Chapter IV

Breakfast. What a strange phenomena. A meal eaten in the morning, the first of the three. To be honest, Lelouch couldn't remember the last time he had had breakfast. He knew he shouldn't skip, that it was bad for his health, as Anya liked to frequently remind him, but he never heeded her chastising. She would smile, triumphant, if she were to see him here, sitting down in a terrace of one of the highest buildings in the city to eat the meal he had always tried his best to avoid.

It was silent for the most part. The clinking of silverware, the occasional brusque crackling of the perfectly toasted baguette. Even Pendragon's heavily occupied streets couldn't reach them, not at this lofty height.

Pity that this lofty height couldn't save him from his current company.

As he raised his glass of water to his lips, he studied her out of the corner of his eye.

His first thought was: 'God, she's beautiful.'

And she was. She was only thirty-years old, still considered to be young by many. Her silky emerald tresses glinted in the morning sun as they flowed down her shoulders and to her waist, her milky-white skin smooth and creamy, her rosebud lips painted a delicate red, her fingers adroit and lithe. But her eyes… Oh, her eyes. Lelouch had always loved her eyes. Years ago, he might have told her, had probably whispered to her, that he had fallen in love with her eyes. They had glimmered with a mischievous light, golden perfection.

But they were dull with money now, and what other troubles weighed on her small shoulders. They had been sapped of all life by the world and its sadistic ways. It tore at him. Such beauty, lost forever… And it made him wonder; would the world ever be fortunate to gaze upon such splendor again?

"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Lamperouge?" she asked. She was keeping herself in check, to be civil; he could tell. She'd had to do it often in the last few months together as the stress of her insolvent circumstances had eaten away at her. He could never forget it then, and he still hadn't. Apparently, he wasn't going to in the future either.

"I was just wondering what today's agenda held for us today," he replied, just as amiably and politely as she had spoken. She stared at him as if she hadn't been prepared for him to treat her with so much courtesy. A light autumn breeze passed through, stirring the cloth napkins and ruffling his midnight hair, before she seemed to catch herself.

"I have an 1:00 appointment at John Frieda, which will take us into lunch, which will be at Eleven Madison Park."

"I understand."

Silence resumed pacing back and forth between them again. Good. It was better this way. Lelouch felt that in the case that he were to say something, he would either say something foolish or churlish (probably both), and he refused to break the uneasy ceasefire they had both wordlessly agreed upon.

He fought to swallow, but no matter how hard he tried to shove it down his throat, the expensive gourmet dish tasted like complete cardboard. He didn't blame the chef; he or she had probably done their utmost best to serve their faithful and high-class client nothing short of perfection, and there was a better than good chance that there was something wrong with him rather than the food, but he just… Couldn't… Do it. Sitting here, eating breakfast with her again, was the key to opening the dam of memories he had been so careful to keep locked and secure, and it was killing him. It was better now though, when there was food in front of them, food to put into their mouths as an excuse for the absence of conversation, than when the waitress had left them to wait alone for their orders to materialize in front of them. That had just been terrible, completely awkward as they both did their best to avoid talking.

The raven-haired man's fingers twitched. He wanted a smoke, to help calm his nerves, to alleviate the stress and the tension biting at him. But he couldn't just leave her for a cigarette; the entire purpose of his following her was so that she wouldn't be alone. Which he was having issues with. Why was it only him? At the very least, it should have been two guards. But just a solitary knight? It was most likely because of Schneizel and his peculiar penchant for the interesting choice, rather than the wiser one. As a matter of fact, he suspected the Weiss König of wedding C.C. simply for the eccentricity of the decision, and what "interesting" results it would lend. If he hadn't married her for love.

What. A. Bastard.

Lelouch caught himself furtively glancing at the witch seated across from him. She was eating blueberries, which surprised him. Blueberries? C.C. hated blueberries, detested them, and any other berries for the matter. So why was she demurely nibbling on them? And what else about her had changed?

"Mrs. Corabelle."

"Yes?"

"Have you always liked blueberries?" The second the words tumbled out, the Mafioso cursed. What had possessed him to ask such a question when he full well knew that it would breach their unsaid agreement, violate their armistice? He wanted to throw himself off of the building. There was no doubt that the jump would kill him. They were certainly high enough off the ground.

Violet clashed with gold as they stared at one another, both of their expressions unreadable. He waited for her reply, strung out. He didn't trust himself to take back the question; he'd probably only serve to make the present predicament worse, and God knew they needed that.

