All That Remains

She had many lovers before. The hordes of men and women who had thrown themselves at her while under the spell of her Geass. The odd dalliance over the long centuries. The . . . current state of affairs. But she had never with slept with a dead man until now.

The human mind was a lot more powerful than most people knew. Its ability to influence the body’s physiology had only been sketchily documented. The miracles it could produce had been ridiculed by skepticism. The tragedies it hid would never see the light of day.

This was not Zero she held in her arms. This was somebody else, someone forgotten. Someone who shared the secret that lingered between them for so long.

She had not taken a lover in two decades. The years had been kind to him, all things considered. He had always been athletic and his body was pleasing enough to get some of the Renaissance masters hot and bothered.

It was . . . different. She knew about the two of them. In those scant hours before the end. Beyond grief and beyond hope. Strangely pure despite all the blood that had stained their hands. It was different from what she had, so she had never felt remotely envious.

But he had shared something in common with her and even that was enough for them. It was rather sad, the two of them desperately grasping for scraps at life’s banquet like starving animals. But it was enough.

No, not for them the satisfaction of a warm bed with a flesh-and-blood lover in it. They were cursed. They both knew what it was like, to search for what was missing and knowing very well that they would never attain it.

She did not wonder about the last time he had given in to raw emotion. He did not ask about the last time she had held a warm body the way she did now, with him between her thighs with the taste of her on his lips.

It had been a very long time. She arched under his tongue, spreading her legs wider. Silently coaxing him inside her. He moved without prompting. Her grabbing his shoulders to hold him close as her climax built within her.

She was not going to pretend that--

He would not pretend that--

Fortunately, it was over before they could overanalyse why they were doing this. It was enough. For now.

They took a shower to get themselves presentable again. It was only polite to reciprocate when a man offered to wash your back.

Under the warm spray of the shower, his hand traced the scar under her breasts as the suds rinsed away.

“I haven’t given the power to anyone since then,” she said to the moisture-studded wall.

He knew what that meant.

“Eternity’s not so bad. In the right company,” she said, in case he felt any pity for her.

“Aah. I see.” About as much pity as she felt for him apparently.

They towelled off and sat on the bed in the hotel-issued one-size-fits-everyone robes as she dried her hair.

She listened, over the whirring of the hairdryer, to his concerns about how Zero would continue on as a symbol of justice. Some men were the same no matter what century it was. Sleep with them once and they unloaded on you. So he was not actually talking about himself per say--because this was larger than one individual alone--and she was one of the few people who would not think that he was crazy--crazier than he had been--right off the bat, but it still fell under the domain of “male things”.

“Schneizel’s right,” she said at one point. “People always forget. The fifty-year cycle and all that.”

“So you think there’s only thirty years left before the end of peace?”

“Less than that.” And that was her most optimistic prediction. She had seen it happen too many times already.

He fell silent then, obviously mulling over the problem in his head. She did not need to read his mind to know what he was thinking.

“There’s another way. Another option, if you choose it,” she said, setting down the hairdryer. “If you want--”

“No--” Lightening fast, he had her wrist pinned to the mattress before she could complete the sentence. Several heartbeats passed as they remained locked in a frozen struggle, but she made no sound even though his fingers were digging painfully into her flesh. She met his wide-eyed glare coolly--she had stared down worse before. But this could qualify for the top five spots.

He chose to back down first.

“No, not like that,” he said with an apologetic smile as he released her wrist. “I know you offered because you wanted to help, but not like that.”

“I’m glad my intentions weren’t misunderstood,” she said dryly as she massaged her wrist.

“It can’t be done that way,” he said, almost as though he was trying to convince himself. “Zero has to live on . . . in someone else.”

“It still means someone has to ‘die’ to become Zero,” she pointed out. More than one, if she read him right. That old plan again.

A small sacrifice to him, no doubt. She felt sorry the moment she thought that. He could not help what he was.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He got up from the bed and dressed absent-mindedly. No doubt he was formulating some scheme to recruit some already-damaged kid or something similar. But she was not overly concerned. Justice was blind and impartial, even to its mortal avatar.

“Will you stay?” It was the closest she had ever come to asking him for anything.

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

He thought he would dream in her company, in her bed. Dreams of blood and swords interspaced with the sound of cheers. He did not dream while they lay together. He wondered if he would wake up in tears, mourning what was lost once again. He did not dream.

It was probably one of the most restful nights he had experienced. He had not slept like this since he was ten--

Oh, but this was a dream. He was dreaming that he was asleep.

He stood up and walked a little further, drawn by a flickering orange light ahead of him.

It was a campfire. A tent made of old blankets strung from tree branches sagged cheerfully as a backdrop. There would be places for three small individuals inside, as well as a hole leading to a subterranean cave in case of rainy weather. He knew this the same way he knew the trees and stones around him. He knew where this place was. He knew what time this was. He knew how old he was.

A high-pitched voice called his name.

He knew who he was--

The world shifted around him. Not unpleasantly though. It was now day and the sun was high in the sky.

This too was familiar. There were three children at the foot of the tree, exhausted from an afternoon of play. An air of sleepy contentedness pervaded the small tableau, as well as the fragrance of crushed grass and wildflowers--some of which still decorated their hair and clothing.

And now he knew whose dream he was in--

He awoke, oddly refreshed the next morning. The idea of sushi and miso soup for breakfast was suddenly very appealing. The three weeks of leave were full of potential. He had an idea about going hiking in the mountains around Kyoto and “accidentally” stumbling across the old shrine--he knew that his feet would lead him back there, somehow or other.

And perhaps he would go down to the school campus soon, to the building that used to be the former Student Council Clubhouse. There was a place in the garden behind the Clubhouse that contained a single unremarkable stone bench set before a solitary patch of grass--

Although the reality was this--one week later, an outbreak of a particularly lethal mutant strain of the H3N2 virus would be reported along the Sino-Indian border and the Black Knights would be overseeing a mission delivering vaccines and medicines in ten days time. Zero would head over by private jet and under the auspices of peacekeeping, investigate the outbreak for any signs that it might have been a case of bio-terrorism aimed at destabilising the region. Hiking would have to take a backseat. As would other matters.

Still reclining on the bed as he got dressed, she declined the invitation to go to the wholesale market for breakfast. He supposed she was saving herself for when the nearest pizza restaurant opened.

He paused at the threshold on the way out. "Tell him that the outfit really chaffs when I have to run in it."

The door closed with a muffled click, leaving the witch alone.

"Tch . . ." C.C. said, flopping over onto her back to stare at the ceiling. The dormant awareness within her had reacted--the mental equivalent of shifting about while asleep. But to a witch, it might as well have been a shout. "Such language. I know Marianne taught you better than that . . . And I don't think he needs to lose weight. You've never complained about that before--"

A long pause ensued.

“Well, you were right. He didn’t want the power or the Code. So where are we going now? The south of France? You know, your big-brother complex was and is still creepy . . .”

The ripples subsided and there was silence again.

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

You-don’t-really-want-to-read-these-end-notes:
- OT3! My ship goeth under, but I'll still have fanfic to help me work through it.
- C.C.--still a cradle-robber. (But to be fair, there probably isn’t anyone around her age alive anymore.)
- Yes, that was rather crack-y in the end. I have my kinks and they include Lelouch in the World of C.