Of Greatness

Churches creep her out. She's never liked them. It's that feeling of being watched, that feeling that gives so many people comfort, but for her feels more like the weight of judgment, and one she has failed.

C.C. looks at this one with nostalgia, at the bullet-proof, stained glass windows done in portraits of scarlet and gold. The immortal holds out her hands to caress the red light, and Kallen looks away, uneasy, prickled.

Lelouch doesn't even enter, which strikes her as rude. C.C. is his partner, after all, not hers.

She asks him later, when they're alone and the praying and repentance has ended. He frowns very slightly. "We make our own gods," he says, exits the elevator and strolls down the hall. She lets the doors block him out.

Faith has never been her strongest subject. She's better at math, where everything has a definite value, and the only thing is proving and answer wrong or right. There is no such thing as ambiguity or interpretations.

She rides the elevator back down and wonders what it is that makes people believe.

She models her new dress, the one she'll be wearing as his escort when they attend some Britanian assembly. Lelouch barely looks at her.

"Not black," he says impatiently to C.C., "She isn't supposed to look like a bodyguard."

So they put her in white, and looking down at herself, she feels oddly naked. The hemline is embroidered with feathers, the stitching done in the same color as the dress. She walks out of the bathroom and does a slow rotation.

She catches the faint mirror of her own discomfort in Lelouch's face before he turns away. "That's fine." He says vaguely. She waits for a second and then changes back, and ignores the look C.C. gives her.

Whatever. She knows better.

The disguise is a necessary one. But it frightens her a bit, to see this mild eyed reflection with her tucked back hair and lipstick, and not recognize her at all.

They've gotten better at it. She knows when to step closer. The small talk is harder, and she tries her best to smile politely, hovering at Lelouch's elbow and trying not to feel worthless. She lasts half an hour before the whole ordeal has rendered her completely impatient.

There is a soft touch at her elbow, and she looks around to see Shirley, smiling her shy, sweet smile, exactly the sort of lady Kallen could never be. She smiles back, before she remembers that—Shirley cannot know her.

"I don't think we've met," she drops her voice only slightly, and nearly stammers at her fake name, "Raine Lecuerda, and you are?"

For the briefest instant Shirley blinks, but then introduces herself as well. Her smile falters slightly, glancing towards Lelouch, his back to both of them while he speaks. "Are you Lulu's date?"

It is the tremor in her voice that almost makes her cave. But that would be even crueler. "Yes," she smiles mindlessly, "I suppose I am."

"Oh," Shirley says, with remarkable composure for one who looks like she might cry, "I see. Well, I've—he looks busy, so I think I'll just…" she trails off and meanders away, lovely in her floor-length, white dress. She is effortlessly the angel Kallen has mimicked.

Lelouch turns back to her almost as soon as Shirley has left, and he glances up, something tired about his expression, before closing his eyes and steering her to a darker part of the room.

She remembers then, what the Chinese girl had said; that every great man could never seem to settle for a single woman.

"Thank you," Lelouch says quietly, flicking his chin towards Shirley, her knotted shoulders. She shrugs, and ponders over what she must do.

She sits at his side all through dinner and resolves that she will not be a mere woman, that she is more than that, and proud of it. Shirley is not the first nor the last, and C.C. remains the partner, but her role is reserved for the end, and her job is to guard him to it.

She swallows the bitter wine. Their knees touch beneath the table, and neither moves away.

The ship is sinking, and he shall see its course.

She will be the one to swim.