She slowly set her fork down, slowly swallowed the blueberry in her mouth, before slowly answering. "No, I have not always liked blueberries, Mr. Lamperouge, but my husband enjoys them, so I learned to appreciate them as much as he does over time."

"… I see." He told himself to relax; his voice had been too strained, his smile too tight. The situation was deteriorating at a frightening speed. This was the very reason he tried to skip it altogether, his enemy. He should probably shut up for the rest of the damn breakfast. Maybe for the rest of the day.

God, that had been close. Way too close for his comfort. As Lelouch picked his glass of water (his throat was suddenly incredibly parched for some reason) when he nearly choked. Shit, not here, not now. And before he could even set his water down, he heard an excited, "Oh, my God!"

For the fourth time that breakfast, Lelouch swore as he rearranged his face into that of a smile as the last person he wanted to see cheerfully bounded towards their table.

"Lelouch! My, my, fancy seeing you here. I see we've climbed the social ladder since the last time we've met. And who's this? No, it can't be! C2! Is that really you?"

The emerald-haired woman looked up in shock at the unmistakable sound of their old college classmate, Milly Ashford's voice. What…?

"It is! This is crazy; Rivalz isn't going to believe this. You know, we tried so hard to get in touch with you, Lelouch, but you just vanished, and it… Oh. Oh, I get it now…" The senior adopted a sly smirk. "You two just came back from your honeymoon, didn't you? You did! Christ, look at the size of that diamond, it must have cost a fortune. Where'd you manage to get it from, Lelouch? Did you rob a bank or something?"

"A custom jeweler in Italy, globally renown for his genius works. It took several months of meticulous planning and $12 million, but Ceci said yes in the end, so I don't regret anything."

C.C. sharply turned her attention towards the smiling man. Oh God, her heart was racing, her stomach fluttering from hearing him call her 'Ceci.' It had been so long, and it opened up so many memories to her, memories of a time when she had been happier, and it was poisoning her, breaking down her defenses. And now here they were, playing as husband and wife. A loving husband and wife no less.

It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

Everything was muffled to her as her world collapsed until it solely contained him and him only; she just stared, stunned, as he put an end to Milly's visit with a promise to call her and invite her to dinner to their home. She just stared as Milly smiled and waved goodbye to her, and she just stared as the raven-haired man calmly returned to eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't left her breathless. It wasn't until he reached for one of the pristine cloth napkins to wipe nonexistent food off of his lips when she said, "… What was that?"

"What was what?" So they were dropping the façade, even if it was temporarily. That was fine with her. Mrs. Corabelle didn't get answers; C.C. did. And what she wanted were answers.

"How can you act as if you're the one who gave me this ri—"

"Would you rather her ask you what you're doing here, eating brunch with a man who isn't your husband?" A man who had once been your fiancé? He didn't say the last part. He was stupid; he had proven that with his slip of the tongue earlier, but he wasn't that stupid. Apparently neither was C.C. because she dropped the subject.

For the rest of the meal, neither spoke. Which was fine with Lelouch. That way, there was less margin for error, and more room for distance. Which was just what they needed.

Cold, hard distance.

. . .

Life had changed so much. These hair stylists, who boasted illustrious careers and prestigious, were practically tripping over themselves to please C.C. They were all bright smiles and reverence; it was ironic how if she had walked in four years earlier, they'd probably treat her with disdain and disrespect. Money changed everything in this world, didn't it?

Lelouch heard the head stylist rapturously lay laud on the emerald-haired woman from his seat, how she had such thick and healthy hair, hair such a unique, beautiful color.

Money certainly did change everything.

He could feel the gun waiting silently in its holster, the eager bullets, and a wry smile appeared on his stiff countenance. How different their lives had become… When he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, he reached into his jacket and took it out to find out who was calling him: Shirley.

He glanced at his ward; she wouldn't miss him for the thirty seconds it would take to tend to her. Rising from his seat, he slipped outside to the balcony.

"Shirley." He warned himself to be careful; gentle and loving, he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to destroy all of the work he had done.

"Lelouch! How are you? Are you okay? I… I watched the news, and they were saying something how the Weiss Ritter had declared open war on the Hóng Hè, and I was worried that— You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine," he said gently. "The Weiss König put me far from the front lines. You don't have to worry about me. But Shirley."

"H-huh?"

