Author's Note: Thank you for clicking on my story! This is the very first Code Geass fanfiction I have written (I've been writing Slayers for the past 9 years or so), so if characters seem out of character…well that's why. Please bear with me as I develop a better grasp of the characters.
This story is based on the anime, seasons 1 and 2, so if you haven't finished it yet, there are some spoilers! It also assumes that Lelouch does not die at the end of R2, but is instead given the Code, and thus has achieved Code Geass. This means that he and C.C. are going on, living as "immortals." It's also been a good year or two since I'd watched the anime, though I'm going through a refresher right now. So if there are any discrepancies, I'll have to apologize for those as well.
Comments and criticism are appreciated! Though please be gentle :3.
The Power Called Geass
Bang.
With a soft thud, the fresh corpse fell to the ground, pooled in the scarlet hue of life. The neighboring birds flew for the skies, and the winds shifted direction, heading west toward the crepuscular glow. The evening silence took its throne once again as the echoes of the gunshot faded away, and like a fallen tree in the woods, the deed had been carried out with no one to bear witness—no one to bear truth.
No one, except the one whose entire existence was falsehood.
He lowered his weapon, allowing his arm to rest for a moment as the burden of taking someone else's life added weight to his shoulders. Then he swayed, straightened himself, and lifted the cold metal to his head, pressing it against his temple as his eyelids slid down, and he saw darkness from within. His finger tightened on the trigger, and his breath caught in his throat. Then he exhaled slowly, lowered the gun, slid the safety back into place, and opened his eyes.
The world was an unchanged place. That much was clear.
"Is this all I am capable of?" he asked, kneeling down at the side of the dead man before him. An angry red flashed through his eyes as he buried his knuckles into the shirt of the man and yanked him, rolling him over so his frozen eyes stared up into the sky. The young, angry man took a hold of the dead man's collar with one hand as the other lifted the gun behind him. Then he brought the tool down, and heard the satisfying crack of a bone breaking as the gun collided with the dead man's nose. "Is this the limit?" he shouted at himself, bringing the gun down again and again as red began to fly up at his eyes.
"Lelouch."
He stopped his assault on the corpse, and the strength in his fingers immediately weakened. He let go of the man, hesitated for a moment, then turned his head slightly in the direction of the voice. "I thought I told you not to call me by that name anymore, C.C."
"But it is your name, is it not? No matter how much you desire it, you can never separate yourself from who you are."
Shadows occluded his face as he frowned. "And what of yourself? Haven't you cast away your name once as well?"
"True," she answered. He heard the sound of her footsteps crunching through the leaves on the ground as she approached. "But no matter what you may call me, I am still me, as you are you, Lelouch."
A wicked laugh escaped his lips as he stepped forward, catching the flesh of her neck with firm fingers. But she continued to stare at him apathetically, offering no words as he glared down at her, fury clouding his eyes. He tightened his grip, causing her to cough slightly. The sound of it seemed to hit him, for in a moment he blinked and released her, looking as though he had just done the unthinkable, and was frightened by his own power. He glanced down at the blood-stained gun in his hands, and then, as though disgusted, flung it away from him.
She massaged her own neck and coughed a little before speaking. "Are you better now?"
He averted his eyes, suddenly too ashamed to look at her. When it was clear he wasn't about to say anything, she continued, "So that makes this the fourth one?"
"Yes," he replied, voice deep with regret.
"Is this the last?"
He remained silent.
"It won't bring her back, no matter how many you kill."
"I know that!" he replied hotly. Then he repeated it, a little softer, as though reminding himself, "I know that."
C.C. watched him quietly as he pressed the palm of his hand to his face, then pulled his fingers roughly through his hair. There were tiny droplets of water down the side of his head, whether from tears or from sweat she could not tell. As they fell from him and sank into the ground, she heard the dampened chime of the life she had almost forgotten.
She walked up to his back, turned around, and leaned gently against him. "It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked, and felt him push against her slightly. Then she reached behind her, trailed her fingers down the length of his arm, and slid her fingers in between his.
He gripped her hand tightly. "What would you know of hurt, heartless witch?"
She stifled a laugh and leaned against his back. "You're still just a child."
"What does that make you?"
"Who knows?"
"Witch."
She smirked a bit and rested her head against the curve of his shoulder. He stiffened, so she reached up and traced her fingers along his arm, and he reluctantly gave in to her touch. She closed her eyes and thought she heard the sound of quiet sobbing.
"He…to Nunally…he did!" he began, breathing heavily.
"I know," she answered, and touched his other hand. He grabbed it tightly, nearly crushing her fingers as his arm shook with rage. She merely stared up at the blood-ridden hue of the sky. Indeed, the world looked like a darker place without his sister.
The news had reached them ten years ago—forty-seven years after the death of the Emperor Lelouch vi Britannia. It had immediately set off a spark inside of him that C.C. hadn't witnessed since the days of the war. She had caught a glimpse of it then, but it was much more evident now. He had murdered the first one for revenge, yes, but the two after that had been innocent. But anytime they walked past someone with silvery hair, or someone with a similar brown trenchcoat, it appeared again in his eyes—the animosity, the rage, the sorrow. And if it was strong enough—if it overpowered him—he would kill them.
She looked down at the corpse—studied the broken jaw, the bloody stump that once was his nose, the gray, cloudy eyes that stared blankly into the sky. She closed her eyes for a moment before studying the dead man's face again, and agreed that he did look fairly much like the man who was responsible for Nunally's death. Enough, that is, to reawaken Lelouch.
Then she began, "I said it before. The power called Geass is one that makes people lonely."
"Yes," he agreed. "But you forgot to mention insane."
"You aren't insane, Lelouch."
He laughed, uninhibited, and the sound made her gut churn.
"Where have you been for the last ten years?" he demanded of her, suddenly angry again.
She cast her eyes down at the ground. "At your side."
They were silent for a while, and C.C. wondered if the final straw had finally been pulled, and if he had finally lost it entirely. But then he slumped to the ground, and she made a little sound as she stumbled a bit, then regained her balance. She rubbed her arm in discomfort before she knelt down to look him in the face. The blood of the dead man was already starting to cake in the crevices of his eyes, and it was smeared all over his neck and shirt, making the fabric stiff. She unbuttoned his white shirt and removed it for him, then took a clean spot and began wiping the stains off his face.
As she worked away, his eyes slowly wandered from empty space to her, and when she realized, she stopped to stare back at him. "What is it?" she asked.
"I don't understand how you managed to stay sane," he grumbled, as though dazed.
She didn't respond, and instead dropped the shirt to the ground as she slipped his arm around her shoulders and helped him off the ground. With enough goading, she eventually got him to move his feet, and they wandered in the direction of the wind. Perhaps it would provide them with the guidance they were looking for.