He dreamt for a long time that she was standing in the rain again.

No umbrella, no hood. Just her hair sodden and twisted around her face and neck and shoulders. Upon her cheeks, it was impossible to distinguish the droplets of rain from the tears. He only dreamt the image, not the conversation, not his own presence there. She came and went, as well, not solid but a thing which shimmered in and out of his mind like a seashell dug into a beach, periodically revealed by the ebb of the surf.

He also dreamt for a long time that he was falling. Falling through banks of wrinkled cloud, lit orange and pink by a sunrise, the same kind of clouds which floated in the place beyond the Thought Elevator. He fell and fell and fell through the clouds until he broke through them, and dropped into a place full of stars. It was not space, this place, not cold, not a vacuum. A warm air blew on him as he fell, and his breaths came slowly and effortlessly. And far above he could see the clouds through which he had fallen, darkening as they receded away.

As he tumbled lazily through the stars, he felt calm take him. He did not know where he was. He did not know where he was going. It was not necessary to know these things. All that mattered was that, in that place full of stars, he was utterly at ease. He had no control over whatever was happening. But he also had no desire to control it. He thought he heard many voices all speaking at once. He saw faces. And the stars were busy out there, illuminating the nothingness. The stars warmed him as he drifted. Knowing that they were there laid his mind to rest, and he felt a relaxation he had not felt in years. The glow of the stars, and their placid murmuring, comforted him.

But there was something in the dark. He could feel it watching him. It was there in the empty spaces between the stars: the dark observing. There was an uneasy presence, something vast.

The stars went out!

One by one, until in all the darkness there was only one point of light. And when it was gone, there was nothing but effortless blackness, and a hideous panic took him.

DON'T LEAVE ME

DON'T GO

But they were gone. All of them. Forever.

He fell a long time through the void, left with nothing. But gradually, gradually, his dream returned to him. After an eternity in starless emptiness his mind floated up from beneath the abyss and saw and felt things again. Images from his life came to him. A swelling relief took him: the stars are still here. They haven't gone yet.

Every now and then, out of the lazy tide of images, he would see that one. The one of her standing in the rain. Again. Why had it stuck with him for so long? Of all things, why did he constantly remember that one image?

What was it about her?

Could he even remember? He remembered things, some of them. Her voice. Her face: Shirley smug, Shirley embarrassed, Shirley happy. But the one image, of her full of sorrow. That was the one that stayed with him. That was the one that leapt into his mind out of dozens or hundreds of others, the one that haunted the edges of his dreams like grey rain on the horizon.

She was a person who had nothing to do with violence and death. What to him had been a miscalculation, a greater-than-anticipated outcome, to her had been crushing and tragic.

He saw the flash of her face, smiling through pain, at her death. Her death loomed in at him past the field of stars. A feeling rose in him like an impossible chasm, a sense of loss so vast that it overshadowed anything. If, in this world, a person like her could be subjected to so much pain, then better to burn, better to burn it all, better to howl for murder and claw his eyes from their cursed sockets and break his hands on the stone beneath her. The pain in him lit and became a tower of fire, roiling unquenchable anger, a fury so vast that he would do anything, anything to feed it. He hated. He hated Rollo and C.C. and Kallen and Jeremiah and even her, even Shirley, he hated! And most of all! Most of all, he hated LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA!

But then the moment passed by, subsided. Because she didn't mind, she said. She really didn't mind. And she loved him. And she loved him. She forgave him. If she'd known that Rollo had killed her, she probably would have forgiven him too.

Because Shirley had always been a silly girl. She was childish. She was clumsy. Sometimes it grew apparent that she wasn't as intelligent as some. She only cared about silly little things. The really important things didn't matter to her. Big issues, like life and death, victory and defeat, Britannia and Japan. None of those larger issues mattered to her. She was concerned with… with knitting scarves, and who liked who at school, and what to eat for lunch, and movies and concerts and dates.

Compared to her, he was nothing.

Nothing.

His accomplishments, his unsurpassable intelligence, his schemes and plots, his successes and conquests. All of the most important things he had ever done. All totally meaningless compared to her.