"While I'm working, can you refrain from calling?" Lelouch looked over his shoulder; she was still sitting in the chair, safe and alive. Good. "I hate to ask you of something like this, but I have to protect Mrs. Corabelle, and it would be best if I didn't step away from her for even a second any more than I have to already."

"O-oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know… I promise I won't," she stammered, indubitably flustered and worried that she had made him angry. "But, um… Lelouch, I was wondering if I could talk to Mrs. Corabelle."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I… If I can't, then it's understandable, but… But I was just… Wondering if I could… If I could ask her something." He could just picture Shirley, nervously twirling her shoulder-length ginger hair around a finger as her eyes wandered to the ceiling shyly. He bit back the urge to sigh. "Let me see what I can do. Give me a second."

"O-okay, thank you!"

Lelouch frowned; why would Shirley want to talk to C.C.? What did she even have to say? They were completely unrelated, belonged in opposing worlds. Shirley was part of the working class, while C.C. belonged in a world of champagne and forgiveness. What did she want?

"Madame."

Her golden eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror as he bent down so that he was closer to her ear, so that his warm breath was tickling her.

"Miss Shirley Fenette has requested an audience with you by means of a phone call."

Her facial expression didn't change, didn't even register surprise that someone beneath her wanted to speak to her, and simply held out a slender hand for his phone. Waving away the hair stylist, she raised it to her ear. Lelouch straightened up but didn't walk away. She wouldn't care if he feigned deafness. So he did just that.

"Miss Fenette. What an unexpected pleasure."

"O-oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Corabelle! How are you today?"

"Well, thank you. I hope you're also feeling well today?"

"Y-yes, thank you for asking."

An awkward silence ensued and C.C. studied her nails; she decided she'd need a manicure soon. Perhaps a shade of light blue this time? Or maybe she should get a classic French. Yes, that was a good idea; she'd get a French manicure. One could never do wrong with a—

"Mrs. Corabelle, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a club with Georgie and myself later tonight," she blurted out. The elegant madame blinked. A club?

"… A club?"

"A… A nightclub. Georgie and I were planning to go with a few coworkers, kind of as a way to relieve stress, and I… Was… Just wondering if you'd like to go with us. I understand if you can't, I—"

"Hello? Mrs. Corabelle?" This was a new voice, a foreign voice she had never heard of before. C.C.'s frown deepened; who was this person? And why had she interrupted Shirley? "Hi, this is Georgie Lee, I work at Kingston Hall with Shirley, and we would like to go clubbing with you tonight. So can you?"

She was taken aback; it had been four years since she had been addressed in such a frank manner, especially by a stranger. It felt peculiar, as if she had been displaced out of her body.

"… I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I have someone waiting for me at home, and I—"

"Oh, I'm sure your husband won't mind you coming out for one night to have some fun. You look like you need it."

"I really—"

"If you don't come, then Shirley's boyfriend can't either. Are you really going to rip apart two people who love each other?"

Rip apart two people who love each other? What did this woman know about the separation of lovers? Had she ever experienced it? Had she ever been forced to leave the man she loved so that he could live? Had she ever had to slip her engagement ring off and leave it behind in her place? Had to struggle every morning to wake up despite the grieving heart? No, she hadn't. What the hell did she know? Absolutely nothing.

She refused to be like Schneizel. She didn't know if Lelouch and Shirley truly loved one another, it could be lust, infatuation, whatever, it didn't matter; she only knew that she loathed Schneizel and what he'd done to her, to Lelouch, and that she would never follow in his footsteps.

"… I suppose I could make arrangements…"

"That's the spirit! Can you tell Prince Charming that his princess will text him the details later? We'll see you tonight then! You promised!"

She hung up before C.C. could even respond, leaving her feeling disoriented. When the stylist returned to his post, her reverie shattered and she handed the slim phone back to its owner.

"… Mr. Lamperouge."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Miss Fenette will be sending you a text message soon that will have the details of our excursion later this evening."

"Excursion…?" He was confused. She didn't blame him; she'd be confused too, if her dull superior had suddenly decided to go clubbing.

"You and I, Mr. Lamperouge, are apparently going to a nightclub with Miss Fenette and Miss Lee."

"… I see." He was choosing his words carefully, discreetly. Because he wasn't sure what the appropriate reaction was. C.C. wanted to shoot herself; she had been rash, hasty, and had agreed to sign the devil's contract. She couldn't remember the last time she had gone clubbing, had ventured out into the city at night for plebeian forms of entertainment. And she had no desire to. Shit.

