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Chapter Text

A tall, distinguished man, dressed conservatively in a grey suit, brushed back his blond hair, the eyes he shared with much of his family flashing violet in the dim light. He strode through the hallway with purpose, a thick, official envelope stamped with the Empress’s seal in his right hand. He didn’t bother to knock on the door of his destination; he was the second prince of the Britannian Empire, and there were few doors locked against him.

The man seated behind the mahogany desk stood instantly upon Schneizel’s entrance. He bowed deferentially, his dark brown eyes watchful and careful. As head of covert operations, Justice Havens was the master of the spies, and the king of watchdogs for the empire. A slim, tough man nearing his fortieth year dressed in a simple black suit with a subtle navy tie, his unassuming demeanor belied the scar that halved his right eyebrow and dragged down his cheek. Not to mention his kill record. The prince offered him a small nod of acknowledgement before handing Havens the envelope nestled in his hand.

“Orders from the Empress, Havens. Discretion and speed are stressed, as always.”

Havens glanced down at the envelope, debating with himself. His first instinct was to ask Schneizel what the envelope contained, but it was difficult to get unbiased information from the man. There was always a strange glow to his eyes when issues that tipped the scale away from Nunnally were brought up. Havens was used to biased information, but only after he had made it that way.

Holding his silence and making his way back to his desk, Havens slit the envelope open with the same cool indifference and economical precision he had once slit throats in the field. As his dark eyes swiftly flitted over the heavily scrolled words, his eyebrows slowly lifted. After reading the message through twice, he finally lifted his eyes to the prince.

“Have you read this?” he asked quietly, gesturing with the letter without offering it.

Schneizel drew himself up, a familiar expression of foreboding and warning hooding his eyes and hardening his mouth.

“No. I am not apprised of every small command the empress sees fit to delegate. She has assistants for that,” he finished sharply.

Havens bobbed his head in apology, but couldn’t help but wonder what the prince would think of the command he had just received. He guessed that Schneizel’s precarious place within the empire was to thank for his snappish mood. Since Odysseus couldn’t be confirmed as dead, Nunnally didn’t want to promote his younger brother into his position, no doubt to avoid any more conflict within a family still recovering from the violent rifts that had nearly torn in apart should he return. Although Havens privately thought that Odysseus wouldn’t care if he was indeed still alive after the Pendragon incident, the empress had taken a firm stand, and she had proven surprisingly stubborn.

As such, Schneizel stood as Nunnally’s heir and crown prince; however, upon the birth of any children, he would quickly be displaced, and would stand as little better than the assistants he derided. For a man once reveling in power, Havens supposed this was a difficult thing for the proud prince to swallow.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I will see to it that Empress Nunnally’s orders are carried out quickly and discretely, as always.” Havens took to examining the letter, waiting until Schneizel had imperiously strode from the room to lift his eyes. Heaving a deep breath through his nose, Justice took his seat behind the desk, tipping his chair back precariously, his impeccable balance keeping it poised on one leg with little to no effort.

Zero was in London right now performing an inspection for the Empress. Besides the capital, the countryside was riddled with old manors falling apart at the seams and craters the size of ponds. Ghettos stained the area outside old major cities. Not the most ideal countryside, and not a big enough political player for enough of his agents to be comfortable with it.

That would make the task of Zero’s assassination a little more difficult than usual. But for a man who had killed more than his fair share of straying political figures, he doubted it would pose much of a problem. What really puzzled him was that Nunnally had ordered it at all. What would the second prince do without his master? And what would the empress do without her shadow?

It was almost two in the morning in London, and as Suzaku dropped onto the aging couch with an explosive sigh, he glanced around, purposely avoiding the glint of the black mask he had dropped in a corner. Nunnally had left the arrangements of his quarters while abroad up to him, and Suzaku, ever the repenting sinner, had booked a small, seedy room on the uglier side of the city. Its only mirror was in the bathroom, which was a relief. He had broken all of the ones in his quarters in the palace, much to the servants’ chagrin.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes in a vain attempt to staunch the images that played there. In the two years since the Demon Emperor Lelouch’s death, Suzaku had been haunted viciously. The eyes of the dead, the tears of the living; he was constantly barraged by the memories of lives destroyed and dreams ended. And so much of it at his hand. He laughed bitterly, the rusty sound echoing in the dim air.

Lelouch, ever the strategist. Did the bastard have any idea how intensely he had condemned his old friend? Punishing him with a life spent in service of the very empire he had once served loyally, tried to change, then heartlessly abandoned. Forcing him to spend every moment serving Nunnally. It wasn’t so much the young woman he despised – she was one of the few reliefs he had, and Suzaku knew that he provided her with some modicum of comfort in replacement for her dead martyr of a brother. But it was the memories. The memories that pounded at the inside of his skull, that thrummed through his body with the beat of his blood until he thought he would drown in them. And he couldn’t escape it.

Lelouch had commanded him to live. If you could call this half existence any sort of life. But as long as Suzaku’s heart still beat, he was obeying his king’s orders. It terrified him, the concept that his life had been whittled down to that. After a lifetime of dissent and hope, Suzaku no longer tried to change anything. He had had his revolution, and he still wasn’t even sure he had fought for the right side, even though he had fought for both. He had received his inheritance; ghosts, and a mask. There was nothing else left.

The preparation didn’t take long – the last six months had made the movements almost mechanical. The small bite at the crook of his arm didn’t even make Suzaku flinch – when the heroin slid into his blood and bloomed in his brain, he finally closed his eyes. It was the only way he could sleep. It was the only way he could find peace. In that drug-induced fog, the ghosts couldn’t find him, the people crying while he stood with their blood on his hands blocked by the clouds of heroin. There, he saw the woman he loved alive, and smiling. He slipped away while he could, into oblivion.

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, the phantom-like figure of Zero walked along London streets, the hollow eyes of refugees watching him closely from the shadows of the ruins not yet addressed by the Construction Council. Which was most of the city. No one dared approach him; around here, Zero was something of a wizard, a mythical figure of legend. They had no way to know that this Zero didn't have Geass, but that didn't mean he was any less intimidating.

Suzaku made his way slowly out of the heart of the city – the Thames still didn't run clear, but at least it was moving. It reminded him of the Shinjuku ghetto, which inevitably dredged up memories of the massacre that seemed to have been the beginning of everything. It had been the first time he'd seen Lelouch in years –

Forcefully stopping that train of thought with a shudder, Zero reached out and braced a hand against a beam rammed into the middle of the street, no doubt tossed there by an explosion. Harlesden had been a pit before, and was practically a ghost town now, littered with rubble and populated by the lost and abandoned that scattered at his approach. Vomit burned its way up his throat, and Suzaku's wheezing breaths did little to settle it back down as he squeezed his eyes against flashes of Lelouch and C.C. and Kallen and, God forbid, Euphemia.

Perhaps that's why the infamous Zero was such an easy target; it was almost too easy when he stood still, battling the poison of old memories as his preferred toxin faded from his system. At the last possible second, though, he lurched to the right. This allowed the 7.62 caliber sniper bullet to rip through his left shoulder, cracking his scapula and shattering his collar bone before it buried itself in the ground in front of him instead of severing Suzaku's spine. As he dropped bonelessly to his knees, ineffectively pressing his right hand to his shoulder in numb shock, the sniper, almost a block away, cursed under his breath.

"Dammit. Lucky son of a bitch."

His spotter chuckled as the sniper ripped the bolt action lever back, sending the shell flying and smacking the length of metal forward with a dangerously practiced air. "Shut up. Twenty bucks says he doesn't get another block." The spotter raised his brows – he had known the sniper for two years, and the guy was pretty damn talented. But this was Zero they were talking about. The man had to be at least half magic. And they no longer had the element of surprise on their side.

"You're on."

The sniper smirked, already sighting the cloaked figure in his scope. His brows quickly drew together, however, and before he could lock onto him, Zero was darting into the building next to him. He squeezed off a round that missed Zero by inches, cracking into the cement of the abandoned bar the masked man dove into.

"Motherfucker," the sniper growled under his breath in an almost wondering tone before sighing heavily. "Call it in. He's leaving a blood trail like a stuck pig – it won't be hard to track him down."

The spotter tried really hard not to laugh as he radioed in. He didn't succeed.

The base in London apprised Havens of the situation, who sat at his desk with his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth. The sniper had failed to secure a kill shot, although they could confirm that Zero was wounded; Havens wasn't really surprised. Without a moment's hesitation, he gave the order for the hit team to move in. He had his orders. Zero had to die.

Suzaku stumbled through the musty building, tripping over rotting barstools as the intense rush of his own breathing scoring his throat like cold air, the beat of his blood a roar in his ears. Blood had already soaked through his glove, and he could feel the damp heat spreading down to his waist. As the first shock of pain sifted through his system, adrenaline and Lelouch's order quickly unfurled to take its place. His breathing still hard and fast, Suzaku wondered that his heart didn't pound right out of his chest. There was the growl of a motor from the street, then a few shouts as doors slammed and boots stomped against the broken road. They were coming for him.

His cloak snapping like the wings of bird, Suzaku spun and streaked out of the back of the building, slamming through the doorway like a lightning strike out into a back alley that still reeked of urine. Moving on instinct, he turned to the left, dodging into an open doorway that led to a set of stairs missing a five foot section in the middle. Trusting his body to function despite the injury, he sprinted up the rotting wood, soaring over the gap with a balletic grace his opponents had once recognized. Only now, he was black, instead of white. He landed a little harder and less gracefully than usual, but he was already making his way to the third floor by the time the troops following him with guns raised and intent to kill burst into the alley. Suzaku could hear the click of their heels on the pavement, low commands murmured as the unit broke apart to box him in.

Unlike regular army soldiers, these men didn't shout orders and run like buffalo – they melted into the shadows, almost as stealthy as their prey. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Suzaku folded himself into a corner on the third floor, watching the men chasing him closely from the impromptu balcony ripped into the house from half of the floor's collapse. They moved into the shadows, and a few managed to cross the gap in the stairs with little to no fuss. The rest headed outside, no doubt lending cover and making sure he didn't escape to another building. Too bad he would disappoint them.

Heaving one last breath as a bolster, Suzaku leapt to his feet, fleetly running for a window in a dangerous bid for escape. The soldiers heard his steps skittering off the floor above them, sending them running up the steps after him. Calculating the distance and scrounging his memory of this neighborhood, Suzaku burst through the jagged glass, for once thankful for the cloak, coat, and mask of Zero's guise. He landed in a roll on the small, unsteady balcony across the street. Before he had a chance to take to his feet, bullets ripped through the wood from the soldiers stationed in the alley below, one grazing his right calf in a bee sting burst of pain. He had clapped his already bloody hand to the wound when the wood gave a gut-wrenching shriek, sending his eyes flying wide.

Reacting with the inhuman speed that had granted him the Lancelot in what seemed centuries ago, he launched to his feet, jumping up to snatch the top of the frame of the small door that opened onto the balcony. Just as the wooden platform broke free from the shattered stone, Suzaku rammed his feet into the door, shooting through just in time to avoid the bullets whizzing by his head. His blood-soaked glove slipped on the sill, sending him crashing down in a heap in the dusty living room. He landed almost fully on his wounded shoulder, sending him careening towards the black. Fighting it off with a sweaty grip on his consciousness, Suzaku struggled against the retching the send his ribcage into a spasming fit. Slipping to his feet, he limped over to the doorway, sidling up next to the empty frame as he listened for signs of his pursuers.

When the soft patter of their footsteps drifted up through the floors, Suzaku squeezed his eyes closed, and thought to himself very clearly, "I'm going to die." Even more adrenaline gushed through his system, wiping out the drum beat of pain in his shoulder and the sassy tinkle of hurt in his leg. Moving with the economical movements of a man no longer truly in control of himself, he jogged down the hallway, hardly limping as his blood splattered against the wood floor scarred by time, war, and death. Clambering out another window, he took to the roof, seamlessly leaping from one building to another as he built his speed. His long legs pumped without fault, his iconic coat trailing dramatically. Even though his old injuries, broken ribs and torn ligaments and countless others, ached vehemently, his brain registered none of it.

The sniper and his spotter took to the roof of a building three blocks east of their original position. The man with the gun still thirsted for a chance to redeem himself; he would never be able to face his CO if his didn't at least wing his target again. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, crinkling at the corners in a sharp smile when a black figure on the rooftops started running back west. He would cut across to their right in about twenty seconds.

Dropping down to his stomach, the sniper readied his weapon, his eye already trained through the scope before his elbows hit concrete. The bones of residential buildings had given way to giant craters, some as broad as a field while others were narrow and drilled down to London's ancient sewers. The spotter's joking was gone – he knew that his sniper had the chops to make the shot and finish the mission, especially after the tactical team had run down their target for a while. And with the sting of the first failure burning his ass? He'd be unstoppable.

Zero sprinted along the rooftops, hardly pausing when he had to jump or dodge. The sniper narrowed his eyes – he sure wasn't moving like a man who had taken a bullet. Carefully adjusting for a moving target, he narrowed his eyes slightly, and was about to exhale and pull the trigger when Zero suddenly tumbled through the weak roof of one of the buildings, still visible since that facing wall was all but gone. He rolled like a ball before taking to his feet without pause, moving with a feline grace that belied his injury. The small pops of gunfire warned the sniper that the tactical team was closing in, their bullets thudding into the building's gray, flaking bones. They were all but herding Zero to him.

Clearly preferring the roof to running closer to the tactical team bullets, Zero made his way back to the skyline, moving more like a cat than a man. He made his way to a stand of rebar that had once been a building, black fingers of metal tangled as they reached for the sky. This time, the sniper didn't waste his time – on the slow exhale, he squeezed the trigger. He could tell by the jerk of Zero's shoulders that his bullet had found its target.

Suzaku stuttered to a halt, bending over as he gasped violently. He didn't think it was possible, but his Geass command was being overridden by too much pain. It would seem that he could feel more than even the magic he had never really believed in could control. Black bubbled in his vision, and the thunder in his ears started to slow. He didn't feel his legs collapse, but he was vaguely aware of his eyes rolling back as his knees hit the narrow beam he stood on and sent him tumbling into the bowels of the building.

The tactical team was quickly regrouping with the apparent termination of their target. The spotter clapped a hand to the sniper's shoulder as he finally popped the gum he'd been silently chewing the whole time. The sniper wordlessly watched Zero fall, limply crashing through the compromised floors and rotted beams with all the resistance of a rag doll without moving from his prone position. Zero's tattered and torn cloak cradled him, his limbs loose as he smacked against floors and beams until he eventually disappeared into the shadows cast by the building as the sun fell west. Pursing his lips as he heard the faint report of cracking bone, the sniper finally made his way to his knees. As he meticulously policed his brass, he could swear that he heard the faint splash of water. But he couldn't be sure.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Confident that she was far enough away from any military personnel to risk breaking radio silence, Aurora snagged the vintage hand-held resting in one of the cupholders as she motored along the ragged streets. The ghosts of Harlesden were poking their heads out from their dens, interested and wary of a vehicle moving so fast. When she glanced over at Bannock, who had ended up folding his incredibly long limbs awkwardly and resting his head on Suzaku's knee, his ears perked, his liquid brown eyes connecting with hers like they were seeing her soul. Damn dog, she thought to herself with a reluctant smile as she hailed Kendra. Silly thing was crazier than a two-headed hen, but he did love her more than life itself. He'd proven that a long time ago. When Kendra responded, Aurora settled into the old code they had established when they'd first arrived in London, paranoid teenagers who had everything to hide and nothing to prove.

"Hey, Kendra, I found a hurt dog while I was out. I think I'll call him Stanley, over," she said quickly, the name the indication of an injured human under code, not a real dog. Aurora could hear the whistled steam of the doctor's sigh.

"You know I don't have room for any more strays. Over."

"I know. But you're going to want to help this one. I think he's got a hell of a pedigree. Who knows, his owner might be rich enough to get us a reward. Over."

A reward had nothing to do with it – Aurora was warning Kendra that their potential patient was someone well known.

"What's wrong with him? Over," she finally asked after letting the radio squawk for a few moments.

"His shoulder and front leg are totally jacked up – I think he might have been hit by a car. Or shot. Back leg's a little mangled. He almost drowned when he fell into the Bones pool. Damn if that wasn't a project getting him out. Over."

"Jesus, Aurora. My O.R. is a joke. How bad is it? Over."

Aurora glanced over at the translucent paleness of Suzaku's skin, the red haze rapidly spreading along her rushed bandages. His head bounced limply as she shot over a break in the road that was practically a ditch.

"Pretty fuckin' bad," Aurora murmured in return.

Kendra muttered something under her breath as she waited for the younger woman to say "over." It sounded vaguely like "goddamn idiot pain in the ass," but Aurora chose to ignore it with a crooked smile. Suddenly remembering, she said "Over," as an afterthought.

"Who hurt him? Poachers? Over."

Their code for scum squirming in from other parts of the city to get a piece of the shattered action. They usually slunk away after a while, disappointed with the lack of the good shit. Refrain, or worse. Older, uglier, dirtier drugs that used to flood the streets. Now their waves of corruption were little better than a memory, only the twisted corpses of used needles melted by explosions left as a reminder. Little twisted bones that had dug into the concrete of the gutters, fragments of humanity at its worst.

"Nah. Hunters. With big, expensive guns. Over."

No one would hunt a dog in this part of town, but that was part of the brilliance of their code. On one hand, it was perfectly believable; on the other, it was completely ridiculous. So to whoever was tuning in, the challenge was deciphering which part was the truth. When, in fact, nothing but the details mattered.

"Christ," Kendra growled. Since she didn't say "over," and was much more conscientious about it than Aurora, the blonde waited. She could hear the rattling of Kendra prepping her hodge-podge O.R. in the background. "How far out are you? Over."

"Under ten minutes away. Over."

"Are you and Ban OK? Over."