She was a greater person than he would ever be. This was the thought that stayed with him for a long time as the stars wheeled by, and as he fell through them. Eventually he closed his eyes and let it carry him away. The stars whispered him to sleep. He slept for time uncountable.

He awoke with the image of Shirley's death burned into his mind. He was sweating, groping in panic for her hand. Sheets were twisted damply around his body. He raised up on his hands and knees, still feeling an afterimage of the stone she had died on, grinding into his palms. A sob shuddered through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted a hand to smear the tears away.

Beneath the mask he could feel the prickle of sweat on his cheeks, as the material wicked it from his face and sent it out the other side. With a sudden ferocity he pressed his thumbs into the catches and tore the mask from his face, hurling it against the wall. He had been wearing it at all times, fearing what would happen if someone untrustworthy recognized him. But now he couldn't seem to care.

He clambered up from the bed and felt his way to the bathroom, squinting as his hand found the light switch and flicked it on. His silhouette in the mirror suddenly was bathed in light, the face he rarely saw now, the wan pale countenance, hair draping low over his forehead and down between his shoulder-blades.

He hunched over the sink and stared into his own lavender eyes. As if he could Geass himself once again. Maybe Geass himself back to being Lelouch Lamperouge.

But it was far too late for that. In so many ways.

There was a soft knock on the door. Lelouch was hunched over the sink, fixated, skin shining with sweat; he did not even realize someone was intending to see him, until the knock came again. And then slowly the dark purple eyes slipped away from the mirror and his reflection, and he peered out of the bathroom, at the front door as though he'd never seen one before.

What if he opened it? Merely went to it, twisted the knob, drew it open without checking to see who was there? A normal person might do this, might not give a second thought to showing his own true face. Perhaps on the doorstep it would be C.C., back from her long stroll about the airship. Or Kallen with a question about the operation. Or it might be Thieving with his ever-present cigar, or Zealous slyly smiling, or a member of the airship's crew, and all would be lost. Nunnally would be lost.

He calmed his breathing, steadied himself, and looked through the tiny peephole. It was Kallen, arms crossed, glancing around as she waited.

"What do you need?" he said, and her sea blue eyes widened as she looked at the door.

"Um," she squirmed a little bit, glanced each way down the hallway again. "Nothing, really. I just wanted to see if you were up. Can we talk?"

"Yes," his voice reverberated through the door.

Kallen smiled. And waited. Lelouch continued to allow time for her to say something, but after a long while her smile expired, and her expression became annoyed. "You want to talk through the door?"

Lelouch frowned slightly. "You'd like to come in?"

"Well, yes," she said in exasperation. "That would make talking a bit easier."

He sighed and made a brief glance back at where he'd thrown the mask. It would take time to put it back on and he had no desire to do so anyway. He said tolerantly, "Is there anyone else in the corridor? Anyone at all?"

Kallen leaned back from the door, arms still crossed. She looked first left and then right, then shook her head. "No."

"All right," he said. He unlocked the door and opened it, and there she was framed in the doorway. Her eyes suddenly went wide and her mouth opened ever so slightly. For a long moment she only stared dumbly at him.

Then he scowled and withdrew further into the room's darkness, glancing furtively at the hall behind her. "Quickly."

Startled into motion, she hurried into the room. Lelouch closed the door, locked it, and latched it, then stared out of the peephole for a moment. When he finally turned, Kallen was still staring at his face, though her mouth had managed to close. She looked so surprised that Lelouch enjoyed a faint smile. Kallen smiled with him.

She said: "It really is you."

Now he chuckled. "You still had doubts?"

"I only ever had your eyes and your voice to go on," she shrugged and turned her back to him, wandering into the darkness of the room. "And your word." Then she looked over her shoulder and smirked cruelly. "With only that it's a wonder I came along."

She seemed to be ribbing him about his integrity. It was an odd thing to joke about, considering how badly betrayed by him she had at one point felt (or more than one). Lelouch crossed his arms and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. As his arms came up, Kallen glanced automatically down at the movement, and seemed to notice for the first time that he was wearing no shirt, only the striped flannel pants. Lelouch saw the slight reddening of her cheeks, as she glanced ineffectually at the painting next to her and clasped her hands in front. To think that she could still be unnerved by a thing like that.