She was sure to regret it. Just as she regretted the majority of her life. After all, was her life but a series of mistakes, of errors that would eventually lead to damnation?

. . .

Shirley shivered as the cold autumn wind grazed her. It was cold outside, but not that cold; she wouldn't have been hugging herself if she had dressed for the weather, but if she had, then she wouldn't have been let into the club.

"Shirls."

"What?"

Georgie rubbed her arms as she asked, "Why are we here?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I thought the plan was that we were going to the Lucky Rabbit. Why are we at the Blessed Isles?"

"O-oh. Lelouch asked if we could go to the Blessed Isles instead."

"Shirley, how are we going to get in?" demanded Kallen. "The Blessed Isles is literally the top nightclub in Pendragon. We don't have any connections, and I don't know about you, but I am not sleeping with one of the bouncers. I… Holy shit."

Shirley turned around to see what had surprised Kallen so much. It was like something out of a movie. The A-list actress in a sexy mini-dress with the male lead decked out in a chic, form-fitting suit, and both too perfect to be real humans… She watched as they crossed the street and couldn't help notice how Lelouch, her boyfriend, had his hand on Mrs. Corabelle's waist, albeit lightly. She couldn't help but notice how perfect they looked together, how well-matched they looked, how beautiful they were. Were they humans? Or angels? It was hard to tell.

Agatha let out a low whistle as if to express how stunned she was by the pair. "Damn, they look good. I'm starting to feel like some prepubescent kid compared to them. Don't you agree, Georgie?"

"I'll be right back, I just gotta take this call." She slipped out from their place in the never-ending line, her phone pressed to her ear. Agatha warned her to come back soon before whispering, "Is that Mrs. Corabelle? She's married? What the hell?"

Shirley merely tugged on the hem of her short dress before raising her hand and calling out to him with a determined, "Lelou!"

His eyes, which had been focused somewhere over his shoulder, drifted towards her. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his cold, calculating gaze, at her appearance and they made their way towards the small group.

"Lelouch!"

"Shirley." He gave her a peck on the lips before cordially greeting the rest of the members of the get-together. Shirley, smiling now that she had his attention, said, "Everyone, this is Mrs. Corabelle."

"Cecaniah," the emerald-haired woman replied. "Calling me with such a title reminds me of how old I'm getting, something I'm sure all of us ladies would rather avoid thinking about."

The women giggled in agreement and C.C. smiled. If she just acted like this for the rest of the time, let them in enough, then there wouldn't be any trouble. Which was good. The last thing she needed right now were spurned women nipping at her heels.

"Oh, my God, that dress! Is that the one featured in the Chanel Fall collection?"

"You're interested in haute couture?"

"It's my life!" squealed Agatha. "Oh, my God, I never thought I'd be able to see it in real life! It must have been so expensive!"

"On the contrary, it was a gift from Alain and Gerard, though I do suppose it was a rather superfluous one."

"You don't mean Alain and Gerard Wertheimer, do you? The owners of Chanel?"

"The very ones."

Agatha let out a tiny scream of excitement as Georgie rejoined them. "What did I miss? Oh, Mrs. Corabelle! Lelouch!"

"Cecaniah knows Alain and Gerard Wertheimer in person!"

"Who's that?" she asked blankly. Kallen shrugged and muttered, "These two guys who own Chanel or something like that."

"Oh, well then. Looks like we have a Queen in our midst," she joked.

Lelouch saw C.C. stiffen and intervened before any more damage could be done.

"Why don't we go inside?"

"Well, we'd like to, but the line—" The raven-haired man cut his girlfriend off. "That's unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?"

"We can go in right now."

"But the line… And, and the bouncer, he—"

"Will let us in. Follow me. Mrs. Corabelle." The graceful madam tucked her hair behind her ear as she allowed him to guide her through the scraggly line. Light green eyes fixated on his hand, which was on Mrs— Cecaniah's waist. Shirley felt her chest tighten; was that really necessary?

They came to a stop in front of the doors of the elite night club, and the women peeked over Cecaniah's shoulder to see Shirley's boyfriend extend his right hand to the beefy doorman. He glanced down with an intimidating light in his eyes, before surprisingly stepping aside. Even more surprising was the way he slightly bowed his head in deference to the couple as they entered the crème de la crème of discotheques. It made them wonder: Were the two really that powerful to make even the most formidable and intrepid of men to cower?