Aurora smiled as the first hints of stars started to break out into the sky, delicate drops of light that seemed fragile against the frame of ruins.

"He's peachy. That swim to get Stanley out was a bitch, and I'll be cold for another fucking week. But otherwise, I'm fine. Over." Taking a turn a little fast, she calculated that the jeep was only five minutes away from the clinic, tops.

"Hypothermia? Over," Kendra asked.

Aurora knew she didn't need to clarify who she was asking about. She had warned the doctor to give her time to prep for surgery, and get her mind focused on her patient. Soon enough, Aurora would be just a vehicle to ensure Suzaku's arrival, nothing more. At least until the surgery was over.

"Probably. Lots of blood loss, more broken bones than I want to guess at, and possible damage from near-drowning. He's a mess, Kendra. You always did like puzzles. Over," she said cheerfully, her tires squealing a little as she shot around an intersection, the traffic light still hanging by a thread above the street. It hadn't changed colors in years.

"Yeah, but broken meat puzzles can mess with a girl's game. Over."

Aurora chuckled at Kendra's dark joke, typical of her attitude but completely contradictory to her personal code.

"You'll have your chance. I'm coming up to the back. Be ready to help – he's heavy as hell. Over and out."

Already tossing the radio back into its home in the console, she didn't even hear Kendra's "over and out" as she wrestled the jeep into a tight, hot turn it had no business making. Coming to a stop that not even the generous would have labeled smooth practically on top of Kendra's toes, Aurora leapt over the back of the car, her longs legs doing her credit as she landed like a ballerina and ripped open the passenger door. Ban jumped out like a sprinter at the gun when Aurora gave him the command, long, gangly legs dancing as the two women muscled the successor of Zero out of the car.

Physically, they couldn't have been any more different. One was tall and willowy, her hair the color of honey and blue eyes starred with silver that saw into the soul. The other had the explosive curves and dark, spiraling curls of a gypsy, brown eyes flecked with gold blade keen behind small glasses. But they both bore the burden of illegitimacy and persecution like oxen, spines of steel and stomachs of iron behind soft skin and lovely bone structure. They were no one to trifle with, and neither had yet seen a quarter of a century.

Speaking in the short hand of familiarity – mostly grunts and jerks of the head – the two women managed to get Suzaku inside quickly and unnoticed. Hauling him to the second floor was no pleasure cruise, but they got it done in less than two minutes. Knowing he was barred from the O.R., Ban paced in the hallway, anxious and adorable. Kendra allowed Aurora to help her arrange Suzaku on the operation table, going over him in a quick inspection with her magic doctor vision that told her more information than the blonde layman could hope to relay. Nodding once sharply, she shooed Aurora out, turning back to Suzaku and ripping his pants off in a maneuver Aurora was fairly certain she'd honed on her husband Chandler. Shocked and hysterical, Kendra had to physically shove her snickering friend out the door, shutting it in her face like a melodrama.

The crack of wood against wood abruptly halted her laughing, and Aurora stood for a moment, her feet glued to the spotted but clean floor. When a warm pressure bloomed against her leg, she looked down to see Ban leaning against her, his head tipped up and his ears half-cocked. Kneeling down, she scrubbed his ears and neck, Ban tipping his big head into the pressure with a contented grunt.

"And now," she said with a sigh. "We wait."

Never one to wait sitting still, Aurora trotted back downstairs, trying to keep her mind off Stanley as she unloaded the jeep. By the time she was washing the blood off the seats and changing her clothes into something warm and not blood-stained after a quick, scalding shower, she had accepted the fact that she would throw up if she ate anything. Nerves were not normally an issue for her, but the idea that Kendra was currently tearing Suzaku apart and stitching him back together made her stomach want to fly out of her mouth and do a tap dance. As she plopped down on the ratty couch in one of the back rooms, one foot tapping out a violent beat while Ban hopped up and settled next to her legs, Aurora tipped her head up and glared at the ceiling. Since she was still cold despite her shower and warm, ratty sweater, she burrowed under one of her blankets, a giant fleecy monstrosity of stone gray that held heat like another layer of fat. Before long, and completely by accident, she fell asleep.

Aurora woke up when someone sat on her leg. Already snarling like a hyena as her eyes slitted open, she was surprised to find Ban, her usual suspect, conveniently squashed between her legs and the back of the couch. Kendra was the one currently crushing her right leg.

"What bones are in your calf?" Aurora growled.

Absently rubbing at the headache pounding in her temples, Kendra didn't look up.

"Tibia and fibula," she said quietly, folding a piece of gum into her mouth in order to expunge the last of the tension.

"Yeah, well, you're breaking mine. Mind getting off?"

When she didn't move, Aurora bucked her off, the aggressive ripple of muscle shocking coming from such a slim frame. Plopping down on the cushion awkwardly, Kendra winced with a crooked grin as Aurora whipped the blanket off and scooted up a little. Ban remained buried under the blanket, the only thing visible the tip of his black nose.

Forcing herself out of her usual post-sleep funk, Aurora pulled her hair free from the mangled tail she had slept in, scraping it back into a clean ponytail. Once finished, her hair rained down between her shoulder blades, the ends brushing against the sofa arm. In direct contrast, Kendra pulled her hair from the ponytail she'd tamed it into during surgery, running fingers along her scalp to relieve the pressure as her rioting waves bounced free. As the doctor continued to hold her silence, Aurora eventually prompted her.

"Is he dead?"

Glancing over at her friend before freeing Bannock from his cocoon, Kendra shook her head as she stroked her fingertips over the incredibly soft fur on Ban's skull.

"No, he's not dead."

Since she didn't elaborate, Aurora sighed.

"Walk me through it, Kendra dear."

Her lack of response to the blonde's playful tone warned Aurora that whatever it was, it wasn't good. Even if Suzaku wasn't dead, he might still wish he was.

"Multiple gunshot wounds. The nasty one through his shoulder cracked the scapula and fractured the clavicle. Luckily, the bullet caught the edges of the bones instead of blowing through them like a rock through glass. The muscle around the bullet's path was turned to hamburger, but I just had to fish out a few bone fragments from the shoulder blade and wire together his collarbone so it doesn't snap the first time he lifts his arm." Kendra swiped a hand over her tired eyes, and wished vaguely for a cigarette. She didn't smoke. She never had. When Aurora pressed a glass of bad wine into her hand, she smiled with a sigh as her friend dropped down next to her.

"The second one caught him square in the middle of his left humurus. Talk about hamburger. If anymore of his muscles had been severed, his arm would have just fallen off. It's like the bone exploded. He might, might, mind you, regain full use of his arm since I had that brace and screw set that I've been hauling around practically since med school. He'll already be in a sling for months just from the clavicle injury, but with this… He's going to need major physical therapy to keep his entire upper left side from atrophying."

Aurora had known Kendra long enough to know that the last thing she would say she wanted right now was physical contact. So when the blonde rubbed a hand over her tense shoulder, Kendra couldn't help the snort. Only Chan and Aurora touched her when she didn't want to be touched – maybe that was why she loved them so much.

"The last one on his calf was pretty shallow – cut through a couple layers of muscle, but shouldn't impede him too much once he's all healed up. The guy racked up quite the count of stitches. Did you see him experience any major blunt trauma?" Finding her throat dry, Kendra swallowed a sip of the sour wine.

"You mean besides falling through about five floors of the Bones and me performing CPR to keep him from drowning? Nothing that I know of."

Too exhausted to reprimand or laugh at Aurora's humor, she nodded.

"That makes sense. Massive rib fractures, and only luck keeps him from having a nasty case of flail chest. His sternum was cracked, although I don't know if that's from the fall or your
CPR. Spot on job, by the way. You were pretty hard on him, but from what I could see, the brain damage should be minimal." Rubbing her cramping hands on her knees, Kendra leaned back, forgetting about the large dog sitting behind her. He just lifted his head, then dropped it back down as he seamlessly went back to sleep.

"He's got some pretty bad tendon injuries in his right wrist and ankles. I can't be sure yet whether or not they're breaks until I get him into London for some x-rays."

She didn't see Aurora shake her head slightly.

"The guy's bruised like he's been painted. I'm guessing he's got some pulmonary contusions – lung bruises," she clarified at Aurora's raised brow, "but, again, I won't know until we get him x-rayed. It's weird, though. With all of his other extensive blunt force injuries, I would have thought for sure his skull would be cracked open like a melon. But his head's relatively untouched."

Hurriedly chugging a gulp of water from the bottle she had snagged when she'd gotten Kendra her hard-earned wine, Aurora breathed deeply once.

"That's because he was wearing Zero's mask when this all happened."

For a second, Kendra wasn't sure what happened; either her tired brain was just making shit up, or had fried the message her ears had picked up.

"What?" she managed, croaking a little.

Aurora ran a hand over her hair then down the long tail, sighing heavily.

"He was in Zero's get-up, the whole nine yards. I don't think he is Zero, but…"

"Oh, my God, are you telling me I just performed surgery on Zero? The Zero?!"

"I said I didn't think it was him," Aurora quickly interjected. "Don't you recognize the man you stitched up?"

Kendra's brows furrowed.

"Well, I guess you were spending a lot of time in Ireland with Chandler when most of that crap went down. Your cottage doesn't have TV, does it?"

The doctor mutely shook her head, staring into her wine like it held the answers to the universe.

"That poor bastard upstairs is Suzaku Kururugi."

He had so many titles, it was hard to pick just one. But Aurora saw that she didn't need to clarify – Kendra knew the name. Her dark eyes went wide with recognition and shock.

"Shit, you're right."

"So riddle me this. How the hell did he," she nodded towards the ceiling, "end up with Zero's shit when the entire world saw the broadcast of Zero rescuing Suzaku from a rigged court martial? Besides the fact that the last time I checked, the Knight of Zero was dead and buried."

Kendra shook her head, too wiped out to even begin to formulate an answer. All she could do was think of more questions.

"Even if he is Zero, who would have the balls to hunt down the most untouchable human in the entire world?"

"The usual punk-ass suspects. Britannian soldiers."

"You're joking."

"Not this time, sunshine. That stupid insignia was on every one of their shoulders. And they moved like soldiers – unified, trained, and fucking fearless."

Kendra's groggy mind ground to life, her eyes searching the middle distance behind the thin lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses.

"Only Nunnally could possibly have the clout to order his covert execution and have it followed through."

Aurora nodded – she may be exhausted after surgery, but Kendra's brain was still sharp as a buck knife. The doctor finally looked up from her wineglass, looking into Aurora's blue steel eyes.

"But she wouldn't do that. Would she?"

Aurora didn't hesitate.

"No, I don't think she would. Which means someone's messing with her very fragile regime right now, and her most staunch protector and supporter almost got ripped apart for his troubles."

Kendra started shaking her head, stopping Aurora's quickly heating fervor.

"You can't get involved in this, Rora. I know you're used to being the one with all the answers, all the exit-strategies, but you've got a price on your head in at least seven different countries. You go back into the fold, and they'll cut you down before you make the first phone call."

Aurora knew she was right, knew that Kendra was concerned for her life. But it grated to let such a thing go, especially when it threatened Nunnally. Swallowing old habits back, old habits that burned bitter anyway, Aurora shook her head with an edgy smile.

"Don't worry, Kendra. I left that life behind for a reason. It's bad for my health, and my head. I have no intention of fixing anyone's life, ever again. Not when it almost cost me my own. But the question is, what do we do with him?" Again, she nodded to the ceiling. It was almost like Suzaku's name was too heavy for the air of the room.

"From what you said, I'd bet the government agencies have been alerted that Zero needs to be taken down quietly. Britannia's probably working itself into a lather, and if they wanted it announced to the public, well. A, no one would listen, and B, we'd have heard about it by now."

At Aurora's raised brows, Kendra tapped her left ear, the angle of her head concealing the ear bud.

"I've been listening to the bandwidths since you contacted me. There's been no word about a hunt for Zero, or even any reason to think the world's view of him has changed. Do you think maybe the soldiers thought he was an imposter, and killed him for it? He might even be an imposter."

Aurora's fingers started tapping against the arm of the sofa desperately in need of re-covering, a dynamic internal rhythm that manifested when the impressive gears in her head started to turn at a high speed.

"There have been imposters before, and they've been dealt with gently. Everyone wants to be a hero. But hunting him, especially him, down like a dog just because he swirled on a black cape? I don't know. Dammit," she growled, suddenly growing angry. "I don't know anything! And it's starting to fuckin' piss me off!"

The long fingers dancing over the sofa arm had curled into a fist, but were quickly smoothed out as she regained a façade of control.

"We can't risk taking him into London or to another clinic. If a peep gets out, they'll swarm on this place like a pack of pissed off bees, and probably take us out for conspiring. So," she murmured as she calmed, "We keep him here. We hide him until he's well, and then get him the fuck back to Britannia. I don't want him hanging around here too long, and I'm worried what will happen to Nunnally if he really is Zero and she's left defenseless without him."

Kendra sighed.

"I'm about to burst your bubble," she warned.

Aurora shrugged with a good-natured, crooked smile.

"Don't you always?"

"First off, don't let your sympathies get involved because he might be Nunnally's protector. He could very well not be, and then we've saddled ourselves with an injured man who could easily be our death sentence for a lie. Secondly, it could take up to three months for his major injuries to heal. That's just for his bones to re-knit. With his other injuries, he could be out of commission from six months upwards of a year, if you figure in physical therapy to get him running up in top form so it's like nothing happened. If he really is Zero, how the hell are they going to explain a year long absence from the man who hasn't left Nunnally's side for more than two weeks since she took the throne? Not to mention, how are we supposed to hide someone for that length of time? I can't close down my clinic for this, Aurora."

The blonde raised her hand.

"I would never ask you to, Kendra."

"Thanks for that. But I'm not done. You ready for the kicker? The former Knight of the Round and personal Knight to Princess Euphemia is addicted to heroin."

Aurora blinked once.

Twice.

The silence reigned with a heavy hand, the only sounds the two humans and dog breathing. Faintly, the beep of the machines attached to Suzaku upstairs echoed down the stairs. Kendra hadn't expected to feel guilty telling Aurora. She hadn't known what she expected, but certainly not this. Not this intense look of shock and disappointment and pain. Dammit, she should have known that Aurora still harbored soft feelings for everyone from the old days. By extension, she had attached herself to the landmine of a human being upstairs. As her friend, it killed Kendra inside to see it.

"What? How… No, wait," she said, holding up a hand to stop her own words. "I trust your judgment. You know a hell of a lot more about this than I do. What do you suggest?"

"I don't know. I obviously don't have any heroin, or any replacement drugs to help with withdrawal. I can keep him sedated for now, but at some point, he's going to come out of the haze, and it's going to hit him like a freight train. It can get pretty rough. Not to mention dealing with the psychological damage that instigated the addiction in the first place." Kendra shook her head.

"I don't have the manpower to watch over an addict going through withdrawal. But I can't abandon him in good conscience, either. I am a doctor." It was almost like she was grudgingly reminding herself.

"What's going to happen to him?"

Kendra didn't like the breathy fear deep down in Aurora's tone.

"Besides the physical stuff, which can last anywhere from a couple of days to a week, we're probably going to see a suicide attempt from him. Depression is going to manifest fast and hard, and if this were any other scenario, I'd demand that he'd go into serious therapy. As it is, well… It's hard to say what the severity of his withdrawal will be. He's young, which makes the addiction that much more deep. But, if I had to guess, I'd say he's only been doing it for about six months. His body is holding up well, but it won't for much longer."

The women subsided into silence, their impressive minds and wills struggling to find a solution to the situation that wouldn't compromise their moral codes. For Aurora, it had once been a common quandary, and one she was used to facing. Kendra, however, wasn't quite as accustomed to playing such a dangerous game.

"Is the cottage empty?" Aurora said suddenly, referring to Chandler's family home in Ireland. It was often used as a refuge, as Ireland had been practically untouched for fifty years.

"Yes," Kendra said slowly, her eyes plastered on Aurora. "No. No, Aurora," she demanded as she realized what her friend was planning. "No way am I going to let you deal with him alone!"

"Well," Aurora said, standing with a windy sigh as Ban abandoned his position behind Kendra and leapt after his mistress. "That's what I'm going to do. Now, you can either help me, or you can ignore it. But my mind's made up. It's the best scenario for everyone involved. It'll be fine," she breezily soothed with a wave of her hand.

Kendra shot to her feet, following Aurora into the kitchen as she refilled her water bottle.

"Absolutely not, Rora! I'm not going to abandon you with one of the most dangerous men in the world, who happens to be going through heroin withdrawal!"

"I can take care of him, Kendra, and myself. You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with," she added with a teasing grin.

Kendra didn't think it was funny.

"Outsmarting nobles and wealthy scumbags is one thing; this is entirely another. If he goes ballistic, he could tear you apart, and there will be no one with you to stop him."

Both of them remembered the musculature of their patient – his strength was nothing to trifle with.

"But he won't."

"You don't know that, Aurora."

She was silent for a moment.

"Actually, I think I do," she said, very quietly. For a moment, she was utterly still, before shaking herself and smiling over at Kendra. "So what do you say? Can I take me and Stanley on a little rejuvenating vacation to the cottage?"

Kendra was worried. Intensely worried. Suzaku Kururugi had been dangerous when healthy – now he'd taken his mind and body as close to the brink as he could and still survive. Who knew what kind of threat he posed now, and what damage he could wreak if pushed over any edge. And the only one facing down that damaged potential for destruction was her best friend, alone and painfully hopeful. She sighed heavily.

"Bannock goes with you – no discussion."

Aurora shrugged agreeably as she leaned back against the counter.

"Of course. The last time he saw Ireland, he was a puppy. I'm sure he misses it."

Kendra pressed fingers to her temple, and wished childishly, and desperately, that her husband would come home.

"You'll want to leave as soon as possible. The more settled he is when those impressive surgery drugs wear off, the better. I'm not sure how you're going to get him through the checkpoints, though."