He disengaged wearily from the wall and strolled over to her, speaking, "So what did you want to talk about?"

She watched him walk by her, her arms crossing to mimic his posture. "I just wanted to know a few things. You know. Like what happened and why you're still alive. Like what's happening right now."

Lelouch sat on the sofa across from the bed, light from the bathroom barely reaching him in the shadows there. Kallen came over and looked down at him. "Well?"

"It's difficult to explain," he shrugged at her.

She sat down next to him, tugging the hem of her skirt down further towards her knees. She was in her normal clothing of course, garb suited to a tourist visiting Britannia for the first time. The skirt was white and pleasant. She wore a yellow tank-top. He could see her black bra-straps, as she eased back into the sofa and gave him an inquisitive look, a red eyebrow cocked.

Lelouch vi Britannia said, with a smile and a lowering of his eyelids: "First you should know that my death was always part of the plan. Zero--the new Zero--was operating as I had predicted and I knew that it would come. Therefore I took precautions to ensure that no dying actually took place on my part--"

He was telling Kallen nothing crucial. He was not even fully listening to what he was saying, in fact. Instead he was observing her as he spoke. His voice flowed melodically and she listened as though there were nothing else in the world. Fascinating.

It was obvious that she desired him. It was also obvious she was trying to keep him from knowing it. Her arms remained crossed, her body language facing away from him at the darkened room. Her expression remained stern. Yet she was leaning slightly towards him; her breathing seemed to come quickly; every now and then as she listened to his voice, she would lick her lips or lift her fingers to self consciously touch her hair. Lelouch observed these details as he spoke and was intrigued.

It had been going on for some time, this attraction to him. This he knew. He had never given it much thought, while they had fought together. Her role had always been clear. There were times when he had thought to broaden that role, to extend the support that she gave him to a more intimate place. There had been times when he desired the closeness of her body, as a mere distraction, to ease the pain of loss. She had resisted. The first time he tried to kiss her, he had received a slap in return.

The second time, she had kissed him.

For a long time he had pondered that one. Of course at the time he had paid it no mind; had practically ignored her, but that was all according to plan. After much thought he had come to a partial conclusion: she had kissed him as a last minute hope that it would change his mind, make him back into Zero, and the friend she had known. Perhaps a final desperate attempt to make him understand how she felt. She didn't want to be a distraction, a diversion, a mere asset to him.

She wanted him to desire her, in the same way that she desired him.

Lelouch said, "--and as to the current situation, I had Geassed a number of people within the Imperial staff, to send an encrypted e-mail to a specific address if anything should go wrong with Nunnally. By luck one of these people was included in the plot against her."

And he leaned back into the sofa, finished for now, awaiting her next response. In his lap, his long fingers tapped absently. Kallen had relaxed somewhat during his oration, her hands clasped between her bare thighs, sinking back into the sofa until her body was pointed almost wistfully towards him. She had shifted closer as well, perhaps unconsciously, until her crossed legs were nearly touching his own.

He looked at Kallen; her face was softly lit by the glow from the bathroom, a strap of the tank-top slipping unnoticed from one shoulder. He looked at her lips, and the curve of her neck, and the shock of deep red hair. She'd started to wear it like that all the time, he noticed for the first time. Buoyant and fierce instead of brushed into submission.

Lelouch turned away, for a moment gazing over the shadows which lurked in the room's corners. It was there waiting in the dark, he could feel it. He did not want to be left alone with it. The dreams were made of death tonight.

Lelouch turned back to Kallen. Neither of them had spoken for a minute or two. She shifted nervously under his scrutiny. She was something vivid. So far removed from death. She burned with the present, with defiance and hope and life.

He wanted her. Tonight.

Why?

It excited him that she so obviously desired him. He had been dreaming of Shirley, of her feelings for him. He had not realized it until it was too late, the pure thrill of being wanted. It had ashamed him even to admit it to himself, but he acknowledged it nonetheless. It had been almost addictive, near the end, being in Shirley's presence, knowing and observing the affect that he had on her. Was it her capacity for love that he was drawn to, in retrospect? Or had he merely loved the power he had over her, the knowledge that she worshipped him?