Word must've spread like fire who had just arrived at the Blessed Isles, because when they descended the long stairwell to the underworld of Pendragon, a regiment of suited staffers were waiting for them. They bowed in unison, their greeting rivaling even the pounding music of the nightclub as a slender, well-dressed man stepped forward. Gracefully taking Cecaniah's hand, he delicately kissed her knuckles before speaking to her with a lilting French accent.

"Ah, Madame Corabelle! It is the greatest honor to be in your presence! Je vous remercie pour cette occasion, Madame. We shall do our utmost best to serve you." As if on cue, the rows of men and women clicked their heels together and spoke as one.

"Welcome to the Blessed Isles, Madame, where your wish is our command."

"Thank you, Augustin. You flatter me."

And with a gracious smile, she slipped by him. The Frenchman hurriedly moved to the side to make room for the couple and entourage, all the while shaking his head and muttering how ravishing she was.

The second the hallway cleared of any esteemed clientele, Augustin clapped his hands. "Ladies and gentleman, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! It would be a sin against God if we were to squander what the gift He has given us! No expenses are to be spared! It is imperative that we please the Madame, else the Weiss König shall have our heads on a platter! Vas-y, vas-y, vas-y! Dépèchez-vous!"

And thus, the insignificant worker ants scattered so as to serve their glamorous Queen.

. . .

Georgie gasped, her hands flying to cover her open mouth. "Oh, my God, this is, like, my favorite song ever! I have to dance to this or I swear, I'm just going to kill myself. Come on, Shirls, we have to dance to this song!"

Kallen, feeling slightly woozy from all of the drinks she had had, stood up unsteadily. "Let's do it!" she slurred before falling back into her seat. She put her head down on the table, groaning. "Ugh, I don't feel so good."

"Oh, you're such a party-pooper, Kallen. Agatha! You dancing queen, you! Let's go!"

"Already one step ahead of you!" sang Agatha. Her blonde hair flying behind her, she dove into the sweaty, inebriated throng of dancing clubbers. Georgie tugged on Shirley's hands. "Come on, Shirls, you promised me that you would dance with me. Are you really going to break your promise to me like this? And I was so excited too…"

"But…" She glanced at Mrs. Cora… Er… Cecaniah. She didn't look like she was going to go onto the floor anytime soon and it didn't feel quite right just leaving her all alone… Well… All alone with Lelouch. There was just something about leaving the two of them by themselves that made her anxious. Like there was something more to them than they were letting on. They were less tension between them, and they were acting more amicably towards each other than the last time she had seen them together, which was good… She supposed. After all, once you joined the mafia, there was no leaving, no firing. Only killing.

"Go ahead, Shirley," gently urged her boyfriend. He smiled at her. "Don't hold back just because of me."

"But Mrs— I mean, Cecan—"

"I'm fine, Shirley," replied the emerald-haired woman. "It seems I'm not as young as I used to be… I envy you for your energy. Please don't feel an obligation to stay just because of my old age."

"You're not old!" protested the ginger. "Don't even think that for a second. You're still a beautiful, young woman."

C.C. smiled and Shirley felt a warm feeling wash over her. There was just something about making pretty people smile that made one feel so good about oneself…

"Shirley!"

"Just give me a second, Georgie!" Turning back to the pair sitting down, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay with just sitting here?" They nodded, and she decided to just give up. No one liked an unhappy Georgie, especially an unhappy Georgie who was halfway to winning the Completely and Utterly Blitzed Beyond Recovery Award. With a sigh, she gave Lelouch a quick peck before letting herself be pulled away by an excited, drunken Georgie.

Though techno music was deafening them all, the man and woman who had been left behind felt as if they were in a bubble of silence. They were completely isolated from the rest of the carefree occupants of the club in the way that they threw away their ears. They simply sat in mutual brooding, either taking a sip from their respective drinks or nursing them, but never talking. That is, they hadn't been talking until Lelouch heard a soft, "You've been thinking it too, haven't you?"

"… I have," he admitted reluctantly. She nodded slowly, as if she understood him, as if they were on the same side once more. "It looked like it."

"… Since when?" he asked, turning towards her for the first time that evening. She swirled her martini around but refrained from raising it to her lips, which had been crinkled into a wry smile. "This morning. During breakfast."

"… I hadn't realized I could be read so easily."

"You usually don't eat breakfast, do you?"

"How did you know?"