Aurora smiled, and Kendra recognized the sly edge that spoke of old contacts and debts not yet paid.

"Don't worry about the checkpoints. I'll handle it. Just get me the keys to the cottage, and I'll handle the rest." As Aurora turned to walk away, Kendra caught her arm.

"Promise me something, Aurora."

She nodded.

"Please, be careful."

Aurora opened her mouth to give a flippant yes when Kendra squeezed her arm.

"Please."

Closing her mouth, Aurora brought her hand to Kendra's shoulder before pulling her into a hug.

"I will," she murmured before releasing her friend and walking out of the room without a backward glance.

Looking at her watch, Kendra squeezed her eyes shut, counting down the seconds until Chandler came back.

Pulling out her phone, Aurora called one of the members of the immigration services. Like all of the countless contacts and phone numbers filed away in her brain, she knew the number by heart.

"Hey, Frank. Yeah, it's Rory. I'm good, I'm good. Listen, Frank. You remember that favor you owe me? Well, I'm about to put you back in the black."

When she hung up the phone ten minutes later, safe passage had been booked for one Riley Seven and her brother, Sampson from the ferry out of Holyhead into Dublin. It would take just over three hours, where she would pick up a car in Dublin to drive them out to Galway County.

As she mounted the stairs, Aurora's mind quickly and meticulously ticked off the salient points of their departure. She had a myriad of passports to choose from, and Frank had procured her one for Suzaku. Since she had proven Frank innocent of a murder charge and gotten him back home to his two little girls, it was really the least he could do. He'd said as much over the phone.

The cottage was kept stocked by a local couple who didn't ask questions and were always available to help. She'd have to pick up some dog food on the way, though – Aurora didn't think the O'Tooles had planned on a visitor of the canine persuasion. She'd keep her packing light, and purchase whatever she and Suzaku needed in Galway. Aurora supposed that technically she would be considered a billionaire, if her funds weren't protected in deep black-out bank accounts across the globe. Regardless, she and Suzaku would want for nothing while they were in Ireland.

Pausing by the door to the OR, she silently eased it open as she leaned against the jamb. Kendra had put Suzaku on a ventilator – probably a good idea, considering the abuse his lungs had gone through. And since he'd already danced with death and a coma today, it was wise not to take any chances. An IV was riding the back of his hand like a clear beetle, giving instead of taking.

She could hardly tell the difference between the white bandages and his white skin. His closed eyes were shadowed by long lashes and deep bruises. His hair seemed the only healthy point of color – everything else was the angry red haloing stitches or the dense blur of bruising. His eyelids and fingertips twitched restlessly, probably drugged too deeply to get out of the dream.

Time to get out of the dream, Aurora thought to herself. And back to reality, no matter how much it sucked. Moving silently into the OR, the beep of the machines reminding the air that the man's heart still beat, she stopped by his bed. Tugging up the blanket a little, she brushed back the hair from his forehead, frowning a little at the way Suzaku's brow furrowed, an expression not of anger, but of pain.

"I've got questions," she murmured to the air. "And I think you're the only one with the answers. So you've got to get out of there, and you've got to let it go. Maybe, after, we can both move on." She left the OR as quietly as she entered it, the click of the door doing little to dim the mechanical metronome marking his heart.

Ban was waiting, sitting in the hall with a slightly tilted head. Satisfied that they were going to bed, he trotted ahead of her to her bedroom, settling on his bed while he waited to join her on the big one. But before she brushed her teeth and dropped under the warm comforter, she had one last phone call to make. Unpacking one of the dozen burner phones she kept on hand, Aurora again dialed by memory.

"Mmm-yello?"

"Lloyd? It's Rory."

There was a loud bang, a muffled curse, several seconds of desperate scuffling, and the dim assurance to someone that everything was fine. When Asplund finally spoke again, he sounded winded, and slightly panicked.

"Rory! I – It's, uh, it's good… What do you want?"

Smiling a little viciously as she sat on her bed, the moonlight beaming in through the window turning her hair sterling instead of golden, she tapped her fingers against her mouth.

"Wow, Lloyd. Maybe I just wanted to say hello."

"You never just want to say hello," he returned cynically. He did have a point.

"Fair enough. Listen-"

"You need a favor." His voice was flat, and uncharacteristically resigned.

"Maybe. You still owe me, Lloyd."

"As you never cease to remind me."

"Your debt is rather extensive. I nearly got myself killed cleaning up your mess. You do enjoy practicing science with all the newest and snazziest toys, don't you?"

"Yes," he moaned.

"Then listen. Don't worry, this won't compromise even your warped code. I want you to tell me everything you know about Suzaku Kururugi."

There was a distinct moment of silence on the other end before the earl spoke.

"Why on earth would you want to know about Suzaku?"

Aurora sighed.

"Why did you get the Lancelot, Lloyd?"

He heaved a gigantic breath.

"Because of you," he said reluctantly, like a child reciting a boring lesson.

"No," she corrected. "Because of my discretion. Now why would I tell you the specifics of something when that breaches the very practice that got you the funding you almost ruined yourself for?"

"Because you're insane," he returned, utterly serious.

Aurora just laughed.

"Oh, undoubtedly. But that's not what I called to talk to you about. Tell me about the Lancelot's pilot. When's the first time you saw him?"

"In a hospital bed. He'd just been shot in the back by a Britannian commanding officer for disobeying direct orders. His father's pocket watch saved his life, but not his ribs. It was strange, seeing someone of such strength vulnerable and broken."

Since she could distinctly relate, Aurora didn't comment. Lying back on the bed slowly, she listened as Lloyd told her a story, of lines drawn and broken, of promises kept and shattered. Of a man's desperate search for justice, and being forced to settle for revenge. Of how codes could be destroyed, and remade into the resolve that could topple an empire. Of how friends could become enemies, and how so many, many lives had been lost.

It struck Aurora how perceptive Lloyd was about Suzaku, a trait he normally reserved for his machines. It dawned on her that the earl had been as fond of his pilot as he allowed himself to be with any person, and had watched Suzaku's descent into power and loss with genuine concern. When he spoke of Euphemia, her life and death and the scars it had left behind, Aurora refused to admit that she wept.

"And then he died. Took us months to rebuild the Lancelot, and we have yet to find a pilot that can connect with Bors the way Suzaku did with the Lancelot. And we had to rename the damn thing since, well, Cecille demanded that we retire the Lancelot with his death." He sighed. "I hope he's not causing so much trouble, wherever he is."

Aurora smiled – that was the closet Lloyd Asplund would ever come to wishing someone peace.

"I'm sure you're right."

"I usually am," Lloyd returned with a heavy dose of snark, as per his usual.

Aurora just hummed noncommittally.

"One last thing, Lloyd."

He groaned like a dying bear with a cold.

"I want you to send me Suzaku's file – the original one. One line of black-out, and I'm telling Cecille about the jelly incident." She could practically see Lloyd narrowing his eyes behind the sheen of his glasses.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"Wouldn't I?" she said sweetly.

"Fine," he said finally. "Are we done, Rory?"

"For now," she said with a grin as she hung up the phone. Standing slowly, she opened her window, turning her face to the cool night air as she thought over everything Lloyd had told her. She'd known some of it, more than the public, but not nearly enough. Hopefully, with the addition of Suzaku's Britannian military file, she would have enough to stand a chance against his past. Cursing herself as the echo of Euphemia's laughter skipped through her head and slapped cold hands at her heart, she drew back and heaved the phone through the window. It smacked against the roof of the building across the street, fragments pattering against the dirt as they rained down.

After getting ready for bed, Aurora slid under the covers, patting the comforter. It was all the invitation Ban needed. As he nested down by her legs, she ruffled his ears before cuddling his head, letting her tears soak his coat.

"It's almost too much, Ban. I don't know if I have enough to help him, let alone save him. Is this just sentiment, or fate? Does it even matter now?"

The dog licked her salty cheeks, his version of a determined demand to go to sleep. With tears still drying on her skin, she lay back, and drifted away, the moonlight lying across her outstretched hand like a silver blanket.

Chapter Text

Suzaku awoke slowly, like he was digging his way through mud. The wave of pain that swamped him was enough to steal his breath, leaving him weak and shivering. Everything hurt, and behind his closed lids, small pops of orange throbbed along his entire body, while his left shoulder and arm burned a deep, pulsing red. Focusing with a magnificent effort that had sweat beading on his brow, Suzaku dragged his eyes open with a discipline that could crack steel. As his eyes adjusted slowly to the light, the first thing he saw when he managed to open his eyes was a dog.

It was a lean hound the color of smoke that deepened to coal black along its points, whip-thin with dark brown eyes that were spookily expressive. It was lying on the floor, its head resting on stacked paws while its eyes were plastered on Suzaku. Noticing his shift in eyes, the dog lifted its head to attention, launching to his feet with a low whoof and trotting closer to Suzaku. Its ears, originally laid back against its skull, shot straight up, giant bat ears that lent a comical appearance to the deliriously delighted dog.

"What is it, Ban?"

The elegant, husky female voice tickled something in Suzaku's memory, but it was too much effort to turn his head to see who had spoken. Suddenly, a face swam into view, the foggy features crowned with a halo of gold. Blinking a few times, Suzaku managed to focus on the woman, and realized that her halo was a sleek head of blond hair.

Blue-gray eyes peered at him from a forest of dark brown lashes, glowing clear as the rest of her face eventually slid into focus. Her face had the smooth, elegant lines that Suzaku normally associated with royalty, the dramatic edge of her cheekbones softened by her eyes and mouth. Once his vision stopped refracting apart, he was finally able to tell that she was smiling at him.

"Well, hey there, handsome. Good morning."

He was too wracked with pain to feel her fingers gently pressing against his wrist as she checked his pulse, let alone force himself to respond. Suddenly feeling unreasonably angered at her words, Suzaku turned his head towards the source of light, realizing that it was a window opened to a soft, richly green countryside, lace curtains rippling in a very gentle breeze. The question of the landscape was enough to have him forcing out words.

"Where… where am I?" he managed to grind out, a distant part of his brain shocked at the sound of his own voice. The woman sat again, on an antique rocker, he realized. She sent herself rocking again at a strong pace that spoke of habit. There was a book face down on the bedside table next to her, a silver-rimmed pair of reading glasses left open next to them.

"You're in Ireland, Suzaku."

It took a moment after digesting that piece of information before his eyes shot wide – he would have reared up in bed if a slight clench of muscle hadn't strangled him with pain. Instead, he pinned his eyes on the woman, dangerous circles of green stone that glowed with threat.

"What do you want from me?"

Her brows, the same rich, dark brown of her lashes, shot up, her mouth and eyes never losing their soft smile.

"What makes you think I want something from you?"

Suzaku couldn't quite place her accent, but her voice, like her expression, remained gentle and genial.

"Why else would you keep me alive?" he snarled, small snippets of self-evaluation making their way through the instinctive rush of aggression and fear. He was lying on a bed, his left arm in a sling and his head propped up on lush pillows. The dog had plopped his head on the mattress, his nose less than an inch from Suzaku's fingertips. The hurt was too ubiquitous to sift through to the causes, leaving him in a perpetual state of pain that threatened to swallow him whole. She tilted her head as she gazed at him consideringly.

"I suppose you still wish I had just let you die?"

Suddenly, the memories burst into his brain like fireworks; London, the soldiers, the gunshots, the water. Coming back to life on a sizzling lightning bolt of agony, and fading away to the soft urgings of his savior. Reveling in the freedom of death before being ripped back to a state of being that trapped him as effectively as a cage. Instead of responding, he merely closed his eyes.

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured, bringing her chair to a stop before she stood. "Maybe I should have let you drown. It would have been easier, certainly cheaper." She sat down on the bed next to him, propping her weight on one of her hands as the other trailed over the dog's head, who had yet to move. The shift in weight on the bed had Suzaku's eyes drifting open again.

"I never asked-"

"No, you didn't. That's what made me so determined to help you. It wasn't so very long ago that you were willing to go out of your way to save those in danger, to give aid where it was needed but not yet requested."

Suzaku looked away; it was cowardly, but he had to. For in her eyes, the color of water in the moonlight, he saw himself as he once was, before fate and his own blind ambition had torn him apart. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand being reminded of the fool he'd been, and the potential that he had thrown away. As the silence dragged on and Suzaku squeezed his eyes shut against the ripping pain that merely breathing brought to light, the woman next to him shifted.

"Tell me something, Suzaku."

He opened his eyes, but didn't turn his head at her pleasant tone.

"What exactly was the Zero Requiem?"

He whipped his head towards her, too fast for his system to handle. Suzaku's stomach roiled, and spots danced before his eyes as his face was leached of color, leaving it transparent as glass. Through the haze of nausea, he was vaguely aware that the woman had stood up again, fingers pressed to his wrist as she laid a cool cloth on his forehead. Just as his vision was starting to clear, a series of muscle cramps rocketed through his system, sending Suzaku arching like a bow in a pointless attempt to flee the pain. Through the thunder of his pulse in his ears, he could vaguely hear firm, comforting words. The words of a healer that brooked no nonsense.

It was only once he fell into unconsciousness that Suzaku's muscles finally relaxed again. Now limp as water and his breath hissing in and out with a weak wheeze, Aurora straightened, pushing back a few strands of hair that had worked their way free of the tight braid she'd bound it in hours ago. Ban had yet to move, his head still a mere inch from Suzaku's long-boned fingers. With a huge sigh, she stretched her back with her hands on her hips, the intense fear and stress forcefully masked when Suzaku had gone stiff with pain now manifesting with muscles wound into knots.

Kendra had warned her, extensively. Muscle cramps, cold sweats, intense pain, tremors, a heartbeat like a hummingbird, a sense of restlessness that would drive even the most balanced man insane. Not to mention a battery of mental ramifications that were waiting for the choice moment to leap into the fray. And that was just from the heroin withdrawal. He was in for a long, rough road with that arm, and infection had to be guarded against like an incoming army. Aurora was a qualified nurse, and handled the worst of situations with a brazen aplomb. But he tested her.

Tested her heart, her mind, her resolve. How could she fight for him, heal him, when he had given up so long ago? Scrubbing her hands over her face, Aurora huffed a huge breath before she turned to go downstairs, pausing at the doorway.

"Stay with him, Ban. You let me know if something happens." As Aurora strode down the hallway, Ban leapt onto the bed with a compact bunch of muscles, circling several times at Suzaku's feet before curling himself into a tight ball, his nose tucked in his paws and his eyes on the man's pale face.

Downstairs, in the small, rustic kitchen, Aurora put on a kettle for tea. She had set the water to boil, bustling like an old woman, before she realized that the dish towel was gripped in her hands like a lifeline. As the kettle began to shriek, she stared blankly down at her tangled fingers and locked joints, the green cloth twisted and her muscles protesting the immense torque she was exerting on a simple dish towel. Straightening her head and stiffening her spine, Aurora commanded herself sternly to let go, and dropped the towel on the counter, the simple homespun cloth splaying like a dead body. Rubbing her hands on the thighs of her jeans to sooth the tension, she cleared her throat and poured the tea, having only taken one sip when Ban sent up a throaty howl in warning.

Setting down the mug that was doomed to cool on the counter, she loped up the stairs, her resolve hardened into granite and her heart shielded as best as she could manage. Aurora would do whatever she could to save Suzaku; that would simply have to be enough. Perhaps, if the fates smiled upon them both, she could salvage the man who had forgotten he had so much to give.

Chapter Text

The next day, Suzaku refused any assistance Aurora offered, be it to eat or move or answer any of the questions he undoubtedly had. He hardly spoke to her at all, except to ask her about heroin later that afternoon. When she told him that she doubted there was any on the entire island, he paled almost comically. If he hadn't immediately descended into a spell of dry heaves, Aurora might have chuckled a little.

As it was, any time he proved to be stubborn or rude or uncooperative, Aurora merely had to wait until he was too exhausted and weak to protest to get her way. For a man so damaged, it usually took only a matter of minutes of resisting, perhaps upwards of half an hour before he had the strength of an infant. Although it aided her efforts, Aurora could only imagine the frustration such a strong person had to wrestle with under those circumstances.

That night, after Suzaku was only able to down half a cup of broth, Aurora began to prepare to change his bandages. She hoped, for both their sakes, that the drugs he'd taken with dinner were starting to kick in. Kendra had provided her with enough to get him through the first rough patch, but it was likely he would be in a near constant state of pain for the next six months. Enough to drive any man mad.

Keeping up her bright, one-sided banter, Aurora helped Suzaku sit up, supporting his back with her knee as she slipped off his sling, keeping a careful eye on his right hand holding up his left forearm. Should he start to lose strength, she would have to support his left arm before too much weight was borne by the healing bones and muscle. She began to unwind the bandages shielding his shoulder and upper arm with a careful precision that spoke of her experience. When his skin was finally bared, Aurora inspected it with feather-light fingers, searching for any sign of infection. The stitches stood out in dark relief against his pale skin, the edges of the wounds faintly red. Normal, but if it got any worse, that would be a problem. Giving those injuries a moment to air, she then probed at his ribs, the large blotches of bruising coming into their full glory as the swelling started to recede.

Aurora had to keep up two dialogues; the silly story she told Suzaku about Bannock and the frog to distract him, and the one inside her head cataloguing his injuries and healing progress. When he sucked in a hissing breath as her fingers moved towards his back along the right side of his ribcage, she glanced up at him, both of them freezing when their eyes made contact. Suzaku almost never looked at her, not fully. For a moment, all she could think was that his eyes were so pretty, even if they were glazed with pain and fogged with the ingestion of some drugs and the lack of others.

"I'm sorry. Do any other spots hurt like that?"