There was something about both Kallen and Shirley, a feeling that C.C. could never give him. C.C. was nearly passionless, her ability to care dulled by centuries of life. They were friends and lovers, yes. She supported him. But there was something about C.C. that had died even though her body never did; she was half-alive, moving through the world without bothering to look at it any longer. It was surreal, at times, how half of her seemed to live beyond his reach, beyond the reach of anything living. She had never looked at him with any true desire in her heavy-lidded eyes, never shown any signs of passion. Their moments of intimacy together had been silent, solemn, slow. He never knew whether she was pleased by him or not. C.C. was as cold as a snowflake.

Kallen burned like the sun.

He wanted her. Tonight.

Why?

Because she wanted him.

She would drive away the darkness which awaited, and together they would bathe in starlight for the present. Everything else could wait, the reminders and promises that all of it would fade away.

"Kallen," his voice came quietly, and she startled. It was the first time either of them had spoken in some time.

"Yeah?" she wrinkled her nose and sniffed.

His lavender eyes gazed into her. "Do you remember when you kissed me, at Ashford Academy?"

She blushed slightly, eyes wide, and suddenly seemed to notice that she'd been leaning closer to him. She shifted awkwardly backwards, clearing her throat. "Um. Yeah, I guess."

"Why did you?" he smiled in at her, an arm languidly thrown over the sofa's back.

Kallen swallowed nervously. She glanced at his lips for a split second, then back to his eyes. "Um. I don't know."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "You don't know? Are you sure?"

She said in a small voice, looking away, "I just thought... maybe... it would bring you back."

And Lelouch vi Britannia smiled gently. "I am back," and Kallen looked up with a single tear slipping down from one of her eyes. Then he leaned closer to her: "I never thought I would see you again. And if I did ever see you I thought you would hate me."

Lelouch lifted a hand to gently wipe the tear from her cheek. "Do you hate me?"

Kallen sniffed plaintively. "I don't know."

He withdrew his hand from her cheek and she shivered. Now Lelouch leaned forward and spoke softly next to her ear: "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

Kallen caught her breath, stiffening ever so slightly. She closed her eyes. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms. When her eyes opened, Lelouch put his fingers under her chin and kissed her. Her lips slid warmly over his own. She made a small noise of alarm and her eyes widened, hands rising to press against his chest.

But then her hesitation passed, and she was kissing him back, running her hands down over his bare abdomen, pressing herself against him. He could feel her body against his through the tank top. His hands pulled her towards him as hers ran through his hair. He kissed her lips for a long while, and then her cheeks, and then her neck. When he kissed Kallen's neck she made a tiny gasp and pressed tighter against him, back arching. He kissed under her chin. Then her lips again. And then she was falling backwards, pulling him down on top of her.

He caught himself before his weight came down fully on her, a hand on either side of her head. His hair had grown so long that it spilled down to tickle her face. She was smiling so coyly that Lelouch hesitated a moment before continuing; he stared down at her. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she reached up to absently slide her hand along his arm, until it rested upon his own hand beside her head. "Have you always thought I was beautiful? I thought for so long I was nothing to you..."

His arms bent, bringing him down so he could kiss her again, then push back up. "You always meant a lot to me."

He kissed her twice more in the same fashion, and she giggled: "Push-ups? Not your strong suit." And she took hold of his wrists and very easily pinned them behind his back. Then she leaned up into him, until he fell on his back, bumping his head on the armrest. "Ouch." Her body came down on top of his and she straddled him, drawing his hands up over his head. Lelouch stared in amazement; five minutes ago she had blushed when he so much as went shirtless in her presence.

She stared down at him. "I can't believe this is happening," she breathed. She let go of his wrists and slowly ran her fingers over the whole of his chest. She swallowed, then hesitated for a moment when her hands reached his hip-bones.

Lelouch said, "What is it?"

"Savouring the view," she told him sheepishly. "I think you're the prettiest guy I've ever seen."

He was sceptical. "Pretty?"