"You've lost a lot of weight, Lelouch, since the last time. And a lot of sleep too, probably, what with how haggard you look… It's a wonder Shirley hasn't caught on yet."

He caught the double entendre. "I haven't slept with her."

"Yet."

"… I don't intend on bedding her if I can avoid it." If he could avoid it. Why? Why was it if he could avoid it? Why did he not plan on sleeping with her? Isn't that what every grown man did with their grown girlfriend? What was holding him back? What was making him circumvent such an event, making him put in an effort to make the probability of such an occurrence taking place as small as possible? Why would he even be held back from such a possibility? It… It wasn't because of her… Was it?

"… Lelouch, I…"

His eyes flickered towards her, seeking her past the strobe lights, the pounding music, the drugs and vapor, and she faltered. When had he gotten so close? Their thighs, knees, and calves were touching. They were so close, his eyelashes were tickling her. She could feel her heart racing, jumping into her throat before diving to the pit of her stomach and climbing back up to her chest. She didn't know why; maybe it was because of the atmosphere of the club was finally getting to her, maybe it was because of the martinis she had been forced to drink, or maybe, probably, it was the it was because she had never really stopped loving him, but there was just… Something… About Lelouch that just made her want to… To forget everything that had happened, to admit to herself that she had wanted to run into his arms that night when her husband had revealed who the capobastone was, and just lean forward so that her lips would crash into his and…

"Has anyone seen my clutch?"

Georgie stumbled to their table, bumping into the corner and nearly falling to the ground in pain. Kallen, along with several slim handbags, slipped to the sofa as Lelouch and C.C. stared at one another. The space between their lips was just that of a strand of hair's… They were so close, and yet, so far…

C.C. stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me."

She rushed past the raven-haired man, making her way to the bathroom without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

"H-hey, Shirls, where are you going? You can't just leave me here!"

"I'm just going to the bathroom, Georgie. I'll be right back."

"Urgh… My clutch, my clutch… Where's my damn— Oh!" A bright smile lighting up her face, the intoxicated young woman snatched up her bag before stumbling towards the bathroom. "Wait for me, Shirls, let's go together! God, I have to pee so badly… I shouldn't have had that last shot…"

When he was alone, and the women had disappeared behind the bathroom door, Lelouch buried his face in his hands, completely and utterly drowning in misery. What the fuck had that just been? They had… They were just about to kiss, they had been so close, if they had only had three more seconds… He reproached himself. Control yourself, he ordered. There are no second chances; you fuck it up once, you fuck it up forever. And yet… And yet, even as he beat himself over the almost-kiss, he couldn't stop the ignore the desire to finish what had been started or the euphoria he had felt as she had leaned in with her hooded eyes and beautiful lips partially parted as they inched closer, and closer…

. . .

C.C. stifled a sigh as she examined her reflection. God, that had been too close. Much too close for her comfort. She could still remember the high of being so close to him, the simple of joy of counting each one of his long eyelashes just as she used to, smelling the pleasantly clean pine-forest scent that always came from him even when he was in humid, sweaty places like nightclubs, and, much to her discomfort, it was leaving her breathless. Her traitorous heart. How could it stab her in the back like this? Especially now, of all times, and with him?

She needed to calm down, to forget what had almost happened just now. But what could she do? What?

Call him.

Hearing his voice never failed to make her smile after all, and she could picture him sitting at the piano, the telephone sitting right next to whatever classical piece he was learning, waiting for her to call him, believing that she'd keep her promise to him. Yes, that was it; she'd call him, chat to him for a little bit to calm her nerves, to get a more solid grip on reality. He'd definitely do that for her. He'd always done that for her, made her smile when she found herself pondering whether death was painful or not; he had been the only one who had made her want to continue living on. For the past four years, he had done that for her, selflessly, and for the next four years, he would continue to do so, along with the four years after that, and the four years after that, and so on.

Taking her phone out, she made to call him when she heard, "Um… Cecaniah?"

"Yes, Shirley?" Irritation flashed through the emerald-haired woman. What did she want? Couldn't she have a moment of peace and quiet for once? A moment to herself? Why had she even felt the urge to trail after her into the powder room?

Shirley nervously picked at her nails, too busy studying the tiled floor to catch her guest's ephemeral countenance of annoyance.

"Um… I was… I was just wondering if you could tell me something about Lelouch… Since you knew him since you guys were in high school."

