A/N: Guess what, y'all—I'm writing ANOTHER "Code Geass" fanfic! And it's about Mao!

I've had a mind to write a story like this for quite some time now, but I've only just now found the time and the motivation to do it. Tell me what you think—is it as good as or better than what I've done previously with this guy? Or am I losing my touch?

In the meeting room of the hospital, a group of nurses were gathering together with the hospital doctor. "So," he said, "how is our newest patient?"

"The...the Chinese man we found?" the head nurse asked, pulling out her clipboard. She began reading off the list of notes she had already taken. "Let's see...young Chinese male, approximately seventeen years old by the looks of things... Well," she began hesitantly, "he...he seems to be getting better. Actually, he's recovering at an alarming rate—at least physically. I've never seen bones or tissue heal so fast—it's like magic. However..." she began.

"Go on," the doctor encouraged.

"Well," the head nurse continued, "he...every time we go in to visit him, he just thrashes around and wails. Sometimes in Chinese, sometimes in English. We actually had to strap him down—he shouldn't be moving so much or his injuries will get worse—and then he just kept wailing and wailing."

The doctor removed his glasses and wiped them thoughtfully on his coat. "And what does he say, when he wails?"

"Well," said the head nurse, "like I said, sometimes he speaks Chinese so I don't understand that, but...whenever he talks in English, it's always about the voices in his head and how much he hates them, and how he has to get out of there and find some girl, whom he calls...CC."

"See-Two?" the doctor repeated curiously.

"That's the only name he's given her," said the head nurse.

"We've tried asking him about who this CC person is," explained one of the other nurses. "But he won't give us a straight answer. He just goes on and on about 'my CC' and how some man named Lelouch has stolen her away from him."

"So, do you think he could be...mentally unstable in some way?" the doctor proposed.

"I don't doubt it," said the nurse. "But, I don't know what's wrong with him. We've been keeping him in a room separate from everyone else—we can't keep him around the other patients if he wails all day and night like that—and strapped him in his bed to keep him still, but nobody's been able to diagnose him with any sort of mental problem."

"Well," said the doctor, "keep monitoring him as you have been. I'll send for a psychiatrist to look at him as soon as I can." He stood up and started to walk out of the room.

"Understood," said the head nurse. She turned to one of the youngest nurses. "Why don't you bring our patient some water and painkillers?"

The young nurse grimaced inwardly—she didn't like to work with this strange patient. Nobody did. But somebody had to take care of him and keep him medicated and fed and watered, and since she had the least seniority, that task usually fell to her. "Yes, ma'am," she replied softly before dragging her feet out of the room.

The second she was in the hallway containing the patient's room, she could hear his screams of agony, and they made her blood run cold. She felt indignation swell up inside her—why did he have to have been brought here? Why couldn't some other hospital take him? Hell, why couldn't he have just died? By all rights those injuries he received should have killed him, yet their expert surgeons were able to give him a second chance at life. But if he was miserable enough to wail like that day in and day out (and it was a worse wailing than any she had heard, she was sure), then wouldn't death be preferable? Wasn't it the job of a medical clinic to end suffering?

Taking a deep breath, she slowly pushed the door open, the tray of water and pills trembling in her other hand. "Sir," she called, "it's time for you to take your medicine."

The teenager stopped wailing and drew a great breath before slowly turning his head toward her. "Y-you," he stammered breathily. "What do you want?"

The nurse forced her face into a cheerful expression. "I'm just here to give you some water and painkillers," she explained. "To make you feel better."

The patient eyed her suspiciously through his long silvery-white locks. In an instant the nurse saw that his eyes seemed to be glowing pink, and a tremor of fear ran through her. "Why do you keep bringing me those things?" he asked nastily.

"Well...because you need them to feel better," explained the nurse, fighting to keep her voice calm, her heart pounding into her throat.

"But why do you care if I feel better," the teenager continued, "if you hate me so much?"

The nurse felt her blood run cold. "I...I don't hate you!" she half-shouted. "I don't hate you at all! What gave you that idea?"

"I know you resent the fact that I was brought here to torment you," the young man continued. "You think I'd be better off dead than in your presence." His eyes were going watery and glassy. "Y-you...you don't think I deserve to live!" he shouted. And then he began to wail again. "If only CC were here!" he shouted melodramatically. "She'd take good care of me!"

"S-sir," said the nurse, clearing her throat, "I-I don't know where you got those ideas from...but..." -but she couldn't deny that they were the truth-"but you still need to take your medicine."

The teenager glared at her so intensely his eyes seemed to glow (or was that an actual glow she saw in them?). "Oh, fine!" he declared at last. "At least it'll make the pain in my limbs go away!"

"That's a good boy," said the nurse soothingly, raising his headrest and holding the pills and water up to his mouth (she didn't trust him enough to remove the restraints on his arms). To her immense relief, she found that he swallowed them without any kind of fuss. "There you are," she murmured. "Here, why don't I put on the TV?" Walking across the room, she picked up a clicker and turned on a screen high up on the wall. The offerings were minimal—today's options included news; a show about a family of wizards, each vying for the right to keep his or her powers; and a show about a prep school in which part of the student body were sexy vampires who attended classes only at night. "Any of these look good to you?" she asked.

"I like the one about the...the teenage wizards," the teenager grumbled, his voice heavy with disdain.

"Alright, then," said the nurse. "I'll leave that one on. Let me know if you need anything, alright?" And with that, she left the room, glad that things hadn't been worse. That patient said the funniest things. He didn't make sense most of the time, but he was penetratingly accurate about what everyone he knew was thinking. Once, his incoherent wailing had alerted the nurses to a patient who was having a psychotic break upstairs. It was like—like magic, almost.

Once the hated nurse had left the room, Mao glared after her for a long time before rolling his eyes to the television set. The show was harmless fun, but it couldn't keep his mind off the unendurable agony of having to hear the thoughts of all the harried nurses and doctors and sick people—or at least not for long. Gritting his teeth, he tried to concentrate on the spunky female lead of the show, to no avail.

He began to wail again. "Oh CC!" he shouted. "CC, where are you?! Pleeease, get me out of here! I'll do anything if you just get me out of this horrible place! I swear! Oh—Lelouch, I'll have my revenge on you! You took away CC from me and now you subject me to this! You just wait till I get out of here-!" he screamed until his throat was raw, and then began to sob. "CC," he whimpered, "where are you? Please, come get me. Take me away. Take me far away from these people who hate me so much. Please. I'll do anything. I love you..."

Don't you love me anymore?