops when he whirls around, bringing the ladle to Suzaku's lips with remarkable dexterity. "Taste."

Suzaku shrinks back on instinct, protesting, "Hot! Hot!"

"Oh, for the love of..." Lelouch glares at him, before blowing on the liquid petulantly. It's milky, but the taste reveals chicken stock, and a hint of ginger and pineapple. "More salt? What?"

"It's good," he comments, licking his lips. "What is it?"

"Something different." Lelouch stirs once, before sampling it himself. He hums tonelessly around the edge of the ladle. "C.C. hates it with a passion."

"Which is why you made enough to last the rest of the month?" Suzaku laughs, pointing at the massive pot.

"It's the least I can do to spite her," Lelouch smirks.

"For ditching you?"

"For what she did to you." Lelouch smiles at him fondly, and opens the cupboard door above his head with one hand before he can think of anything to say to that. "Here, help me with this. There's one last thing I want to show you tonight."

.

It's been fourteen years since he's last seen the sky like this.

Here, without the blinding city lights or the desperate flares of a military encampment, there are only these: darkness, the moon, and thousands of stars.

"And that one?" Lelouch nods, pointing up.

Suzaku squints. Lying atop a thin blanket in the middle of the field, blades of grass tickling the skin of his arms. The night-time breeze prompts a pleasant shiver, and it carries with it the smell of wildflowers. "Which one?"

"That one." Lelouch gestures more precisely, somewhat straining his arm, as he traces out the constellation: seven stars, three close together in the center.

He remembers this now, from fourteen years ago, atop the hill behind the Kururugi shrine. "Orion."

"Excellent." Lelouch smiles as he brings his arm down. "Though the people here call it something else, entirely."

"What do they call it?" he asks curiously. Lelouch tells him, and his lips quirk. He tries to pronounce it, several times, but the prolonged l's and harsh, truncated k's elude him.

"Don't worry about it." A soft chuckle cuts through the rustle of leaves, and the bleating of a faraway lamb. "It isn't important."

"Of course it's important. It's not - " Suzaku frowns, and then shoots to sitting position when something bright streaks across the sky. "Did you see that?"

Lelouch, however, doesn't even budge. "It's probably not what you think it is," he drawls. At Suzaku's pointed stare, and the obvious unspoken question, he shrugs. "Aircraft, maybe?"

"...Really?" he scowls, not buying that in the slightest. When Lelouch merely raises an eyebrow, Suzaku shakes his head and looks back up: whatever it was, it's no longer there. "If I ignore what you just said, do I still get a wish?"

"A wish?" He doesn't need to look to know that Lelouch is quietly laughing at him. "Are you serious?"

"No." Suzaku catches himself, realizing how winsome that sounded. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he locks his arms around them and stares back up at the sky. "You don't get to make fun of me," he teases back. "You were the one who told me about it, remember?"

"I remember," Lelouch sniffs. "Your point?"

"...I guess I don't have one." Suzaku smiles wryly, locking his eyes onto the three stars making up Orion's belt. "We believed it though...was that really so long ago? It's funny how, you're a kid and you see a shooting star. You make a wish. You get all excited, because you know it's going to come true." He chuckles. "And then you grow up."

He feels Lelouch's eyes on him for a long time before the other man speaks. "What would you wish for?"

Suzaku wrinkles his nose. "I'm not telling you! Then it won't come true."

Lelouch groans, digging his knuckles into his eyes. "You are such a child," he grouses.

Suzaku merely grins at that. Tired of straining his neck like this, he leans back and stretches out on top of the blanket once more. He laces his fingers behind his head and takes a deep breath - no smoke, no perfumes, no artificial air fresheners.

Just this.

"I wish we had a second chance," he murmurs softly. "You know...to make things right."

He doesn't get much relief as a reward for admitting this - not that he was expecting any in the first place. Still, the world doesn't stop for this confession: the breeze keeps on blowing, the leaves keep on rustling, the sheep keep on bleating in the distance. He keeps on breathing.

And the silence stretches on for so long that, for a moment, he begins to suspect Lelouch may have fallen asleep. But a quick glance proves him completely wrong, when he sees Lelouch fixing him with an unreadable stare.

"What?"

"You're an idiot," Lelouch mutters, propping himself up on one arm. "Why did you say that aloud? Now it won't come true."

Suzaku nearly chokes on his laughter. "So you do believe?" he manages, between snickers. "From now on, you don't ever get to call me immature - mmph!"

And then Lelouch is kissing him, hard, and he doesn't really understand why. He doesn't understand, before his eyes slide shut, why Lelouch's are smoldering, a dark and glittery violet even in the dim moonlight. He doesn't understand the desperate press of Lelouch's hands on his shoulders, or why Lelouch pulls back only to whisper, "Shut up," before kissing him again, harder this time, with his fingers tangling in his hair until Suzaku finds he can barely even think.

But he welcomes it, anyway.

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That night, almost a full two hours after they first stumbled back into the house, Lelouch flashes an unseen smile at an exhausted Suzaku, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

He waits until the hour changes. And then he swings his legs over the bed, retrieves his clothes and dresses mutely.

He doesn't bother tying Suzaku up, tonight. Because the Code is a marvelous thing, but it's not this that fuels his steps as he exits the bedroom, making his way downstairs.

It takes far too long to lug two of the boxes up into the dining room, but he manages eventually. Because the root cellar is just that - a root cellar, and while it's more than adequate to store all of these things, it doesn't allow for much else. It doesn't allow him to work.

Lelouch supposes that's what he's doing, as he brings out the most recent newspapers - two and a half years' worth. He places the stacks on the other chair and skims through them chronologically, a pair of scissors and a pencil by his side. There, quickly exhausting the large surface of the table, he builds a crude timeline out of news clippings and annotations: the world, two years ago. Twenty-three months ago. Twenty-two. And so on.