He jerked his good shoulder by way of response after immediately looking away, and Aurora blew out a short, frustrated breath before turning her attention to the sharp planes of his back. Considering how bed-ridden he was, she was worried about the state of his spine and musculature. Not to mention that the sooner he could move, the less strain on his mental state. After a quick check of his long, lean legs, Aurora returned to his shoulder and started the process of re-wrapping it once the anti-bacterial cream and gauze were applied. About half way through, she noticed that his right hand was starting to slacken; immediately setting down the roll, Aurora reached down to support his arm. He was clearly tired, but instead of accepting her help, Suzaku tugged his arm away from her hand, gritting his teeth as he reached for the strength to continue supporting it.

Rolling her eyes, she returned to his shoulder wordlessly. Aurora told herself it was hard to blame someone in so much pain – but at the moment, she found that very hard to remember. Finishing quickly, she secured the sling again before easing Suzaku down in the bed. Settling her taciturn patient in, Aurora returned to her rocking chair, picking up her book and glasses. She'd gotten through a paragraph of her book before speaking, without looking up or halting her rocking.

"Were you always such an ass, or is it just me?" Flicking up her eyes over the rims of her glasses without moving her head, Aurora caught the shocked expression on Suzaku's face, along with the tiny, rusty laugh that ended on a wince.

"No, not always."

A more comfortable silence settled, but was soon interrupted by Suzaku's voice.

"How do you know about the Requiem?"

This time, Aurora stopped her rocking, closing her book in her lap with her finger marking the page as she slowly removed her glasses, leaving them dangling by an earpiece between her fingers. His tone wasn't particularly kind – but instead of rude, it was defensive, and wary. That, she understood.

"I have my informants. Some of which are legal, others are not. You could say I'm a collector of information. I've had my suspicions since Lelouch's ascension of the throne. I'm still not clear on the details, though," she said, hoping that the statement was leading enough to be comprehended by his fogged mind.

"I can't tell you anything without you knowing who Zero was." When he said nothing further, Aurora set the book and glasses aside before leaning forward in her chair, her elbows resting on her knees.

"That's something I would very much like to know. Tell me. Are you Zero, Suzaku? Did you manage a feat that tore the world apart and rebuilt it anew?"

When he didn't respond, only continued to stare at the ceiling, Aurora dove her fingers through her hair before looking back at him, wrestling with her frustration as she kept her voice controlled.

"Did you kill Lelouch, Suzaku?"

As he pressed his eyes closed, a single tear tracked along his temple before disappearing into his hair.

"This is why you shouldn't have saved me. My hands are too blood-stained to be allowed to live. If I could, I'd resolve the issue myself." He raised his hand to his eyes, digging his fingertips into his eyeballs as if to alleviate some pain behind them. Before Aurora had a chance to say anything in response, he continued to speak.

"I was friends with him, you know. Not at first, and certainly not at the end. But I would have gladly died for him, would have done anything he asked of me, anything to protect him and those we held dear. But I hated him. I hated him. I think I still do, as shameful as it is for someone to speak so poorly of the dead." His voice was beginning to slur, to lilt as the drugs thickened his tongue, brushing a flame against the raw edge of his nerves.

"But you worked for him. You protected him in the end, as much as you could." Aurora spoke quietly, carefully. She knew that Suzaku was losing focus even as he lost consciousness, but she was very afraid to forgo this chance to learn of a past that still resonated in their world today. Even if it was a cheap shot.

"I did what he asked of me. It was convenient; it aligned with my own personal agenda. And I had learned by this time to follow orders when given to me. Working independently had given me only heartbreak and loss and a sense of my own impotence. My only worth is in that of a soldier. And when a soldier is without a commander, what is he worth then?" Finally, his gem-colored eyes slid closed, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed his broken mind and body.

Knowing it would be impossible to get anything more out of him that night, Aurora leaned back, tapping her fingers on the arms of the rocker as she stared into the past and the chair slowly moved back and forth. It was a little terrifying, reaching into this part of what had happened in Japan two years ago. For a woman who had always sought the answers, had always held the truth on the highest of pedestals because she knew what it was to lose or hide it, Aurora had to admit it was a little galling that a part of her simply didn't want to know. A part, one she didn't care to examine too deeply, was very afraid to get the answers from Suzaku, and what they could mean for those she had once cared about very much. She hadn't allowed herself to remember Lelouch or his siblings with a clear sort of focus in years. Now, with defenses firmly erected against those memories, Aurora couldn't be sure that she would be able to rebuild them in the face of Suzaku's revelations.

But she couldn't let it go. She couldn't stand by and let these secrets slip through her fingers. She had been trained to pursue them, a training that called upon a natural curiosity and drive for knowledge that pushed her without pity. Lelouch's judgment by the people, as the man that would go down in history as the Demon Emperor and rightful target of the avenging Zero, broke Aurora's heart. It stung that such an image was all that was left of him; it was not the boy she remembered. Much as Euphemia's final acts brought a burn of tears to her eyes and a sour confusion to her mind. That was not the people she once knew. That was not the sweet, clever boy who alternated pride with compassion and had a sense of competition that never allowed him to live up to his incredibly high personal standards. Nor was the Murder Princess the same little girl with beautiful hair and a beautiful laugh that was always willing to let an outsider join her games, who danced in the light and dared the world with what was righteous.

There was a piece missing to the story, a piece that would bridge the gap between what Aurora remembered and what she knew. And she believed, firmly, that Suzaku was the man with that answer. The best friend of Lelouch, the knight and love of Euphemia, the enemy of Zero, the sword and confidante of the Demon Emperor. He had been many things, all of which planted him in the thick of a bloody rebellion that had rattled the world to its core and soaked the earth with blood. He had danced with death more than once, and emerged the victor. Of those he had touched, only he and Zero remained, and perhaps they were one in the same person, although something in Aurora's mind still prevented her from believing that.

So why did it feel like he wanted to be the loser, the one that didn't have to be left behind? Was it survivor's remorse, or something more? Her sources confirmed that the feelings between him and Euphemia were more than loyalty and admiration, that he personally dragged her from that massacre in a pointless attempt to save her. She died with her blood staining the cuffs of his sleeves and tears running down their faces, ending something that could have been truly lovely before it had really had a chance. Was that the source of his implacable self-hatred and death wish that for some reason he had yet to fulfill?

Knights of the Round were not required to undergo psych evaluations, so the last professional assessment of Suzaku's mind was when he was allowed to be the pilot of the Lancelot and promoted to Warrant Officer to cement such a position. But Aurora did have access to testimonies of friends and colleagues that described a shift in Suzaku after Euphemia's death. Not to mention the change in the military man that the world witnessed. For a Japanese soldier, he went very far very quickly, especially considering how young he was.

So the question remained, what exactly had he done to accomplish his revenge against the figure who stood against his most sacred ideals and killed the woman he loved? Much of his actions were veiled from the public eye both at his request and the Emperor's, leaving vague military records and his single unblemished file. It described a great deal of his exploits from the moment of his enlistment at the age of fifteen, with occasional references to interactions between himself, his enemy, and his king which were unclear at best. At the very end of his military record, under the description of his death, were two words:

Zero Requiem

Aurora was at a bit of a loss as to where to begin. Should she pressure for his emotional memories, the ones of Euphemia and Lelouch and Ashford Academy and why he began fighting in the first place? Or was it better to focus on Zero and the Knights, both Black and of the Round, and his positions as the Knight of Seven and the Knight of Zero? Who would tell her the story? The man, or the soldier? The boy, or the ghost?

Knowing that she would end up chasing her own tail at this rate, Aurora shook her head to clear it, standing with a reaching stretch that made Ban lunge to his feet from his habitual spot by Suzaku's bed on a hand hooked rug of bleeding whites and greens. Moving closer, she did what she could never do while her patient was awake; really look at him, and touch him. As she stood by the bed, taking in the sharp lines and soft lashes lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Aurora felt her heart throb. Even without the answers, pity was natural, and something she knew he was never accept, never expect, and never, ever appreciate. How he had suffered, both at the hands of others and himself. He was guilty of some terrible things, that she knew. But Aurora was finding it all too easy to forgive him for transgressions she didn't have a clear grasp of. Warning herself it was stupid and sentimental, she slowly brushed the curling chestnut hair back from his forehead, telling herself she was checking his temperature.

Satisfied that he wasn't overheating, she turned her eyes to the window framed with gauzy curtains by his bed that looked out to the rolling landscape. Soft hills draped with the velvet of lush grass danced and sang under the silver light of the moon. It was said that fairies lived in these hills – it had been a long time since she'd believed in fairies. Glancing down again at Suzaku before turning to switch off the lamp and almost close the door behind her and her dog, Aurora crossed the hall to her own room, the bed unmade and clothes scattered. She left the door open here as well, in case Suzaku needed her during the night. Normally at least somewhat neat, Aurora spent so little time in this room, she hardly made an effort to make it liveable. Changing into shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, she crawled under the covers, patting the bed absently. As the warm mass of Bannock settled against her legs, Aurora rubbed her eyes.

She didn't believe in fairies, not anymore. But she would be an idiot if she tried to tell herself that she wasn't hoping – praying, believing, wishing – for a miracle. One the both of them could live with.

That night, the pain receded just enough to allow Suzaku to dream. He always dreamed in color, in a violent mash of action, movement, and hyper-detail that was almost impossible to remember in the morning. This night, he lived war.

In the inexplicable chaos and insanity of dreams, he was both within a Knightmare Frame cockpit and out of one. He couldn't get a clear glimpse of his enemy, but he knew, deep down where the instincts that made him a natural lived, that if given the chance, his opponent would slaughter him. Moving on a need to survive not driven by ancient magic, Suzaku lunged and jumped, struck and dodged with an agility and litheness that had once, very briefly, given him joy. It was in these finite moments that he felt most alive, most worthy of the gift and curse of his beating heart.

Then, as he dragged his opponent close for the final thrust, the blade fell from Lancelot's hand. For his enemy was himself, twin Lancelots reflecting in the white shine of their armor and the green gleam of their eye plates. And, in the strange way of dreams, two Suzakus stared at each other in a kind of horror and resignation. Before he could move, Suzaku's copy and enemy thrust the knife between his ribs, the way he had killed his father, with tears in his matching eyes and a sad, slightly deranged smile on his face. As he crumpled to his knees in utter shock and resignation and permeating pain, Suzaku could hear his heartbeat slow, until all that he heard was the ticking of a broken clock.

Someone was crying. Somewhere close by, someone wept the wracking, heaving sobs of utter destruction. Suzaku cried out to them, knew with a complete certainty that if he could find them, he could help them. Save them from their pain and suffering. As he longed for someone to save him from his own. As he turned to sprint, a hand on his arm halted him.

He knew, as a voice soft as fog murmured, "That isn't the way."

It was Euphemia. It had to be, he thought even as he turned. But the disappointment ran bitter when it wasn't Euphemia who held him back, who touched him with gentle fingers and gentle eyes, but Aurora. She shook her head slowly, her golden hair unbound and raining down her back like a goddess's. She wore a thin gown in the palest of mint green, the delicate silk clinging to her lean curves and long lines that left little, and everything, to the imagination. A rope of silver was draped at her hips, the sleeves gathered at the point of her shoulders from where they split and felt to her waist, leaving her strong arms and delicate wrists bare.

What he took initially to be drops of rain in her hair were diamonds, but she wore no other jewelry. She drew him closer, holding his arm against her as the misty light tangled their forms into a single shadow. He knew without looking that he was wearing his white uniform of the Round. She still said nothing as she slid one of her hands up his arm until it lay over his heart. Together, their eyes dropped down to where her hand lay, his heart beating madly against her touch. Suddenly, pain flourished like a sun, a vivid burst of red blooming under her hand against the stark white of his uniform. It was an agony that took his legs out from under him, and as Aurora guided him to the ground, cradling his head with her hand as she clasped his hand in her bloody one, she leaned over him. The sound of crying resurged, and Suzaku's eyes searched pointlessly for the source. The faint, soft breath of pipes drew his attention back to Aurora, who looked at him with depthless eyes, the bright blue crowned with silver.

"I can't save you," she murmured, a hint of regret in her regal voice that echoed like twilight. "Only you can do that. But I can help you." Wordlessly, she slipped her fingers from the back of his neck and pressed it against the wound in his shoulder that pumped blood. Under the firm pressure of her fingers that felt like she was breaking him in half, the bleeding stopped, and the pain faded, and the crying fell silent. The soft sound of her pipes filled the vacuum of silence left behind. Looking back at him, she shifted closer, her hair a magnificent fall that tumbled over one shoulder to pool on his chest. He could taste her scent; cherry blossoms and storms and the copper of his blood on her hand.

"Will you let me help you?" she whispered like rain on grass as she gently pressed her lips to his. The dream dissolved as he reached up to bury his fingers in her hair, the heat and desire melting the images like candle wax before they had a chance to form with clarity.

In sleep, Suzaku shifted slightly. Normally, he was violently tossed out of dreams into a wakefulness that left him dazed and hollow. But this time, the first time in years, the dream faded to his subconscious, and let him drift deeper into sleep. He didn't dream for the rest of the night, and didn't know why, in the very first foggy moments of waking, he pressed his fingers to lips that tingled ever so faintly.

Chapter Text

The next day, Suzaku grew steadily worse.

No matter what Aurora did, she couldn't get his temperature down. Sweat beaded his brow from his body's heat and the sheer effort of breathing when his blood demanded something it simply couldn't have. She became really concerned when he didn't have enough energy to be rude or taciturn, and simply suffered in a helpless silence. It took all of Suzaku's control and focus to keep his limbs still and steady against the tremors that rippled through his muscles to prevent re-injury. Then even that began to slip. A glaze slid over his eyes, his body shuddering and his breath coming out choppy huffs. It would seem their grace period before Suzaku's withdrawal was over.

By midmorning, Aurora had no choice but to divest him of the loose shirt he regularly wore, stripping back the covers and pushing the window wide open. The cool, wet cloth she laid against his forehead had to be changed every ten minutes. Suzaku's body was burning through its last traces of the drug that had supported his entire being for half a year. This was not going to be easy, for either of them.

When he began to lose coherent awareness, Aurora climbed onto the bed with Suzaku. At first, she was simply an anchor to keep him from thrashing too badly. But when he pinned his wide, glassy green eyes on her after coming out of some half-waking nightmare with a wildness that broke Aurora's heart, she slipped behind him. She stripped off her blouse, leaving her in a tank top and leggings. Even through her clothes, the touch of his skin was like brushing against an open flame. Tucking his injured arm against her ribcage to protect it from himself and his twitches and shudders, she propped Suzaku's head on her shoulder, stroking the washcloth over his painfully hot forehead in a gentle, lulling tempo.

That calmed him for a while. He seemed to dream, or hallucinate, for the next few hours. Whatever it was, his mind wasn't here with the pain, which was something. Occasionally, Aurora could make out whispered words that she felt against her collarbone more than heard as Suzaku swam through his own darkness. More often than not, it was Euphemia's name.

When he lost that and began to degrade further, wavering in and out of vague consciousness, she murmured comforts and sang songs as she lightly rocked with him sprawled across her lap. Aurora couldn't know if he heard her, and thought that he was struggling too deep in the withdrawal to make it out. But she hoped it helped even a little if he knew he wasn't alone.

The day slipped into the afternoon, the seconds running through their fingers like sand. Aurora lost complete track of the time; her focus on Suzaku was absolute, and the window was north-facing, which meant her gauge of the sun was minimal at best. Occasionally, a sweet breeze that ruffled the curtains would sigh into the room. It was a lovely touch to the sweat on their skin, a cool breath of relief amidst the burn of recovery.

Ban sat by the doorway the entire time, awkwardly watching the two of them with wary concern. Suzaku had frightened him, scaring Ban from his usual spot by the bed to the doorway. The dog refused to leave the room, but the tension lacing the air had driven him to the farthest he could go and still keep them in sight. He knew something was wrong; he just didn't know what. Aurora didn't leave her post all day – Suzaku certainly wasn't eating, and she was too wrapped up in him to remember for herself. When the sun set, she ran downstairs to feed Ban, guzzle a glass of water, and go to the restroom. Even that felt like too long before she loped back up the stairs to Suzaku's room.

He seemed to quiet down after the sun set; either he was coming out of the worst of the withdrawal, or he was simply exhausted. Or both. Carefully laying him down on the bed, her hand cupped around the back of his neck as she guided him down slowly, Aurora drew just the sheet over him. She then pulled the window half closed before picking up her wrinkled, forgotten blouse off the floor. Aurora dragged the shirt on slowly, her eyes blankly focused on the sleeping Suzaku. Ban stood from his post by the door, cautiously approaching. When he touched his nose to her dangling hand, Aurora jumped, then realized that her muscles were buzzing from the tension of the day.

Collapsing into the rocking chair with a low groan, she weakly scrubbed her hand over Ban's head. Now that she allowed herself to relax, her entire body went soft as a wet noodle. Practically dissolving into a puddle of skin, Aurora sighed, shaking back the loose cuff of her shirt before pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Her eyes shot open, however, at a low noise.

It was a soft keen of pain, the way a person might sound when trying to hide agony but incapable of completely biting back the instinctive moan. Aurora launched to her feet, bending over Suzaku as she ran her hand down his arm, searching his face and murmuring reassurance. She could feel the clench and tremble of his muscles, then the minor relaxation at her touch. Afraid that he would disintegrate if she wasn't touching him, Aurora dragged the rocking chair closer to the bed. As she settled into a rhythm that was both habitual and soothing, she stroked her fingers through his soft, wavy hair.

Ban still stood by the bed, looking at Aurora with perked ears asking for permission. Normally, she liked to have him on Suzaku's bed – he wouldn't feel alone, and Ban was bizarrely good at keeping an eye on their patient. But considering how hard she had worked to keep him from overheating, it would seem that Ban would have to do without this evening. Pointing to the rug with a snap, she gave the low command with a voice that had gone gravelly with exhaustion, a yawn cracking her jaw as she still rocked and stroked, her eyes on the moonlit grass of the land beyond the window as Ban nested and settled down with a sigh. She had nothing else to offer but her support, and the fervent wish that this would all be over soon.

