Nunnally is- no, it cannot be, because this is just a nightmare, just a phantom of fear possessing his dreams as he sleeps before the night of battle.

Because Nunnally cannot die. Because that is not how things go.

Nunnally is saved. She is always saved.

"Where is Nunnally?" he asks hoarsely.

"I told you Nii-san, she is..." Rollo begins.

"Where is my sister!" he roars, words ripping from his throat like hands tearing open a fresh wound, slick and slippery with crimson.

Sitting just across from him, Rollo- You failed me I'll kill you kill you kill you- leans forward, trying to place his hand atop Lelouch's- Onii-sama, Nunnally whispered, you promised- and Lelouch flinches violently, loosing his false brother's hand from his own.

"You still have me," Rollo attempts, and Lelouch very nearly kills him where he stands.


The sound of the boy's footsteps echoes against his ears like raps against a gravestone, and leaves Lelouch alone with a single resounding thought.

Nunnally is dead.

Nunnally is dead.

Nunnally is dead, dead, dead.

Dead. Like mother. Like Shirley. Like Euphie. Like all the thousands he has murdered and sacrificed to make Nunnally happy.

And now, she is gone.

Lelouch can't remember how to breathe. His collar chokes him, and he rips it open, sucking in deep gasps of air, and still the weight of Nunnally bears down on his chest like the hammer of gravity, smashing down his lungs until he feels as though his heart is being squeezed within an iron vice.

He staggers drunkenly, knees banging against the table, hands angrily sweeping across the chessboard, sending the pieces scattering to the winds.


His eyes flare open, and latch onto C.C.'s concerned gaze, gazing into the bright pools of amber as though he might be able to drown himself within them and finally be able to talk to Nunnally again.

He remembers whispered words in the broken flashes after he murdered Euphie- oh God Euphie, please find Nunnally, save her, save her, save her- and suddenly he is across the room, hands planting themselves on C.C.'s thin, porcelain shoulders, causing an unconscious flinch through her body as she gazes up at him with a gaze that is too wide to be C.C.

"Master?" she whispers, and it is wrong, wrong, wrong because the old C.C. would have shrugged him off and clutched him against her chest and helped him find peace.

"Comfort me," he gasps, and the hammer against his chest beats once more, flattening his lungs out, driving the breath from them. "Comfort me, help me forget, give me peace."

Because Nunnally is dead, and nothing is right anymore.

"Master," C.C. whimpers, and he feels the sudden, irrational urge to strike her for sounding so weak when he needs her to be strong, "You're hurting me."

"Comfort me!" he commands this time, and his Geass- the sin he bore to save Nunnally- lights up, vainly trying to force the girl to bend to his wishes.

When it fails, he reaches down with his own power, slamming C.C. against the couch and pressing his lips to hers, angrily thrusting his tongue against her lips again and again until they give way and he is given reign over her mouth, using his tongue to sweep through as though he might find his peace there.

C.C. protests at first, weakly pushing against him, but his rage and thrusting tongue overpower her strength and her senses and she complies at last, hands reaching up to embrace him, a low moan echoing from her throat as she laid down fully on the couch, Lelouch still atop her.

The meek, timid action triggers a fresh wave of frustration and anger from him.

"This is wrong!" he pulls away, fingers digging deep into her skin, leaving bruises in their wake. "You're not supposed to be like this!"

"I'm sorry," she offers, crying out in pain, and he sweeps down to silence her with his mouth, hands sweeping up and down her body roughly, as though raw violence will pull the old C.C. back to the surface, the C.C. he needs right now.

His left hand finds her breast and releases a throaty moan from her, causing her hands to tighten against his back. He squeezes it tightly, and the pleasure in her voice darkens into pain.

"I don't want your apologies," he snarls against her throat, teeth brushing against the soft ivory of her skin, tongue dragging itself and leaving wet trails against her throat. "I don't want to hear you cry."

C.C. does not respond, only crying out helplessly against him, voice uneven, wavering constantly.