(Intermission: A feature article from a newspaper dated March 1st, 2021. There, a young girl opened up about her experiences with Refrain, how it tore her family apart. Her mother, especially, suffered the most, but she was past that now and that was all that mattered. Eight lines from the bottom, the interviewer asked her how long it took for her mother to recover completely, to which she replied, after some deliberation: "I'd say...twelve months. Give or take.")

Lelouch puts this carefully aside.

He gets up from the table at four in the morning, only to withdraw an old map of the world from the cellar and bring it back upstairs. He spreads it over the table and empties the pin cushion from the sewing kit in the second drawer, marking cities accordingly. He arranges the clippings and looks for trends. He makes sketches and notes all over the oceans, until the pencil is blunt and he has to sharpen it with a knife. And again. And so on.

At some point, he thinks back on all the phone calls he shared with Nunnally, noticing how much older she sounded every time. He thinks of merchants exchanging portents of doom.

And, most of all, he thinks of Suzaku.

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The King of Clubs was Alexander the Great. His mother believed him destined for greatness even while still in her womb, while others believed his father may have been Zeus himself.

Trained by Leonidas, and then by Aristotle, Alexander was king at twenty. By thirty, he had created one of the largest empires in ancient history. His desire: "to reach the ends of the world and the Great Outer Sea."

He would ultimately wind up falling short.

But failing to reach such a lofty goal did nothing to undermine Alexander's brilliance - in battle, he suffered not a single defeat, which is why he would go down in history as one of the greatest commanders of all time.

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He thinks of Suzaku when he steps back and looks over his handiwork just after sunrise, going over all the implications in his head.

And - for better or for worse - he understands.

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The sun burns, in much the same way as it did when he first got here, when the plane arrives.

"For what it's worth," Lelouch quips, "I had no idea she'd even taken something from you, much less something that important. I don't approve, but." He shrugs, and there's a hint of remorse in his eyes. "I would have stopped her."

"Thanks." Suzaku allows himself a small smile, pushing up his sunglasses. The sunlight is too bright, blinding off the sides of the plane. But soon there will be none of this, so he figures he'll take as much as he can get. "I don't resent her for it, by the way. It's fine."

"Hmmm. Noble."

They both watch as the plane finally touches the ground. But just as Suzaku begins to walk towards it, he feels a hand on his arm.

"Suzaku." Lelouch looks at him with gravity, and his grip tightens when Suzaku acknowledges him. "Stop this. Alright? Do it slowly, take as long as you need to wean yourself off of it safely. But get clean."

Suzaku breathes a sigh, and looks away. He supposes he ought to be surprised Lelouch waited until the very last minute to tell him this at all. But... "I'll try," he says weakly.

"No. I want you to promise. Because..." He looks up at that, and when he does Lelouch sets his jaw. His eyes are burning, but it's not the same as last night. Nowhere near the same. "In a year, I will send for you again. And things will be different, so I'll need you at your peak. Do you understand?"

For several seconds Suzaku just stands there, unable to do just that. But comprehension dawns eventually, and when it does - he swallows hard. He tries to fight back the sudden surge of hope, if only because he can no longer deny it for what it is. "You mean...?"

Lelouch smiles. But warm as it is, he sees traces of the other man's all-too-familiar smirk in there, somewhere. And his voice drops until it is barely audible: "Last night - you wished for a second chance, didn't you? I accept it: that Geass."

Suzaku takes a breath. He eyes part of the sigil peeking out from the top of Lelouch's collar. And then he nods, fisting his hand and bringing it up to his chest.

But he doesn't say those three words, because they no longer apply. Not anymore (or: not yet).

He doesn't know who started the kiss - he only knows that it is slow, deep, fervent. It is 'thank you' and 'promise' and 'goodbye', and so many other things, at once.

It is over the moment the engines die.

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And the Knave of Clubs - that was Lancelot.

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Three: this is the number of lobes on the suit (also: the number of other forms it can take - clovers, flowers and in some countries, acorns) and the number tied to the clubs.

Three: this number is tied intimately to how we perceive our universe - and, perhaps because of this, repays all of the superstition and folklore in which it is immersed. It is either lucky (third time's the charm) or not (third light; and one, two, three - gold, silver, death.) Yet it is invaluable for synchrony, and for balance - in both cases, the least required to accomplish either.

Three: the number of seconds C.C. lingers by the plane as Suzaku approaches, before making her way to Lelouch's side. There, she gives Suzaku several short, bland words that Lelouch can't hear, but he hopes they approximate an apology.

Three: the number of minutes it takes before the jet is finally airborne. They watch its ascent until it disappears into the clouds above, and in that time Lelouch finds himself reliving everything that took place this past week: every word, every glare, every caress; every laugh, every nightmare, every kiss.

Three: the number of times Lelouch lied in seven days (and the number of times it should have hurt less).

"So." C.C. thrusts a wrapped bundle at him without saying hello, an odd curve to her lips. "This was unexpected. What's this I hear about a year?"

Lelouch nods shortly, peeling the cloth away - a new chessboard still in its box, pieces in glass and black marble - before breaking into a slow smile.

.

And all time is stolen time.

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[ end ]

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Notes:

- 'Full house' is the term for a five-card combination hand in poker. It's composed of three-of-a-kind plus one pair.

And…that's actually all. Ahahaha. Seriously, I'm not sure what else there is to say about this fic. Um…it was a good experiment, and I learned a lot along the way? (I did, though).

Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Cake and hugs as well to those who shared their thoughts along the way. (pokes at ghost-readers with a catfish) C'mon, you know you want cake and hugs too…

I kid. I love you all. See you (maybe) next fic!