After a very long day of pointed focus and attention, it didn't take long for the glare of the half moon to make Aurora's eyes tired. She told herself she was just going to rest her eyes for a minute; she had to stay awake, for Suzaku. It wasn't long, however, until her rocking slowed, then stopped all together. She slipped into sleep like sliding into water, awkwardly tucked into the rocking chair with her fingers still buried in his hair.

Aurora woke with a jerk, a sudden, vising pain on her wrist. Too deep in sleep to calm herself fast enough, she yanked against the hold instinctively. She was fully awake by the time she was completely dragged from the rocking chair, sprawling against Suzaku on the bed. She was pressed against his side and chest, and there was something different. She had held him all day, but the sudden reversal of strength and weakness between the two of them rendered Aurora still and intensely aware of him, her arms incapable of pushing her away. He was looking at her with a wild hope and a pained derangement in his eyes.

"…Suzaku?" she managed after a moment. Aurora hated herself for allowing her voice to tremble, but his effortless show of strength frightened her, and his sudden closeness made her blood thud against her skin. And this was a sick, injured man in the midst of drug withdrawal. A tremulous smile worked across his mouth as he released her wrist and stroked a wisp of hair over her ear with a shaking hand.

"I'm so glad to see you," he whispered. It was the first time she'd ever heard him speak kindly, and it took Aurora aback for a moment. She was struggling for words when he continued.

"Euphemia, I've missed you so much."

She swallowed against the tears, her throat clicking drily. Shaking her head, she was helpless against the tears that welled, but vigilant against letting them fall.

"Suzaku, I'm not… I'm not Euphemia. I'm Aurora."

He cocked his head slightly, his brows lightly furrowed. It was a gentle confusion, like she'd told him a child's riddle that had a silly answer.

"No, that's… I know who you are. You're Euphemia, the seventh princess of the Britannian Empire. I am your Knight. I'm here to protect you."

Aurora bit her lip, laying her palm against his chest next to the bandage over his heart. The desperation in the undertone of his voice was obvious. She knew the truth was there, somewhere in his head. She just didn't know if she had the heart to drag it to the surface again.

"My name is Aurora Sterling, Suzaku. We've known each other for a week. And I'm here to protect you." She could see the loss rock him, the threat of lost memories beating against his heart. His muscles tensed against her, then shuddered. He was asking for more than his body could possible give.

"Where's Euphemia?" he asked in a dangerously low, desperately ragged tone. She hadn't moved; she couldn't. Nor could Aurora answer that question in its brutal entirety. She was very much afraid he would shatter if she did.

"She's not here, Suzaku. But you know. You know, and you'll remember. You just need to go to sleep. If you go back to sleep, I promise you, it'll all make sense in the morning. Will you do that for me? Please?"

Suzaku looked at her warily for a moment before nodding. When she shifted away from him and stood, he caught her fingers. In direct contrast to the grip that had awakened her, the touch to her fingers was delicately gentle.

"I'll sleep if you stay with me. Please."

She looked back at him, broken and beautiful in the moonlight. She nodded slowly before curling up next to him on the bed. Aurora initially kept a couple inches between them, but Suzaku shifted and tugged her closer until her cheek was pillowed on his shoulder and his fingers trailed through her hair. It struck her how much he must have loved Euphemia if he could treat a ghost of her in such a way with the remnants of that love.

Which led to another question as he settled and dropped off to sleep, leaving Aurora awake and shaken. Zero had been the one who killed Euphemia.

How could Suzaku possibly be the one who killed someone he was still so obviously in love with? He had rushed her to medical facilities as soon as possible afterwards, but that didn't absolve him of possible guilt. He had been mysteriously missing during the Murder Princess' massacre, after all.

But there was no way. There was absolutely no way that the man who slept next to her had killed the woman he loved. Aurora still wasn't sure of a great deal, but she was utterly certain of that. Which only deepened the mystery of his appearance as Zero and his faked death. She warned herself not to torture her mind with possibilities and guesses, not until she had more facts. And the only person with the answers was in no shape to share them. Deciding that she would do Suzaku little good if she was drooping from exhaustion, Aurora relaxed, and drifted away to sleep.

During the night, they edged closer to each other, Aurora's arm wrapping around Suzaku's waist, their legs tangling together as his hand came up to wrap around her shoulder. Neither had ever slept so intimately with another person.

In the small hours of the morning, when the heavy blankets of mist had yet to burn off and the moon was dying on the horizon, Aurora blinked awake. For a moment, she didn't want to remember. She didn't want to remember what had brought her to be embraced by the White Knight.

But she did, and there was simply no time to entertain fantasies that were doomed to remain that way. She awoke Ban and commanded him up on the bed with a whisper, sliding away from the powerful heat of Suzaku's body once the dog was settled next to his legs. Moving out of the room as quietly as a shadow once she'd nudged the window open a little more, Aurora dashed to the bathroom, completing the fastest shower she'd ever taken in seven minutes. Pushing for time, she scrubbed her skin quickly and brutally while her hair was frothed into a bubbly monstrosity. She didn't care to be out of hearing range from Suzaku and nearly slipped in the tub from the anxiety.

Forgoing a towel for her hair, she padded back down the hallway with nothing but a large towel. Her hair lay in dripping, glistening ropes down her back as she peeked into Suzaku's bedroom, breathing a deep sigh of relief when she saw that he was still asleep. Ban lifted his head at her appearance, his ears popping up like sails catching the wind. Aurora held him with a stay command, her palm facing him as she backed away from the door quietly into her own room.

Relaxing a little as she dressed, Aurora scrubbed the towel over her hair once she'd dragged on jeans and a green plaid shirt over a black tank. Snatching a hair tie and shoving her feet into moccasins as she crept out of her room, she glanced into his room again as she passed by before heading down the stairs. She knew a few steps creaked, and avoided them with a mischievous child's expertise. Back in her misspent youth, she'd been something of a terror.

Preparing the makings for tea with the patient boredom of regular habit, Aurora waited for the water to boil by braiding her wet hair back. Deciding that she was ravenous once the long, tight braid was tied, she whipped up some scrambled eggs, letting her tea steep as she poured eggs and milk, sprinkling cheese with a generous hand. Moving silently on her slippered feet, Aurora sat at the table with her plate of eggs and mug of tea, watching the countryside out of the three windows the kitchen sported as she scooped up her handiwork.

The land was going intensely green with summer, but she was sure they had a few more wicked storms left before spring bowed out for the year. The blankets of mist were just patches now, the sun creeping over the horizon with a halo of gold and fire that burned back the cool night with purple flames. Aurora soaked in the peace, taking it while she could. It didn't take a great deal of instinct to guess that there wouldn't be much peace here for a while.

And Aurora had a great deal of instinct. Humming to herself quietly as she finished her breakfast, she stood to wash her dishes and stow them in the dishwasher, tapping her foot in time with her internal dance as she went about the homely chore. Instead of heading back upstairs, she opened the back door, leaning against the jamb as she crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes slightly against the infant sun.

She had always wanted this, just this. The land, the quiet, a home and a place.

She had dined with some of the most powerful people in the world, and had held the others under her power with knowledge and fear. She had seen a war at its most heightened, and had spent years trying to repair the aftermath. She had dueled with danger and death, had skirted punishment and laughed at pursuers.

But through all her exploits, all of her power brokering and truth bartering, the desire for simply this had lived on. Why did it have to be here and now, like this, that Aurora could live exactly the way she wanted to?

Chapter Text

Aurora had only been reading for about five minutes before Suzaku awoke. One glance told her that she had promised something that wasn't going to happen, a break of faith that she desperately tried to avoid. Her word was sacred to her, and she didn't give it lightly. But it didn't matter.

He didn't remember.

Suzaku looked at her like she was the answer to every question, even the ones no person could know. He weakly held out his hand, and she reached out to take it before she thought better of it. He slowly stroked his thumb over her knuckles, sending little sparks shooting into her blood at the rasp of his skin against hers. It wasn't fair, she thought childishly as she stopped rocking. It wasn't fair that she had to deal with his actions and words with the knowledge of who he was. He could say and do whatever he wanted – he still believed that Aurora was Euphemia.

It would seem that his outburst last night had worn him out; Suzaku struggled just to keep his eyes open as he helplessly trembled. He was so pale, so drawn. Sliding out of her chair, Aurora knelt next to the bed, running her knuckles down his cheek once before she asked him to do the impossible. She asked him to remember.

"Suzaku, I need you to do something for me. Can you tell me your earliest memory?"

He looked surprised, but indulgent. However, the shadow of guilt quickly stole over his eyes.

"Being carried on my father's shoulders. It was at an event, a festival, I think. I remember the fireworks and the feel of my father laughing."

And so, the thread began to be unrolled. Aurora felt guilty, asking him to reveal things under the ruse of the woman he loved, but she was afraid that the only way he could remember was if he lived it all again. And to be perfectly honest, she had to know. This might be her only chance.

She walked him through his youth, unsurprised to hear of the two younger brothers and mother that had all but disappeared from the face of the planet upon the end of the invasion. Rumor said that they had settled in the Chinese Federation; Aurora knew that they had actually made their way to Australia. He didn't ask, and she didn't say – ties had been cut brutally between them when he'd joined the military. Through everything that had happened, they kept their silence and distance, forsaking the eldest son to whatever trials he survived.

When he described meeting Lelouch and Nunnally, Aurora smiled. It had been one of the first pieces of information she'd ever gathered on her own. She'd needed to know what had happened to the prince and princess after their mother's death. Once she'd discovered that they were alright, she'd hoped that the three of them could move on with the rest of their lives. In a way, they all had. It did shock her that Suzaku and Lelouch initially didn't get along, since so much of what happened seemed to have been based on their bond with each other. He laughed at his childish rudeness, at how he had believed Lelouch to be a little monster in fancy clothes because of his birth. He admitted it was foolish; Aurora couldn't help the sad smile at the bittersweet, self-deprecating expression on his face.

When he spoke of the war, he stiffened. She still held his hand, partly to read him and partly as support. Aurora felt his tendons go as tight as steel, but he exerted no extra pressure on her hand. He either had the control, or lacked the strength.

"I'm so sorry, but I couldn't let it happen. The war. My father wanted to fight to the bitter end. To show the world that the Japanese spirit would never die, even when its people had. I was a foolish child, and terrified of what it would mean for the world I had always known. I begged him to change his mind, but why would a leader listen to a boy? So I killed him."

Aurora froze at the words he uttered with a dull, distant look in his eyes.

"What… what do you mean?"

He had looked away when he spoke of his father, but looked back again at her question.

"I mean I rammed a knife into him during an argument. Don't you remember? I told you when I gave you the pin. What right do I have to live when I stole the life of my own father? That's why…" he paled for a moment, then shook his head, as if clearing it of static. "That's why I try so hard to protect others. To possibly redeem myself. If I die for another, I thought that maybe it could pardon me of at least some of my sin."

Aurora was rocked. She'd heard whispers of that sort of thing, but the cover-up must have been top-notch to avoid her attention this long. He must have been so afraid, must have hated himself so intensely. Understanding percolated a little deeper. It was hard to blame a frightened child for an accident, an act of terror and desperation that no doubt had defined his life.

"It's not what you mean."

"What?" Suzaku looked at her blankly.

"It's the simple difference between murder and manslaughter. You didn't mean to, did you?" She spoke quietly, gently.

Suzaku shook his head, frantically.

"No. No! I killed him. I took my father's life because he threatened to drive Japan into the ground with war. It's no excuse, but it's my only reason. I'm guilty. Guilty, Euphie!"

Aurora shrugged, and settled back on her heels even as her heart ached at being called the wrong name.

"You don't… believe me?" He looked stunned.

"No, I believe you. I just don't agree with you. I can't see you as the type of child who would attack someone simply because you quarreled. There's no doubt that what you did was wrong, but I believe that you've paid enough, with your blood and your sorrows. You didn't do it out of malice. You were afraid. Is it wrong to be afraid?" She couldn't know that her words mirrored so closely what he had said long, long ago.

"No, it isn't," Suzaku murmured, his voice dazed. "As long as you don't let that fear consume you."

"You allowed it once. I think it's safe to say you would never allow it again."

"What… are you absolving me?" His incredulous tone made Aurora smile.

"No, I'm not absolving you. I'm forgiving you. There were many times that I wished my father dead, gladly. The only reason I didn't take his life was because I never got the chance. I guess that makes us a pretty despicable breed of people, huh?"

"I guess so," he murmured blankly. He didn't seem to quite compute that her words would have been somewhat out of character for Euphemia. But they'd been the truth for Aurora.

"So what happened? After?"

"Japan was defeated in less than a month. It was over. Lelouch and Nunnally and I were separated. I thought they had died. My actions were hidden, smothered by the claim that my father committed suicide. My family was gone, and my land destroyed. I survived as well as I could, until I was able to join the military in order to earn Honorary Britannian status. I thought it was the best way. I thought that this would mean something. I had gained peace by killing my own father. No matter the grandeur of the goal, it wasn't worth it if you had to destroy lives in order to gain it. I wanted to change the world. I wanted to change it with you, Euphie. But I wanted to change it the right way." His brow furrowed, like something in his brain was being rejected. Then it smoothed, and he trailed his index finger over the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse thudded against his touch.

"Then I saw Lelouch again."

The sweetness was gone, leaving little except the bitter. Aurora could tell that the instinctive reaction puzzled Suzaku; there was something in him that hated the man he'd once considered a friend, but he couldn't yet find the reason for it. He described the search for supposed poison gas, and finding a girl instead. He mentioned it nonchalantly and with little notice, but Aurora could see the way he sacrificed his mask when he believed the gas to be released to protect Lelouch. How many times, she wondered.

How many times had he'd thrown himself into the line of fire? How many times had he thought of others above his own safety? Lelouch had wondered the same once.

Aurora's vivid imagination painted the scene with clarity when Suzaku turned from his commanding officer to deny an order he found contemptible, only to take a bullet to his lower back. His hand stayed still in hers even as he described the old, rending pain – it was quickly becoming apparent that it was old injuries of his soul that affected him so much more strongly than the old injuries of his body.

He spoke of meeting Lloyd, and Ms. Cecille, of accepting the title of the White Knight that set him on a course from where there was simply no return. He told her of his false accusation of Clovis' death that Aurora had all but forgotten in comparison to the firestorm that followed.

And then he spoke of Zero.

Suzaku struggled. She could see his mind fight against what his soul knew. He was lost for words for a moment, and could only manage to say that he refused Zero's offer to join him. But Aurora could see it; he'd known, even then, who Zero was, but refused it in favor of something else. What, she couldn't yet say. It was quickly wiped away however, by a desperate sort of joy.

"After my acquittal, I met you. You're so beautiful, Euphie. When you first fell into my arms, you took my breath away even as you made me laugh. So strangely silly and strong at the same time. And when you ran out into the middle of that battlefield, I didn't know someone could feel such an immense terror." Suzaku laced his fingers with hers. "I thought you were mad when you insisted that I attend Ashford. Or punishing me, somehow. But you were right. You gave me some sense of normalcy in the insanity of our time. I didn't know that I could have friends that way again, with just kindness and laughter. And it brought me back to Lelouch."

She felt his horror during the hotel high-jacking, felt his desperation as he pushed the Lancelot and himself beyond the limits of what everyone thought was possible in that tunnel. The terrifying impotence when he had believed he'd failed. She was glad that he'd found friends that cared for him despite his heritage; that despite all odds, there had been moments when he could just be a kid. Suzaku wasn't able to articulate what he experienced at Narita when he believed that he'd captured Zero, but Aurora could sense the fear, hate, and chaos that had burned in his veins like a rampaging bull, nearly destroying him in the process. She stroked her thumb over his pulse, the beat of blood jerking unevenly as he remembered the pandemonium that had rocketed through his own head.

When Suzaku managed to choke out how a deranged lunatic named Mao was somehow able to know what he had done, he could barely look her in the eye. But since she already knew the truth of his father's death, Aurora saw more the skill and bravery that he had shown in the service of a friend. This Mao character had surfaced ever so briefly in her research, then dropped off the map altogether. She couldn't be sure how he had attained information that she herself hadn't been able to unearth, but Aurora reminded herself that her focus was Suzaku, and not her competitive professional integrity. And anyway, it didn't matter now – she was retired.

"He was right, that monster who kidnapped Nunnally. What could I do in the face of my own truth?"

Aurora felt a rage at a man she'd never known. But it was also hard, swallowing her frustration at Suzaku's apathy towards himself in a bid to drag him back from the edge.

"That's your only truth? The man who willingly gave himself, both body and soul, to the pursuit of a bright new future? So your reason isn't purely saintly; that doesn't make your altruistic actions any less noble."

He looked at her, then cleared his throat. She could read his struggle. The only truth he could grasp was his past; how terrifying that must be.

His in-depth mention of Nunnally and his cursory mention of his brief status as Todoh's executioner told her how comfortable he was with the former and rattled by the latter, and how deeply both affected him. The soft tone of his voice hardened, however, when he spoke of the battle after Todoh's escape, when his identity was revealed to the world. But he smiled when he turned his eyes back to hers.

"I didn't even know when you declared me your knight. I was too caught up in my personal declarations to know of the incredible risk you had taken, and the honor you had bestowed upon me. But when I walked into that palace, I felt like I was walking a razor's edge. I so badly wanted it, but the hatred surrounding me was almost overpowering."

"And yet you accepted anyway. You carried yourself with honor and dignity, and had nothing to be ashamed of." Aurora couldn't help it when her brows rose at the faintest tinge of a blush that rode along Suzaku's cheekbones. So, he still had that in him. Humility. She had wondered if that had been nearly destroyed with the rest of him.

"Then I was so focused on not tripping up the stairs or dropping my sword, I didn't have time for the whispers. If I were to humiliate anyone, it would have been you. And that was simply unacceptable."