"I'll try my best to answer any questions you might have," she replied lightly. Shirley fidgeted slightly, biting her lower lip, before blurting out, "What kind of person is Lelouch when he's working?"

There was a very good reason for this query, she reasoned to herself. Earlier, she had tried to get him to play at least a little, but he had shook her off. His eyes, amethysts much flintier than the soft, malleable pools of violet they usually were, had told her that he was still working, that he couldn't because of work, no matter how much he'd like to. And when she had asked him when he would get off of work, when he would be able to take a break and return to the sweet, indulging Lelouch she knew, he had simply replied with the answer of: "When the Hóng Hè surrender to the Weiss Ritter" and an apologetic smile. Then he had kissed her before ushering her out of the corridor she had pulled him into to return to Cecaniah's side. Rushed to her, as if he was scared that she'd vanish. As if Cecaniah Corabelle mattered more to Lelouch Lamperouge than Shirley Fenette, his girlfriend, did.

She was probably over thinking, it was more than likely the alcohol that was messing around with her head, but there was just something in her heart that made her anxious again, even with the smile and the kiss he had given her. Was it… Was it her, or was it just working Lelouch? Lelouch the Mafioso, the cold, calculating criminal side of him that was at the heart of the problem? She wasn't quite sure, but if anyone were to know, all bets would be on Cecaniah. She'd known him since high school after all, and his job was protecting her, so she must know. She must.

"I don't know."

"You… Don't know?" Well, she hadn't been expecting this. She didn't know? How could she not know? As if the madame could read her mind, Cecaniah said, "I don't pay much attention to him, so I confess that I have no clue as to what kind of individual Lelouch Lamperouge is when he's acting as a member of the Weiss Ritter."

"… Cecaniah?"

"Yes?"

"… Why… Why do you and Lelouch hate each other so much?"

Golden irises sharply looked up from the marble counter to her so quickly. Shirley was taken aback. Did they really hate each other that much? Was their relationship really in such ill repair? What the hell had happened between the—

The door opened with a bang and both women started, their heads simultaneously swiveling towards the one and only exit of the bathroom, which was currently being blocked by two tattooed and muscular men whose grins clearly meant no good for them.

. . .

Lelouch ran a hand through his hair. He had to check himself, lest he wished to destroy what little sanity he had left. Then again, perhaps he had never had any, or if he had, he had already lost it all. After all, did he not still love the woman who had left him for another man?

What a pathetic fool he was. Just pathetic.

Shirley's friend (Kallen, was it?), rolled over, mumbling in her sleep and he frowned. How distasteful. He raised his tumbler of whiskey to his downturned lips, carefully keeping an eye on the redhead so that she didn't accidentally fall into his lap before glancing at his watch. It was a little past midnight right now, and C.C. had looked tired. Perhaps it was time to go home; he feared that if he were to continue staying here, surrounded by all of this alcohol, he'd fall back on his demons, and he couldn't have that. The love of his life was depending on him to protect her, to keep her alive, and if he were to fall prey to them once more, he might as well have been handing her over to the Hóng Hè all wrapped up in a red rib…

Three men furtively glanced over their shoulders before slipping into the restroom. Which the raven-haired man wouldn't have found suspicious or disconcerting if they had been stealing into the women's bathroom. He stood up, a frown set on his lips. What was going on?

. . .

"G-Georgie? Georgie, what's going on? What are you—"

"Oh, shut up, you slut." Shirley's eyes widened. Why was Georgie being so coarse? What was going on? Why were these two men in here? Why was one of them even restraining her, his hot, rank breath brushing her neck? And why was Georgie standing in the middle of the room with a triumphant sneer? What was going on?!

She doubled over with fits of vicious cackling that chilled her to the core. "Oh man, I just cannot believe my luck! And I was freaking out that we hadn't gone to the Lucky Rabbit like I'd planned. To think that I am going to end the Weiss Königin's life in the lion's den! Just think, the Blessed Isles, the nightclub placed right in the heart of Weiss Ritter territory and owned by the Weiss König himself. Talk about a dream come true. Oh, Mao is just going to get a kick out of this." Taking a dagger out of her clutch, she delicately traced the emerald-haired woman's jawbone with the malevolently glittering blade. "Oh, my God, I cannot believe my luck… To think that you'd be so gullible to take the bait… Does it really hurt you that much? Being forced away from the man you love? Oh, don't look so surprised, sweetheart. We know everything about you, from your favorite dish to what nail polish you're wearing to the moment you first met Leopold down to the very second… We've done our homework, you see, and now we intend to pass the test. You understand what that means, don't you? Oh, am I going to enjoy this." She chuckled darkly and C.C. merely glared at her silently, damning herself for being so careless and foolish. She should have seen this coming.