"All I want... is for you to help me," Lelouch whispers into the shell of her ear, his other hand grasping the band of her shorts and pushing them down. She only moans, and, instinctively bucks her hips, helping him move them away, exposing the soaked undergarment beneath.

He buries his face against the long sweep of her hair, drinking in the scent, hands groping against her breast, her ass, stroking and squeezing against any free patch of skin they can find.

"I want you to save me."

C.C. shifts against his body, her wetness scraping against his legs. "Master..." she murmurs again, and his grip tightens painfully around her breast.

"This is not you," Lelouch breathes harshly, darkened violet eyes boring into her own, releasing her breast to cup her chin. "This is not what you are supposed to be."

His free hand scrapes against the inner of her thigh, fingertips dancing against her skin, until he finds her entrance, moist and hot, eliciting yet another lust drunk moan from C.C.

"Please, come back," Lelouch whispers, like a prayer, and thrusts a finger inside.

Her hands, already tight against his back, become like claws, and her scream is likely audible throughout the Ikaruga. His actions place this C.C. even further away from that of the old, making her putty beneath him, his single finger inside of her a more powerful tool of control than Geass. At its withdraw, she moans and tries to coax it back, and when he moves it deeper, she screams and writhes as though in agony.

And looking down at her, so helpless, so utterly bare before him, Lelouch knows he will never get her back. The thought is the final spark, and he feels his control slip, and sweeps down again to capture her lips, using his free hand to grab her own and pin them above her head, hand enclosing around both of her wrists.

His finger withdraws and she moans against his mouth, the action only pushing his madness further. Keeping one hand above her head, pinning her wrists, he uses the other to unbuckle his pants, freeing his erection and aligning it with her sex in a blind haste, as though with every second wasted he is forced to confront the reality of his actions and of the death of the only living person who Lelouch thought was worth fighting for.

"This is not you," Lelouch whispers against C.C.'s lips, and then thrust inside. There is no technique, no method to his movements anymore, one hand still keeping her hands pinned above her head, the other running itself up and down her body. He pounds her mercilessly, using her moans to deafen him to the world, using the sensation of her wetness wrapped around him to drown out the reality he cannot bring himself to face.

Outside, the rest of the world reels in shock and horror at the devastating power of the Freya, outside, there is a war to be fought and speeches to be made, outside, Nunnally is dead.

In this moment, there is nothing but the feel of C.C. squeezing tightly him inside of her, the way her throat quivered when his teeth brushed against it, the warmth of her body against his own.

His orgasm comes first- despite all his rage and fury, his rather paltry strength becomes spent and he loses control, spilling himself inside of her. The sensation of it, however, is enough to send C.C. over the edge as well, squeezing and tightening against Lelouch's member further, and everything becomes white noise.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Lelouch finally regains his senses, face pressed against the softness of C.C.'s clothed breasts as she hums a nameless song that is likely centuries older than himself. One of his hands rests at his side, the other dangles off the couch, while C.C.'s own gently stroke his hair, the repetitive action surprisingly soothing.

"Are you awake, master?" she asks softly, voice still melodic, carrying the harmony of the tuneless song.

"Ah," Lelouch nodded, pulling himself up, staring up at her as the reality of his actions suddenly hit him, his rage having faded with his pleasure. He casts his gaze down, ashamed, and for a long moment, there is only an awkward silence.

Finally, he knows he needs to say something, anything at all, to assure himself he hasn't destroyed one of the few things he has left in the world.

"C.C. ... I..."

His words are interrupted by her smile, and he finds himself stupefied by it, forgetting again, even if only for a second, that his sister is dead.

"Are you okay now, master?" she asks softly, still running her hands through his hair gently, comfortingly.

Lelouch stared at her for a long while, letting her fingers thread through his hair, fingertips brushing across his scalp as he listened to her nameless song, and, finally, dipped his head ever so slightly, and answered her.

"I don't know," he murmured.

And somehow, that might have been the best thing for him right now.