Remembering the television broadcast well, it suddenly occurred to Aurora that Suzaku's formal attire as Euphie's knight was the same colors as Zero's guise, except his white stood for black. How odd. Sometimes, she thought the fates had a bit too much fun.

"And then Lloyd started clapping," he murmured with a distant look in his eyes and a half smile. Yes, Asplund, who cared notoriously little for other's opinions, had taken the plunge and applauded Suzaku when no others had. But it had been Dalton's grudging claps that began the wave of reluctant sound.

"As for Shikine…"

She hadn't thought it was possible for him anymore, this yo-yo of joy and pain that rippled through him. But then, this wasn't the present Suzaku. This was a fragment of the man he had been, before he'd lost everything. Hard to blame his mind for shielding itself from its own past as soon as it got the chance. It didn't take much to realize that this was all an aspect of the withdrawal, his mind's first defense against the lack. If it went this far at the initial phase, how much worse would it be when he got more desperate?

"Well, sometimes I'm not even sure myself what happened there. I don't know how he knew so much, but Zero again tried to recruit me, then challenged me in all the ways that mattered. My ideals, and my secrets. Then something strange happened when I trapped Zero, and…"

Aurora had read the reports on the Shikine Island incident. There had been a bizarre inconsistency in the whole matter that smelled of cover-up, or worse. And anytime Schneizel was involved, things were bound to get messy. He'd always been overly fond of winning, with too little regard to the rules, or the cost. And if he could win at another's expense, that just added spice to the glory. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but Aurora felt like they were slowly making their way closer to the truth of it all.

"When I washed up on the shore of Kamine Island, I couldn't remember anything, no matter how hard I tried. It was easier to survive than it was to remember. Then I ran into Kallen." His eyes shifted away from hers, and if Aurora had to guess, it was in embarrassment. "She… well, she didn't…"

Piecing the fragments of information together, she had to fight not to snort in laughter.

"She was naked, wasn't she?"

He just looked away with the most uncomfortable and embarrassed expression ever, and Aurora allowed herself a small chuckle. She'd been right; there was something painfully innocent about Suzaku. Why did that appeal to her?

"It's alright, Suzaku. I'm sure you comported yourself in a most gentlemanly fashion. Go on."

"I suppose you're right, if you consider honesty a chivalrous virtue. I told her about my father. I think I did it in an attempt to make her see the truth, the way it had been forced on me. But her rage went too deep; we came to reluctant terms, but nothing changed. It's hard, Euphie. Seeing so much of your effort bounce off the brick wall of the world. It's all but impossible to seek change when nothing ever changes."

She squeezed her hand against his slackening grip. She could feel the hopelessness bleeding through him, and prayed that she could lend him some sort of strength. She only hoped it didn't have to be a lie. So she told him the deepest truth she knew of him.

"That's why you're so strong, Suzaku." She waited until their eyes met until she continued. "Because you kept your hope. You kept fighting. How many times were you torn apart? How many times has your mind suffered at the hands of others, leaving you with nothing but wreckage? And yet you keep rebuilding yourself. You keep drawing from a source of strength and carrying on. That not only speaks of honor and determination; it speaks of a courage to keep moving, to keep fighting when you would otherwise falter."

"You see too much in me," he whispered.

"I see merely what is there. Exactly who you are." Her quiet words were followed by a poignant silence. Finally, Suzaku shook himself and continued. He needed little prompting now. It would seem that his soul was desperate to share the weight of the rebellion's events, even if his mind needed the excuse of Euphemia's presence. So it had fabricated it.

He was bemused still about his actions after the Hadron cannon fired at him and Zero at Schniezel's command. It was said with such pure puzzlement that Aurora altered the opinion she'd made when first hearing about the incident. After all, the recording had been pretty convincing, if utterly out of character.

"Not that you would listen, of course. Even when I tried to resign my knighthood, you eventually changed my mind. So beautifully stubborn." The reverence and love in his voice made Aurora feel like a sham. Even if she felt the same way as Euphie had then; she understood Suzaku, and respected him exactly as he was. She'd known Euphie's thoughts over a decade ago – it wasn't hard to realize what she had felt three years ago.

"I went into that battle willing to sacrifice my life in order to repair your honor. But it wasn't enough. I only survived that fight because of you. When you…"

Aurora blinked, slightly confused at the expression on his face. What had happened during the Kyushu battle between Suzaku and Euphemia?

"Only you could command a man to love you so kindly, and only I would answer so rotely to something that defined me." His grip on her hand tightened as he laughed a little, his eyes gorgeous and warm; Aurora felt like she was being strangled. She had no right to this, no right to what had blossomed between the two of them in the heat of battle. This had to stop.

"Suzaku, I-"

"I had to hear it from you to believe that my self-loathing was unnecessary. If you loved me, then maybe earning that love would give me worth. And I love you so much."

God, he was lovely. Those beautiful green eyes practically glowed, and with his face in such happy lines, he was the most handsome man Aurora had ever seen.

But she couldn't say it. She couldn't feed him a lie to support his mind. Aurora had never said the words to anyone in her entire life – she couldn't sacrifice her integrity for his peace of mind.

"I know," she whispered faintly, shifting to sit by the bed and resting her cheek on the back of his hand. Even as his brows furrowed, she pushed him on. She caught a flicker of something, a hesitation during those last moments of the battle that made something in him falter. His defenses were weakening. It wouldn't be much longer.

"I didn't mean to collaborate with Zero – it just happened that way."

When Aurora just managed a weak smile, he persisted.

"But what mattered was coming back home to you."

She could only imagine how the two of them had awkwardly fumbled their way to an understanding. It would have been rather adorable, if it wasn't so heartbreaking.

"With you, I had balance, and, for the first time, peace. You had shown me such mercy, that I couldn't help but grant it to others. And then what you planned to do for the Japanese with the Specially Administrative Zone…" His voice grew oddly choked, but he pushed on mercilessly.

"It was wonderful, and perfect. I was so proud of you, so proud that the woman I loved was so strong and compassionate. That day, you were radiant when you faced down Zero and invited him into a new future." His fingers were twitching and Aurora could tell by his posture that Suzaku's shoulder was throbbing. She wanted to tell him, to scream at him. Anything to make him realize the truth and end this horrible charade. When he managed to speak, his voice was weak, shuddering brutally.

"And then…" Suzaku blinked rapidly against the memories that were fighting to break through. Aurora stroked her hand over his before pressing his palm to her cheek. She gazed at him before she spoke, already heartbroken to be losing a loving Suzaku. Already wrecked at what her quest for the truth had cost both of them.

"She died. At Zero's hand." Unbidden, a tear slipped down Aurora's cheek as she said the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

"No, you…"

Aurora stood, holding his gaze with hers as he stuttered through his denial.

"She's been dead for three years, Suzaku. Euphemia is gone. I'm Aurora."

He yanked his hand from hers as the light in his green eyes was doused by realization and understanding, and Aurora stepped back, horrified by the intense agony that she had caused. She had never meant for it to go this far.

"I'm so-"

"What? Sorry? So am I. Sorry that my life died with her. But why? Why did you make me do this?"

She hated herself for the anguish in his voice.

"Because it was the only way you would remember. You had repressed the memories while going through withdrawal. It was the only way. I wish it wasn't." Tears glided down her cheeks as she stepped back, feeling the betrayal rip through her. If she was going to do this, then she might as well tell him the whole truth.

"But I had to know. I need to know what happened, Suzaku. I need to know who Zero was." She pled with her hands, her voice shaking at the need. She took one careful step closer. "Tell me what the Zero Requiem was. Please."

"Get out. Get out!"

The way his voice rocketed from whisper to bellow made Aurora jump, Bannock slinking off the bed down to the rug, where he curled up as small as possible. Suzaku pressed the fingers of his good hand to his eyes. She saw the glint of tears along his lashes, and felt like the worst sort of monster.

"Why do you think I did it? Why do you think I started? I can't live with these memories anymore. I can't live with the knowledge of what I've done and what I've failed to do! You brought me back from the edge I've been striving to gain for years. Why? I can't go on without her. I can't!"

Aurora swiped at the tears on her cheeks, yearning to offer comfort that she already knew would be rejected. She gripped her elbows, wishing that she could shrink into herself under the iron of his gaze. It was too hard to find the courage to disagree with him, to maintain that he could live on without Euphemia. She doubted it would penetrate even if she managed to say the words. Instead, she lifted her hands helplessly before letting them fall.

"I couldn't let you die." It was tiny, helpless whisper.

"Please, leave. Please." He sounded so broken, so defeated, that Aurora couldn't help but obey. She turned to leave, but stopped at the door, wanting to give him something, anything.

"She loved you, you know. So much. I always thought you were worthy. Stay, Ban," she murmured, gesturing for the dog to stay as she carefully shut the door behind her.

Aurora gave him three hours.

She snagged a black windbreaker on her way out and swapped her moccasins for tough, scarred boots. Charging down the stairs on a light tread, she stormed through the kitchen and marched out into the fields. Aurora would have given a year of her life just to feel some fresh air. She hadn't known that memories could actually choke, could thicken the air until it was liquid. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she ducked her head against the soft breeze and her own guilt. The dew quickly soaked the hems of her jeans, clouds the color of pearls dancing teasingly with the warm sun against the bright blue canvas of the sky. Aurora leapt over a stone wall, eyeing the town to the west. She could go for a bit of chat and a pint, but didn't think herself fit for company.

She wished Ban was with her, but someone had to stay with Suzaku, and Aurora really didn't think that he wanted her around. To be honest, she didn't want to be around herself. Aurora knew she should have stopped the confusion long before it ever got that serious, but an objective part of her knew it never would have ended until Suzaku had reached the truth on his own. Still, her part in it wouldn't rest easy.

It took almost half a mile before she could somewhat accept what she had done, and what Suzaku had said. She had always been a person who relied on physicality to work through issues and ideas. It manifested in her usual tapping with fingers or feet, and also in her fit state, due to her regular running and walking.

She skirted around a herd of sheep, cutting through a stand of oaks and birches that were going green with determination. The sea was too far away to hear, but she could very faintly catch the scent of it on the breeze occasionally. She hailed a farmer who waved in return as he rounded up some cattle. As she hiked to the top of a hillock, Aurora paused, surveying the unearthly green of the landscape that rolled and tumbled across the rugged little island. It was so stunning and simple.

It was easy to lose the time here. A few minutes spent sitting under an ash bled easily into an hour. If not for the pocket watch she had tucked into her inside jacket pocket, her only warning would have been the impending sunset. Aurora stood, swiping at the damp on the seat of her jeans before setting off at a jog. She vaulted the stone walls easily, covering the distance with a ground-eating stride.

By the time she returned to the house, Aurora was panting and her mind was settled. They'd come this far. All of Suzaku's pain and revelations would be worth nothing if they stopped now. If she hated herself, then that was something she would wrestle with later.

She took time to deposit her jacket and collect herself. There was a bit of cowardice that she had to swallow first, though. Finally, Aurora squeezed her eyes shut and straightened her spine. Opening them, she stepped out of her room and across the hallway to his. Never had that tiny distance seemed so huge. She raised her hand to knock, but faltered for a moment. Tightening her jaw, she rapped gently twice.

When there was no response, she wasn't sure how to continue. Easing the door open, she entered slowly, only to find Suzaku drowsing. Considering the emotional turmoil he'd just gone through, it wasn't surprising that he had burned out. Ban lay next to the bed; it would seem that he hadn't quite worked up the nerve to return to his place on the comforter yet.

Aurora sat in the rocking chair, setting it into motion with the tip of her toes. Finally, she couldn't take it; halting the chair, she leaned forward, and touched Suzaku's wrist gently, soft as butterfly feet. His lashes fluttered open, and awareness dawned almost immediately, his green eyes shuttered. Aurora found herself speaking before she'd quite realized it.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's all I have to offer. I shouldn't have perpetuated your disorientation, but I didn't have the heart to tell you of her death and I was afraid you'd never accept it until you realized the truth for yourself. The last possible thing I want is to hurt you further. You've been hurt enough."

Suzaku's gaze still saw her to the bone, but it didn't condemn her openly.

"Why do you want to know? It's the past; what happened then can't change now."

So accustomed to telling secrets about her own history, Aurora struggled with what she could and couldn't tell him.

"There are questions that I need answered. Questions that have troubled me for some years now. It would mean a great deal to know the truth."

He tilted his head slightly, a considering light blooming in his eyes.

"Who are you?"

Aurora forced the smile.

"That is the question." After biting her lip for a moment, she continued. "Could we perhaps compromise?"

A brow lifted as he shifted in the bed, clearly still in a great deal of pain.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Tell me what happened. The truth, please. Then I'll explain to you my interest. I only hope both of us can live with what we learn."

Suzaku looked at her, then sighed as deeply as his damaged ribs would allow. He then nodded, and continued the tale.

So much of his young life had been consumed by battle. He'd seen more combat than most seasoned soldiers. Did he have any inkling of how to live a normal life anymore?

He spoke of revenge with a tired sort of resignation. It was unsurprising, the way his mind had jumped from grief to vengeance. But what rattled Aurora was the depth of it. He had felt it so deeply; every aspect of his love for Euphemia had been engulfed by this burning drive to avenge her death. It was sad, that he sacrificed the memory of Euphie to his hate.

She could tell by the way he said it that he was ashamed now of assaulting Lloyd. Not that he hadn't deserved it, baiting Suzaku at such a time, but as with any flicker of gentler emotion he allowed her to see, it gave Aurora hope.

But she'd watched the footage. It hadn't taken much to dig up the classified tapes of the battle. Aurora knew that in the first fight for Tokyo, Suzaku had been a relentless force on par with a hurricane. He'd lost his grace and determination in favor of rage and power, hacking through the Black Knights like they were stalks of wheat. Even three years ago, Aurora had been able to see the incredible pain underneath the unstoppable fury.

During his confrontation with Kallen, he'd seemed like an entirely different person. Aurora realized the depth of what he meant when he said that he couldn't live without Euphemia; a very important part of him had died with her. He'd been a rabid wolf out for blood, and no matter who got in his way, his search for Zero couldn't be swayed. The way he spoke now, he seemed to regret the way he'd threatened Kallen, but said it with a strange detachment that confirmed what Aurora thought. As time had passed, it seemed more and more like it had been a different person piloting the Lancelot that night. But the question was, had he grown past the hate, or shuttled it around his soul until it sank in, spreading through him like a disease?

She was surprised he hadn't torn his way out of the Lancelot once it had been disabled, like an animal wrenching itself free of a trap, no matter the injuries it inflicted on itself. But, as always, there was a part of him she held out hope for. A part that surrendered for his friends, that took heart in the determined protection of his cat. A part that ran to Cornelia's aid, that followed her commands with the loyalty of a soldier.

But at Kamine… Standing before him was his purpose, with his back against the wall and smelling of fear. Suzaku had felt righteous, and a little bit afraid. But that never would have stopped him.

"I shot off his mask. Cracked it like a bowl." His eyes went unfocused, sliding into the morass of the past like quicksand.

"Suzaku," Aurora breathed, utterly entrapped in the tale. "Who's Zero?"

He focused back on her slowly.

"It was Lelouch."

Aurora didn't speak for a moment. She merely leaned back in her chair before resting her hand on her throat, as if trying to urge the air locked in her lungs out. When she blinked, Suzaku could see it was against tears.

All her research, all her digging, had never made her consider Lelouch. Suzaku had known. But out of love for his friend, he had refused to believe until it had been proven. Then it was, brutally so. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth as she sniffed. When Aurora quickly stood, she recognized in a distant part of her mind that she had made Suzaku concerned. He held out his hand even as he propped himself up on his elbow, wincing a little at the ache.

"Aurora-"

She managed a choked chuckle that did little to mask her distress and pain.

"It's alright, Suzaku. I'm just… I just need a moment. It's all a bit shocking. I'm going to prepare us dinner." She paused at the top of the stairs, vaguely wishing that her fascination with the truth had never pushed them so far. When the tears dripped from her chin, she clattered down the steps, setting about the task of making sandwiches with a wild sort of desperation. She had to stop, though, when she needed a moment. Bracing her hands against the counter, Aurora bowed her head, allowing her sorrow to bubble to the surface for a moment.

Lelouch had killed Euphemia, and so many others. He had done the unforgiveable to achieve the impossible. He had paid for his actions with his death, a execution that Aurora suspected was designed by the executed. It wasn't difficult to extrapolate out the possibilities, and as she glanced at the ceiling, Aurora feared for what she had yet to learn.

But there was no turning back now. If Suzaku could reveal such a history, then she could at least return the courtesy in kind. Perhaps then, the uncertainty that had been haunting her since she'd watched the television broadcast of Lelouch's death could finally be freed.

Chapter Text

Aurora gave herself time before heading back up the stairs; she didn't know how much more she could take, but she knew that she needed to see this through. This time when she knocked at Suzaku's door, balancing the tray with ease, he responded.

"Come in." She pushed the door open with her shoulder at the invitation, dredging up a bright smile from a place she didn't really feel as she set the tray on the armoire next to her book and glasses.

"Hungry?" she asked lightly. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see his frown.

"Not really."

"You always say that," Aurora chided gently as she turned with a sandwich on a plate. "But try to get something down. I didn't know what you liked, so it's pretty standard." He took the plate with the ham sandwich from her and immediately set it next to his hip on the bed. Feeling the sinking sensation she usually got before she was about to be outmaneuvered, Aurora swung back around, fussing with her tea. Despite her admonishment to Suzaku, she hadn't managed to force herself to eat anything. When Suzaku spoke, however, her shoulders tightened, and she slowly traced her fingers along the edge of the tray.

"Before we go any further, you have to tell me who you are." Rolling her lips together, Aurora didn't turn around.

"That wasn't our agreement," she reminded him quietly. He snorted derisively.