"Georgie, what—"

"Oh, shut up, Shirley!" The assassin straightened with a look of blatant vexation on her face. Spinning on her heel, she advanced on the ginger captive. "Do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? You're so vapid, so simplistic and ignorant. In fact, you can't even see the truth that's sitting right in front of you, you wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face."

"W-what are you—"

"Lelouch Lamperouge? Your Prince Charming? My God, Shirley, how dense can you be? Um, hello, anybody in that head of yours? Of course not. How can someone be so blind and so happy at the same time? Don't you get it? Lelouch and this woman over here, they used to—"

The door slammed open and Shirley jumped. Who—

Lelouch strode into the room, shooting Georgie before she had even turned around all the way. He quickly dispatched the rest of the bullets in his cartridge, and she watched with horrified eyes as scarlet blood splattered the mirrors and walls, painted the bathroom floor. What…?

C.C. instinctively rushed to the raven-haired man who put a protective arm around her. They were about to run out, when a pair of arms wrapped around his ankle, nearly tripping him. Turning around, he saw Georgie taking out a dagger from a hidden scabbard. Kicking her face, he crushed her hand before shooting her in the head.

And before she could even so much as call out for him, they vanished, leaving Shirley all alone with three corpses and a sea of Mafioso blood.

. . .

"System pattern noire. I need a background check of the Blessed Isle's entire staff with an investigation on Augustin's recent activity. Tell the Weiss König his wife's just been attacked and that I'm isolating the quarry from the hunters. Our electronic footsteps will be erased. Yes. Good. Make sure that you do."

C.C. gripped the edge of her seat as they raced through Pendragon's nightscape. It was the second time that week that she was caught up in a high-speed car chase in which all traffic laws were completely disregarded.

"C2, how many are on our tail?"

She glanced in the side mirror. "Three vans." She glanced at him; he was clenching his teeth in agitation. His knuckles were a pale white on the steering wheel; he was completely rigid with tension.

"Stay down. They're going to start shooting."

As if on cue, the rear window of the car shattered. She didn't say anything, didn't fuss or make any derogatory comments. She wasn't stupid; doing so would only make it more difficult for Lelouch, her champion and her only buffer against death.

She looked out of the window as they left the heart of the city, the center of Weiss Ritter territory, and the Mecca of affluence. The buildings became shorter, their designs more pragmatic than aesthetic, the streets becoming darker and more sinister, for this was the way Pendragon was designed. The beautiful and wealthy on the inside, protected by the less fortunate, the lower-class. It had been a long time since she had ventured out to the plebes, and as they whipped past, fragments of an old life, from another time, pecked and pinched at her already frayed nerves.

Pendragon City Limit; pop. 9,354,728.

The green sign was gone before it was completely there. They were out on the highway, darkness closing in on them from all sides and nothing but the bright moon and the car's blinding LED headlights to guide them through the desolate desert.

"C2, do you have your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Good."

And with that, they were swallowed up by the shadows. She gasped as she was thrown back into the leather seat. The car slowed down abruptly, and it felt as if the world were moving forward and she were going backwards. The taillights and headlights were turned off, cloaking them with the night. The only light was from the glowering meters on the dashboard which were illuminating the hard expression set on the raven-haired man's face as he cut over to the opposite lane.

Immediately shifting gears, he twisted around in his seat to see where he was going as they began to literally travel backwards. On her right, C.C. saw three dark blurs fly past her, undoubtedly the Mafioso who had been chasing them. Three minutes passed, five minutes, ten, until Lelouch deemed it safe enough to reveal themselves with the telltale lights. They startled the driver of a pickup truck, making him swear as they sped up so as to put more distance between the two vehicles.

Gears were shifted and they returned to their proper lane. They spun around, the wheels kicking up sand as they turned around to head away from the Hóng Hè and from danger. As she looked out of the window, ignoring her racing heart and the cold blood splattered on her dress, blood that didn't belong to her, C.C. trembled as relief washed over her.

They were safe. They were safe, she wouldn't die.

She wouldn't die. For the time being, she was safe.

Thank the heavens.

Thank the heavens for Lelouch Lamperouge.