"Beautiful, even," she bent to kiss his chest, then eased down on top of him, cuddling into him. She rested the side of her head on his chest and sighed. Lelouch craned his neck, gazing down to see her hair spilling down over either side of his torso. The side of her face was hot against him. She seemed to be savouring the sound of his heartbeat, or his breathing, or both. Amazing. He rested his head against the armrest with a long sigh. It was exactly what he had wanted. Amazing. They basked in each other.

Soon she slid her way up his body to kiss him again, gently. His hands snaked around her and stretched up between her shirt and her back, holding her close. Kallen's skin was like hot velvet. More than merely warm, more than merely smooth. He drew her shirt up until their bare flesh pressed together. The skin, there too, was hot against his own. He put his hands on her shoulders, her arms, her back and front, her cheeks. Everywhere it was the same.

Her flesh was literally hot, as though a trillion stars burned within her.

Zealous watched the green woman glide across the airship's deck. She moved through the night like a spirit, the simple white gown drifting about her. She passed by the ranks of deck-chairs without seeing him as he relaxed there with his tea. She went to the railing some ways away from him and gazed out for a long while, hair floating in the wind.

Here over the ocean the stars peered down, and a huge bright half-moon. Zealous liked nights like this more than he liked sleeping through them; he had left Thieving snoring in the room, made tea, and found a deck-chair to recline on. Cradled by the night, he had sat for some time now with only stars, moon, and wind for company. Beneath him the airship thrummed with gentle motion, finding its languid way across the Pacific to Britannia.

And now the green woman had appeared. For many minutes she stood alone at the railing, staring motionlessly out at the horizon. Zealous sipped tea and watched her. Maybe she had the same love of night that he did, or maybe she was unable to sleep. It was never clear quite what she was up to. Presently, she turned away from the railing and made to walk away; but she saw Zealous then, stopped short, and gazed at him for a moment as if wondering why he was there. Zealous had half a mind to wave, or leap up and rush over to join her. But there was a sullenness in her look that gave him pause.

She turned and walked away, soon disappearing from view. Zealous leaned back in his chair and pondered C.C. Normally he would have approached as soon as she'd appeared, to converse and to honour the coincidence that had brought them both out under the starlight. But there was something in her, tonight, that warded him off, some sombre presence. And then the expression she'd sent him was unusually empty.

C.C. was troubled by something. Zealous knew this.

He looked up at the moon again, almost a look of camaraderie. There were some nights that Zealous and the moon shared alone together. Now they had company. The green woman wandered in the night with them. They were the evening's hosts, and if their guest was unhappy, it was an issue that troubled them both.

Yet still Zealous would not bother her during her stroll. It went against his nature to make this decision, but it seemed likely that she wanted to be alone. That's what the look had been. Almost uncomfortable to discover that he also shared the night.

Who was she? He had already extracted from Kallen that both of them were former members of the Black Knights. But in what capacity had she served? She wasn't going to pilot a knightmare during the mission, and she didn't have a soldier's look. She was operating as a coordinator, for this man L.L. It was clear that he too was a former member of the Black Knights, probably a superior officer to Kallen and C.C.

And what had convinced Kallen to help them, after he and Thieving had so spectacularly failed? That one had never been properly explained, and Kallen wouldn't speak of it. Clearly he and Thieving were being kept in the dark on a number of things, because they weren't former Black Knights.

Kallen had been so adamantly against kidnapping the Empress. And now--

But it was pointless to speculate. There were innumerable conclusions to be jumped to from what he had learned so far, and it was still too soon to be sure of anything. His intuition had not told him the answer yet. When the pieces had fallen far enough into place, he would understand.

For now, it was enough to be drinking tea under the sky.

And what a sky! Out here over the ocean the stars twinkled densely together, crowding out the darkness. And the cloudy swath of the galactic rim was visible amid them. The lights of cities were far away, offering no competition for the lights of space. Over the ocean one could stare unhindered deep into the universe, seeing suns trillions of kilometers away, clearly, with the naked eye.

Beyond their utter brilliance there was utter death. They were the life in the void.

This one took a while to complete. I have to thank Wynster for beta reading it extensively. Because it's been delayed a bunch and proofread, I'm maybe half-way through the next one. Wait shouldn't be long.

Oh, and the chapter title comes from the Muse song by the same name. The name Muse is really apt for them--their songs are perfect for listening to while writing.

JDCT