"I'm a traitor. Haven't you heard? You can hardly expect me to honor an agreement when I can't even honor my country." Sighing through her nose at the intense bitterness in his tone, Aurora turned around, leaning against the armoire with her cup of tea in one hand as she eyed him.

"You're not a traitor," she said simply. He raised his brows as he glared at her.

"There are thousands, if not millions, who would disagree with you." Aurora just shrugged as she sat down in her rocking chair.

"I'm not one of them, and I don't care about them. I care about you, and I say that you're not a traitor. A tragically confused, grieving, angry young man that had no business getting in as deep as you did. But traitor? A traitor is a coward, and you, Suzaku Kururugi, are no coward." As he blinked at her in shock, Aurora sipped her tea before continuing.

"Why do you want to know now?" Suzaku was able to recover himself, at least a little from the shock of her simple faith in him.

"I'm concerned about why you need this information. It's sensitive, and could be dangerous in the wrong hands." She had to bite back her grin at the irony.

"You think I'm a spy?" His eyes narrowed at her thinly disguised mirth while she sat down in her chair.

"I don't trust you." The snapping words cut deeper than he most likely intended, but Aurora controlled her face to mask the hurt nonetheless. "Either tell me the truth, or learn to live without it."

"Uncalled for, but fair enough," she conceded shortly. Taking another sip of her tea as she gathered her thoughts, shoving the sting of his words away for now, she made eye contact with Ban briefly. Sensitive to the moods, he took to his feet, nudging his head under her hand as she set the rocker into motion.

"My name is Aurora Sterling, but I was born Aurora ri Britannia. I'm the…" Her eyes went up as she counted, occasionally tapping her fingers against the armrest as she marked the tens. Math had never been her strong point. "Twenty fifth princess of the Britannian Empire and one hundred and seventh in line for the throne. Of course, considering all that's happened, I doubt my numbers are still the same. I'm too far out of the game to care, though. And over a hundred people would have to die for me to ever take the throne." Still rubbing Ban's head and neck, Aurora glanced over at Suzaku, who had paled at the first sentence, his green eyes burning into hers.

"I'm the unfortunate product of Charles' relations with an English maid, most likely without her consent, though my mother never admitted it. He told Marianne it was because she had been pregnant at the time with Lelouch. A man has needs, after all. Britannian pig." The last was spat out with heavy sarcasm and disdain, her starry day eyes narrowing dangerously as she glared into the middle distance. Aurora recovered herself, however, and quickly smoothed her face into brisk, controlled lines.

"Once I was born, my mother was transferred to Marianne's household and I went along. Charles thought she would be one of his more understanding consorts, and he didn't have many daughters, so he liked to keep them around in case he wanted to marry them off. And then he forgot about me. I grew up with Lelouch and Nunnally and the other royal children of that age group. Then, when I was eight, my mother and uncle, who worked as a gardener at the estate, started hearing rumors that Charles was about to enact one of his purges." At the questioning look on Suzaku's face, she elaborated.

"It should be painfully apparent that Charles was something of a degenerate, and a shameless breeder. I was hardly his only bastard; he often had reams of them running around Britannia. Finally, when the numbers would get too great, he'd get rid of them. The more mild-mannered ones would be assigned to a post within his cabinet, low enough not to cause any trouble but high enough for him to keep an eye on them. Others he exiled; the rest he killed. I didn't have the lineage to warrant a position, or the behavior. So my mother and her brother planned to spirit me away. But my mother died before they could go forward with the plan; she'd always been frail. My uncle was frantic. That was when Marianne was killed." Aurora rolled her shoulders as she reluctantly stumbled back down the road of her fraught youth.

"He took advantage of the chaos and, working with the man they had contracted to make me disappear, shuffled me off the estate in the middle of the night while everyone was screaming and crying after the assassination. He lied and identified one of the maids, a young orphan who had lost her face to the machine gun fire, as me, and Aurora ri Britannia died. Meanwhile, I went to live with George Hampden, the man who had arranged my fake death." She remembered him with a sad sort of fondness that reflected in her voice.

"George was a fixer. He was a dealer in information and secrets. He knew all the ins and outs of the system, and countless people throughout the empire owed him. He initially planned to place me with a family in Brazil. But then, the plans fell through, and, I don't know. I guess I must have appealed to him, because instead of shipping me off to some other trustworthy debtor, he took me on as an apprentice. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had," she murmured to herself, almost as an afterthought. Jerking herself free of the memories, she smiled at Suzaku before returning to her tale.

"He taught me everything I knew, and we were full partners before I was a teenager. But then that silly old grizzly bear went and died on me. Deal gone bad. It happened from time to time, even if you were careful. One tiny mistake cost him his life. I was thirteen." Aurora sighed as she toyed with the handle of her mug.

"I was on my own. So I took what he taught me and struck out as a solitary fixer. I hit puberty early, which helped when dealing with dukes and executives who were inclined to dismiss me as a child. By the time I was fifteen, I was the go-to girl in the underworld. Did some of my best work in those years. Then I got cocky." Tugging once on Ban's ear, she pointed at the rug. Gazing at her, then Suzaku, pleadingly, Ban gave up and circled on the rug before settling down with a reluctant grunt.

"Thought I was untouchable, and I could go after an invincible target. Got in pretty deep with some pretty ugly people. When I got the information I needed, I succeeded in doing nothing but painting a giant target on my back. So I was left with two choices: stay and die, or disappear and live. I decided that sixteen was too young to die, and pulled up my stakes. The fixer known as Rory Seven up and vanished, leaving behind no information and the vaguest possibility that she might return. Just in case anyone wanted to try and do business under my name." She shook her head; the reputation of Rory Seven had been pretty tantalizing, and her pride had pushed her to debunk the imposters she'd caught despite her firm retirement.

"So I left Britannia one last time and ran to England. I had been there ever since until I came here with you. That's who I am," she stated with a cool finality as she set her mug aside. "And that's why I need to know. I need to know why my brother had to die, Suzaku. I need to know who killed him, and what purpose his death served. I think that's a fair request." He was silent for a moment, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"You're a princess?" Aurora couldn't hide the smile that bloomed at his blank amazement.

"Technically, I suppose. I hardly qualify for it in any aspect except blood, though. Although, strictly speaking, I have as much noble blood as Lelouch and Nunnally do. Did," she corrected herself quietly as she stilled her rocking. "However, our mothers weren't exactly equal." Aurora held out her hands, palm up.

"Renowned Britannian Knightmare pilot and member of the Round." She wiggled her right hand.

"English maid who had a child out of wedlock." She wiggled her left hand, then tipped her right higher. "Strictly speaking, they were both commoners, but my mother didn't have a thimbleful of Marianne's clout. Hence my general lack of importance among the royal family." Her mouth crooking a little at her own insignificance, Aurora set the rocker going again.

"You never had any ambitions for the throne?" Aurora couldn't help it; she laughed.

"Not only was it ridiculously unlikely, but I had no desire to take the crown. It would have been a fiasco, and I would have ended up dead or de-throned." She brushed a few wisps of hair out of her eyes as she chuckled.

"You're surprisingly mellow for a Britannian," he murmured, clearing his throat in regret once he said the words. Aurora hummed, trying to keep her laugh to a minimum.

"I'm only half Britannian, remember? And I've had my fair share of drama and intrigue; I don't need to invent any for a promotion that is astronomically unlikely." A smile twitched at Suzaku's lips before he was able to control it. He looked down for a moment, seriousness stealing over his face. When he looked back up, he was somber and a little sad.

"I'm inclined to disbelieve you, but…" His hand fisted as he looked away, then back again. "You have their eyes. The Britannian royal eyes." Aurora inhaled deeply as she ground her jaw against the tears.

"I do," she said simply, holding Suzaku's gaze. He swallowed, and broke the contact.

"You've been more than patient." She shrugged.

"It's the least you deserve."

"You won't think that after what I tell you," he assured her with a solemn certainty. She merely tipped her head, a tiny smile playing over her mouth.

"What makes you think you know my mind? I've already surprised you today. I'll bet you a great deal of money that I'll do it again."

"You sound like him. Lelouch. Knowing one's own mind, and that confidence that you wear like a cloak." Aurora's face went soft at the memories.

"I may have his confidence, but I lack his patience and strategy. He used to complain that I could never sit still, and he mercilessly destroyed me at chess every time he managed to convince me to play. I have a tell, and I'm too adaptable to build a strategy from the start. By the time it forms, it would be too late. Especially with him." The smile faded, however, and her eyes darkened.

"Suzaku, can you promise me something?" At his cautious nod, she drew in a deep breath. "You promise to tell me the end of the story? You swear that you'll tell me why Lelouch died?" He nodded again, but Aurora pushed. "You swear?"

"I do," he said seriously, and Aurora knew he meant it.

"Then tell me why. Why did Euphemia do those horrible things?" He swallowed heavily before saying a single word.

"Geass."

"Geass?" Aurora repeated, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar word. Suzaku nodded, and told her what Lelouch had confirmed as his uncle's truth. How a witch had granted Lelouch his deepest wish in exchange for granting hers. How he was given the power of a king, and sought to rend the world asunder and rebuild it anew. He told her the parameters of the power, and how it had aided him both as Zero and as Emperor. How the command given to Suzaku was done in fear, and the command given to Euphemia was done unintentionally.

"He lost control?" Suzaku had only a moment to be surprised that she absorbed the information so easily. Her mind was flexible and instinctive; Aurora knew the truth when she heard it.

"Yes. He used special contacts to block it until he needed it after that."

"And the orders given to you and Euphemia?" Suzaku blinked. She'd known so much, he'd assumed that Aurora would know this as well. Considering how hard he was struggling to keep his focus and discipline with his thoughts tumbling through his head like dice in a cup, it should come as no surprise that he was faltering. But he had to see this through to the end. He'd given her his word.

"He gave me my order on Shikine Island, right before the Hadron Cannon fired. He told me to live." Aurora felt her heart lurch; the sheer injustice of it.

"No," she whispered without control. Suzaku looked confused. "It's just… That's so opposed to your personality and instincts. It must have been torture." His crooked smile was incredibly bitter.

"It still is. There's no expiration to the command, not even the commander's death. It will haunt me the rest of my days, and forces to me to live a life without her." He spoke so quietly, and Aurora didn't need to ask of who he meant. Suddenly, the mire of guilt and anger and pain that she had known he was struggling against grew exponentially. Her heart bled for him, bled for the boy he'd been and the broken man who lay before her.

"And Euphie?" She hardly dared ask, but the footage… She hadn't been able to watch it to its end. She'd bolted outside to vomit into an alley, terrifying Kendra and Chandler at her sudden hopelessness and anger that had lasted upwards of a week. What had happened to Euphie?

"Lelouch told me later that it was an accident. The first time his Geass went out of control. He was trying to explain the power to her when he mentioned killing all the Japanese. He thought that such an outlandish statement would help her understand. He didn't know that it had become a Geass command." She nodded, feeling a heavy weight drop from her heart. So Euphemia hadn't changed. Through magic and an accident, like a boy playing with his father's gun, she'd been killed. It hurt that her honor had died with her, but at least Aurora knew now. She could hold the memories of Euphie without feeling the burn of betrayal and question. She'd been sweet little Euphie to the very end.

Aurora pressed her fingers to her eyes, laughing shakily at her inability to stem the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

"Aurora?" She looked up to see concern on Suzaku's face. As she pointlessly wiped away the tears, she waved his worry away.

"I'm fine, Suzaku. I'm just so relieved. I'd… Euphemia had been one of my favorites, and what happened, well… It didn't seem real, but what other options could there have been? Thank you, for giving me my sister back." As she sniffed and shuddered, Suzaku held out a hand. She took it in hers, and for a moment, the two of them were connected by more than just touch. They released each other's hand at the same time, for different reasons. Suzaku, with guilt and discomfort. Aurora, with sadness and heartbreak. She took a deep breath, straightening in the rocker as she sent it moving again.

"So what did you do? After you found out Lelouch was Zero?"

Chapter Text

The time for trading entreaties to join forces was over. Aurora felt for Kallen; standing on the sideline while this battle of minds and hearts was waged between two incredibly powerful men, trapped in her own shock and betrayal. As for Suzaku, the thread was spun too thin, the ubiquitous hate and pain roiling through his system like a storm. She could see his hand shake against the comforter; the way it had shaken on the hilt of a gun three years ago. His control frayed, and every agony and anguish he'd suffered since Euphie's death erupted into screams that ended on a gunshot.

She felt it, and saw it. If the royal children each had a gift, then this was hers. An incredible ability to paint a picture in her mind with little scraps of information. It's what had made her so skilled at her career. It's also what haunted her at night. For a moment, the cracking echo of the gunshot vibrated against her spine, and Aurora had to remind herself to breathe. When she finally managed to suck in a lungful of air, she leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her cold tea before returning her eyes to Suzaku. She knew that this was the point of the story where he turned. Where the idealistic boy was finally strangled into silence, leaving nothing but the brutal soldier in his wake. She prepared herself for that, told herself that what little judgment she had a right to levy against him would be done with what he had suffered kept in mind. At her nod, he heaved a deep breath, and described what he had done next.

She had to admire Suzaku's honesty. Not that there was much point lying to her, but she could sense the regret, even a bit of shame in his voice, as he told her how easily he had overpowered Lelouch, how he'd sold his best friend to the Emperor in exchange for power. Caught between them in understanding, Aurora took a moment to mourn for both of them, and condemn both of them. Breaking her usual habit, she asked no questions, and offered no opinions. Until they reached the end, she had none.

His eyes faded for a moment, gazing into the past the way he'd once gazed at a defeated Lelouch.

There was nothing there.

Those green irises, so striking and lovely, were empty, blank as the abyss and as indifferent. Even after all that he'd suffered, all the guilt he cloaked himself in and suffocated under, Suzaku still felt that cold power and cool disdain for the man who had killed the woman he loved. Aurora couldn't blame him, but she couldn't deny that it sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn't sure why, but that monolith, that titan within a boy's skin, struck her at her core. Even if there were only fragments of him left.

But the man he spoke of, the man he'd once been, who gained favor from the 98th Emperor and unflinchingly betrayed all that he held dear in order to gain the power to do what love had been unable to. That man was the hardest to reach, the hardest to sympathize with. It wasn't terribly difficult to pinpoint the moment when the sweet boy developed a spine of steel, and a heart just as hard. When he'd sold his soul in a desperate attempt to appease its pain. How could you ask anyone who held the hand of the one they loved as they slipped away to remain normal? But he'd gone too far. Aurora couldn't give him amnesty, not in this.

Battle, the state of existence Suzaku had always found reprehensible, became the only way for him to find the peace and balance that Euphemia's death had robbed him of. But when the possibility of Lelouch's memories returning reared its head, Suzaku returned to Ashford. The slight bemusement around his mouth betrayed his discomfort.

Returning to the place he'd attended on Euphemia's orders. Facing down Lelouch, judging every moment, every word, every expression, to determine whether or not he was once again Lelouch vi Britannia, or still simply Lelouch Lamperouge. Staring into the face of the man who had destroyed him, who he in turn handed over to be destroyed. He must have felt so old, so battered, in the face of the youthfulness of the student council. Suzaku even murmured as much, tracing his fingers over a square of the quilt in a diamond pattern. He'd felt like he was eighty, not just eighteen. But the mission had come first, the only remaining pillar of his crumbling world. When that objective had been completed, what had he been left with?

The student council's concern for Kallen had surprised him, as much as their pleas for friends and family had disturbed him. His were gone; the only thing left for him was justice, or revenge. At that point, they were so blurred, he'd hardly been able to separate the two.

He spoke briefly, and with slight fondness, of several of his fellow Knights of the Round, especially Gino and Anya. Both painfully young like him. Yet he'd seemed decades older, especially compared to Gino, who was only a year younger than Suzaku. Had his time back at Ashford been a relief, a way to slip back into the life he should have had, the person he should have been? Or was it a ridiculous sham, one that grated at his very bones, forced to paste on a smile and listen to the prattle? How had he viewed that time, those people? At this moment, Aurora would have to guess that he'd been caught somewhere in between, the only constant thing the pain.

So enveloped by that pain, he'd done what any person did under the continual weight of it; he sought to inflict equal pain on the person who had wounded him. Having grown up with Lelouch and Nunnally, Aurora knew as well as Suzaku the depth of the bond between them. And so she knew how cruel he had been when he'd tested Lelouch with a blue phone, an unaware Nunnally on the other end of the line.

He hadn't known at the time the trick Lelouch and Rolo had played with the damaged little assassin's Geass, but Lelouch had admitted it later. Suzaku had walked away with the evidence proclaiming that Lelouch's demon was still asleep, but his instincts had hummed, protesting otherwise. But it hadn't been fast enough; Zero had slipped free, and gone after Nunnally.

Suzaku should have known to pay more attention to Nunnally; wherever she was, so inevitably would be Lelouch. But the situation had escalated far faster than he could have guessed. She could have died in the fray, if he'd been only seconds later in that battle over the Pacific. He, and Lelouch, could have lost her.

Suzaku had always loved Nunnally, much more than anyone he'd been related to by blood. She was such a gentle soul, strangely perceptive and eternally loving. The oath he swore to protect her was never taken lightly. Although their paths had diverged so severely, it was ironic that Suzaku fulfilled the role that Lelouch had originally assigned him in his early plannings of the game he was going to play with the world. Nunnally was the last thing Suzaku had left to protect, the last toehold he had on his sanity. If he were to lose her…

But he'd underestimated her. Her desire to reinstate the Special Administrative Zone had taken him utterly by surprise, and had almost driven him to his knees. It was only Suzaku's long-standing military training that had instilled the discipline to keep himself under control during Nunnally's speech. Everything, down to his very bones, had shaken. Sweet little Nunnally, attempting to resurrect Euphie's dream. His battered, gutted heart had trembled as he listened to her say the words Euphie had once proclaimed from the palm of a Knightmare, also over a live feed. He'd been so proud, and in so much agony, he could hardly stand it.

Aurora had watched that broadcast, too. She'd been taken by surprise. Nunnally had always been so soft, so fragile, and her injuries had only heightened that fact. And though the new Viceroy of Area 11 was certainly delicate, she was by no means impotent. Aurora realized that Nunnally's power could equal Lelouch's at that moment when she held the balance of the world power in her small, white little hand.

Suzaku served her as faithfully as he had Euphemia. With the navy at his disposal, he'd hunted down the Black Knights. He'd almost flushed them out when Lelouch had done what he did best; he used his surroundings more than his forces to his advantage. It was another glaring example of the difference between Lelouch and Suzaku. Lelouch preferred the board, Suzaku the pieces. Mostly because Lelouch knew the fallacy of human nature, and preferred the surroundings, which could be trusted to behave. Suzaku, however, knew that the difference between winning and losing was often up to a single soldier and his heart – that fallacy was where some of the greatest courage stemmed.

For the second time, Zero accepted his invitation to the Special Administrative Zone. Suzaku hadn't believed it, or condoned it, not at first. But as the day grew closer, he couldn't help but visualize the possibilities if the Zone worked.

But a surprise visit from a determined, if incompetent, assassin reminded Suzaku of his place, and the heavy burden of his Geass command. He'd hardly needed the help of some magic he hadn't really understood, since he could have disarmed the man with the same ease he exhibited when getting into a car or drinking a glass of water, but it served as a reminder. Of the punishment he had sought for himself in death, and the far worse one that he'd been sentenced to when forced to live.

Anya had been more perceptive than Aurora would have thought. It was tragic, the way Suzaku had always been at odds with his own people. The one person who had fully understood him had died holding his hand. Yes, he'd been on trial, Aurora thought. But the harshest judge was himself.

Of course his hope was dimmed at Zero's request for exile. It left him feeling powerless and empty, and he was faced with the unassailable truth; this was revenge. He'd managed to placate himself whenever his morals had balked at the actions he took. Suzaku told himself this was all for justice. But justice wasn't supposed to feel this way.

Even so, Suzaku had dared to hope, dared to believe that this time, it would go as was planned. Lighting a candle in Euphie's name had done what all the heart-shattering memories couldn't – it gave him a brief outlet for his pain, a purpose. This time, no lives would be lost and Euphie's memory could be honored, instead of simply just avenged. And thanks to his weakness, a part of his hope was achieved. Of course, it came at the expense of his pride. So Lelouch had stripped him even of that.

Aurora felt a pained chuckle peal through her head at the distinct memory of the inauguration. For two men who were so opposed to one another, they tended to agree about the most important things at the most inconvenient times. She'd only known Suzaku as the public figure of the Knight of Seven, but her research had revealed a strong young boy who offered the hand of friendship to a captive. She'd known when Zero – Lelouch – had known. Suzaku would let them all go.

And then there was that debacle with the Empress…

When Aurora had heard the news – not through the media, but through her more clandestine networks – she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Odysseus was a flaming idiot, an incompetent first try who was outrageously outclassed by most of his younger brothers, especially Lelouch and Schneizel. She'd never gotten along with him, and had almost brought the seventeen year old to tears when he'd ripped the shoulder of her plush toy tiger. It had taken the combined forces of Cornelia and Euphemia to drag her off. No one had ever accused her of being a lady. And she pitied the Empress, being forced to accept a fate Aurora would have no doubt contended with herself if she'd stayed in the courts.

Suzaku was too polite to say, but she could sense that he'd felt the same way, about both Odysseus and the Empress. The gathering of such an… eclectic crowd had been interesting. Since he stumbled over the words slightly, Aurora could tell that he was hedging. It had been one of the few times she'd really, really wished she still had her old job. It would have been easier than brushing her teeth to wrangle an invitation. And all the thick, ridiculous scandals would have been a field day.

But she had to rely on Suzaku's recounting of the event, which had started innocuously enough. Of course, anytime Schneizel entered the room, things were bound to get complicated fast. Although Aurora had often disagreed with Schneizel as a child, and was a little afraid of him, she could always count on him to keep things from getting boring. For a hyperactive kid, that had meant the world.

The presence of not one, but two of his schoolmates had certainly surprised Suzaku, and briefly put him at ease. As the child of a political figure, he had been no stranger to that sort of event. But as a Knight of the Round, he had been expected to act with even more decorum. Aurora could picture him in his sharp-lined Round uniform, kneeling with a serious, soldier's expression on his face. The image came to her so clearly, she had to wonder if she'd seen him like that before, in some news broadcast or in the papers. Either way, he had carried the attire like he'd been born to it.

Of course, the appearance of Zero threw the entire gathering into breathless disarray. Suzaku had wasted no time ranging himself in front of Schneizel. Zero might have achieved his most recent aims without bloodshed, but Suzaku trusted him about as far as he could throw his Knightmare. What he hadn't counted on was Lady Kaguya's brisk and cheerful maneuvering. She spoke of things that haunted him with a sparkling smile. His pained hesitation was enough to allow Zero the opening to pose a wager.

Suzaku probably hadn't realized the importance of it at the time, but Aurora immediately tensed when he told her that the game was chess. Lelouch and Schneizel had played that damn game for hours on end, the younger ever determined to beat the elder. Despite Schneizel's seniority, Lelouch was a skilled opponent, his creativity and sheer drive hard to contend with. And though Lelouch was a prodigy, Schneizel was gifted with machinations and fronts, their dueling of wits a tight race. Aurora had rarely been able to sit through their games; she'd try, but then she'd get bored of the two impassive boys staring fiendishly at a checkered board. She would have to hear of the results through some other means. Even then, she was skilled at building networks of information, and the results were always the same, anyway. Lelouch would lose, often by a tight margin and dragging surrender.

It would seem that this time was a little different. Schneizel had thrown the game to draw Zero out, and before the result of the wager could be decided by Zero's next move, poor, crazed Nina had tried to kill the terrorist. It wouldn't be the first time she leaped off the deep end, nor the last, and luckily, Suzaku was there this time to stop her from driving that ornamental knife between Zero's ribs. But her shrill reminders had made him slacken his grip.

She was right. He was Euphemia's knight, now and forever. And there he stood, not ten feet from the man who had shot her, and he did nothing. The confusion and rage swirled up and choked him, and if it hadn't been for Kallen, Nina would have succeeded. But it was the pity that moved him. Poor, pathetic Nina. She had clung to the idea of Euphemia so tightly, that when she lost her, she lost her sanity with her. There was a caged, insane part of him that saw itself mirrored in Nina's tearful shrieking, and threw itself against the bars. But unlike the unhinged schoolgirl, Suzaku never let that part of him free. Ever.

As she had fallen to her knees, Suzaku had needed someone to blame. Nina hadn't always been this way. And the easiest answer, the target of all his rage, his pain, was Zero. The evening had ended awkwardly, and Aurora's suspicions were confirmed. It had been one for the books, and she wished vehemently that she'd managed to see it all for herself. But realistically, it was entirely possible that she could have been arrested there and shipped off to Britannia for trial. Of course, she'd never see a trial, not with the people who were after her head. And her enemies had enough connections to make her man-hunt a worldwide one.

But the wedding the next day had outstripped its eventful eve. Lord Xingke had interrupted the ceremony with a level of drama and grandeur that Suzaku had thought only Zero could achieve. It had only taken one word from Cecile before he was out of the church and prepping the Lancelot, while Gino and Anya stayed behind to protect the royal brothers. He hadn't witnessed the kidnap of the Empress by Zero, but it had changed nothing but a shift in target, to one he was much more familiar with.

Suzaku was once again drawn into a reluctant battle with his old master. All lingering respect was shoved aside, however, in favor of the duty that still drove him. That hadn't prevented the destruction of his float unit, and he was left to the constraint of the political dance. Inside, he bucked and reared at the restriction like a crazed horse. But outside, he'd kept his calm and contented himself with spending time with Milly and Anya.

Meanwhile, while Suzaku was shown surprisingly poignant pictures of his welcome-home celebration, Lelouch had battled someone that matched him step for step, and even outpaced him. Like Zero, Xingke preferred the surprise of the elements once the battle had settled into predictable lines. Suzaku respected him as a pilot skilled at his level, if not beyond it. As a leader, he had certainly given Zero a run for his money.

When the Black Knights had been forced to withdraw to the Tomb of 88 Emperors, Gino and Anya were cleared for duty, eagerly engaging Xingke. Suzaku had stayed behind, facing down a stoic and unapproachable Kallen that he'd brokered with the High Eunuchs. He'd wondered if he'd feel anything for her. But this was war – sad reminders of the shadow life he'd left behind would do no good here.

However, he was more useful on the battlefield than the interrogation room, and Lancelot was deployed to once again cross swords with Todoh. Absorbed in the battle, he'd been shocked when Zero had protected both Xingke and the Empress. Lelouch was never one to take to the front lines; he was a commander, not a soldier. But his Shinkiro had certainly turned the tide.

And there had been something strange about the way Anya had fallen under the combined blades of C.C. and Chiba. It wasn't until later that Suzaku had realized the significance of it. But at the time, he'd withdrawn under Schneizel's orders, ambivalent at best about the whole situation.

Gino and Anya's abrupt enrollment at Ashford had come as a surprise, but since he was an aid to Nunnally, he wasn't able to return to the school to join them. It was something of a relief, and a disappointment. His last conversation with Milly had been a bittersweet one, and although he'd appreciated the sentiment, Suzaku had never been able to take her advice to relax. It would seem that her brand of magic wasn't strong enough to compete with Lelouch's, or Suzaku himself. And her event, although he was sad to miss it, had quickly spiraled out of control. What had Anya been thinking? But it had been nice to catch the end of it, and remember how fun the shenanigans had been while they'd lasted.

It was one of the first true smiles Aurora had seen Suzaku make. It wasn't bitter, or vicious, or spawned from broken memories. It was a moment of sheer pleasure that everything else hadn't managed to completely extinguish. It was seconds like those, a gentle curve of lips as his eyes went soft, that gave her hope for Suzaku. He was still in there, somewhere.

Suzaku had been waiting for Milly to call off her engagement to Lloyd. But she had done it for much better reasons than he'd hoped. He had always assumed she'd get tired of Lloyd's strange behavior and kick him to the curb; instead, she had done it for herself, which was much more fulfilling. Either way, Suzaku doubted Asplund would have acted any different.

When Shirley had requested him to meet her at the train station, he'd been surprised, and a little confused. The presence of Lelouch had complicated matters, and immediately set Suzaku on his guard. His old suspicions of Lelouch were resurrected, and he was left in that silent battle with his old friend again.

That hadn't dimmed the impact of the demarcation line. But it had distracted him long enough for Shirley to almost die. Once again, when they combined their forces, he and Lelouch were able to reverse the tide of fate. And his friend's pleas to the girl he refused to allow himself to love were the most heartfelt things Suzaku had heard him say in a very, very long time.

The brief peace that followed was sad, and lovely. For moment, nothing had changed.

But of course, everything had changed, and nothing could be as it once was. All it took was one thought of Euphie's pretty dress soaked in blood, and the soft joy of a boy was swallowed by the hard resolve of a man. It was hard to take up that shield again, however, with Shirley acting the way she did. He'd never really been able to figure her out, not once. But he'd always had a bit of a soft spot for her; Suzaku had always thought that she was pretty, and incredibly sweet. She'd reminded him a bit of Euphie from the first moment he met her.

It had infuriated him, to hear Shirley confess that she was in love with Lelouch. That monster didn't deserve her, didn't deserve such a love. Even as his mind raged that, his heart hadn't fully taken part. It was even stranger when she pinpointed the discord between them that both had hidden so well.

"She'd said that nothing was unforgiveable. But she was wrong." His voice was like stone, and for a moment, Aurora was confused. If he'd felt that way, he never would have joined forces with Lelouch in the end. So why…? Then it became clear. Not only had he never really forgiven Lelouch, but Suzaku had never really forgiven himself, either.

But such introspection couldn't go uninterrupted. Command had suited him, Aurora remembered from her research. He had a polite, unassuming air normally, but could display intimidation and leadership with a natural aplomb.

But, then, it hadn't been enough.

Facing the dead body of Shirley had seemed horribly familiar. Suzaku saw it often, in his dreams. Except it was Shirley who lay dead this time, not Euphie. He supposed he should have felt justified that Lelouch had lost the woman he loved, just as Suzaku had. And Lelouch had cracked at the loss just as Suzaku had. But he only felt sorrow, and shame. If she had lived, perhaps Shirley could have redeemed Lelouch and halted him from the inexorable path he was bound on. But they would never know.

The excuse of suicide had seemed weak, but the authorities had offered no other explanation. Considering her state of mind right before the incident, Suzaku would have thought it impossible. But she was dead. Who could have possibly wanted Shirley dead? His mind, having travelled one path for so long, reached the inevitable conclusion that it had to be Lelouch. He had claimed it was his heart, when in fact, it had been a crippled part of his soul that latched onto the possibility.

So Suzaku did what he always did when faced with impossible grief that had no reason and no justice. He sought to make someone give him the answers, no matter the cost. And if they paid dearly in the process, so be it.

His conversation with Kallen was not pleasant. Telling her of Shirley's death with an indifferent mask was hard enough. But voicing his accusation of Lelouch for the murder to draw a reaction out of Kallen was not something he was not proud of. What he did next, however, was even worse.

The threat of Refrain had repulsed him even as he'd presented it, but power had become an excuse, and Suzaku had pushed farther than he'd ever intended to go. Aurora knew of Kallen's mother's addiction. Kallen Kozuki had been, and still was, one of the most visible members of the Black Knights, and the easiest to gather data on. So Aurora knew the weight of the threat without Suzaku having to explain it.

"It's just that, her mother…" he trailed off, unable to speak of his shame. She merely laid a hand on his shoulder briefly.

"I know. Go on."

With the power that Suzaku had amassed, it was no surprise that he would try to take that course of action at some point. He'd sought to bend the world to his will. Why should some girl be a challenge? But of course, that thrust him down Zero's path. Lelouch's path. Just as the possibility was inevitable, so too was Suzaku's decision.

But the fury had still ridden him hard. He'd gone to Ashford to confront Lelouch, to no avail. Even the OSI had been compromised by Zero and his Geass. He'd had irrefutable proof that Lelouch had regained his memories. But Suzaku had never considered the cost to Nunnally when he'd aided in the destruction of Lelouch's memories. He was a soldier, after all, not a chess player. But it was no excuse to compromise Nunnally's safety, and so he'd masked his distress when speaking to her as he'd wrestled with the consequences. He'd never wanted to hurt her, but he had, the same way Lelouch had. With secrets and lies. It didn't take Nunnally's comparison of him to Lelouch to have Suzaku struggling with the path he'd taken. At the time, he'd still had enough willpower to fight it.

The news of the Emperor's disappearance had briefly lightened the weight of his indecision towards the action he should take, now that he was certain about Lelouch. But, as always, Suzaku was plagued with the decision of what was right. But questioning the rightness of his inaction only made him question the rightness of his action. And he'd known that with Kallen, he'd been utterly, horribly wrong.

He'd allowed the beating with no resistance. He'd known he'd deserved it. Kallen had hotly proclaimed that she'd hated him; but it was nothing compared to how much Suzaku hated himself. Aurora just shook her head very, very slightly, so as to keep him from seeing it. Ever the repenting sinner, Suzaku. It would be rather sad, if it wasn't strangely noble.

His wrong step with Kallen had made him question what he'd done, everything he'd done. And Anya's strange conversation on the value of memories had made Suzaku wonder, like he had with Lelouch, who else the Emperor had used his Geass on. How many lives Geass had twisted and warped and destroyed, besides his own.

They had been interrupted, however, by the Knight of the Round Suzaku despised, and the Knight of the Round that he'd hoped to replace. A storm was approaching, and it had seemed that Schneizel was wasting no time amassing his forces. He had been relieved that he hadn't been assigned to pilot the Guren – he had no desire to trespass on Kallen's Knightmare when his own was perfectly functional and comfortably familiar. But the question of the FLEIJA armament on the Lancelot had quickly dissolved any reprieve he might have felt. It was like Nina was handing him the key to the world's destruction, and expecting him to be the one to make the right decision, no matter how entrenched he would be in the heat of battle.

"Oh, Nina. She had no idea what she was doing, did she?" Aurora sighed, trying to mask her fury at Suzaku's deranged schoolmate.

"No," he said, resigned. "I don't believe she did."

But the ratification of the UFN charter had quickly distracted Suzaku. It had been a bold move, requiring the participating countries to surrender their militaries and contract the Black Knights as an independent, impartial defender. But it had suited Zero down to the ground. Lelouch had shifted his game; he'd begun as a terrorist, a rebel amassing illegal force. But he'd known that he couldn't stay that way forever. So he'd slowly legalized his position, both as Zero and as a liberator to Japan.

But the Emperor would never let such actions go unchallenged. And the threat to Nunnally had skyrocketed.

Suzaku hadn't known if he'd been expecting the call from Lelouch. And he hadn't known until he'd pressed the button whether or not he was going to accept it. He hadn't been surprised by Lelouch's admission of Zero, but it had burned, and made him wonder. After holding the veil of secrecy so long, what did he hope to gain by admitting the truth to Suzaku? It had quickly become apparent, however. He pled with Suzaku to protect Nunnally, to do what he could not now that he was trapped on the path he himself had designed.

Suzaku had challenged him, forcing Lelouch to beg when he'd already agreed to do as much before Nunnally's brother had even picked up the phone. Lelouch took it all, only focused on Suzaku's agreement to protect the sister they both loved. His requirement to meet at the Kururugi Shrine had surprised Aurora. What had Suzaku been intending with this?

Two of the most pivotal figures of the conflict were absent from the beginning of what was hailed as the decisive battle of the Rebellion. They'd been too busy battling each other. Both Lelouch and Suzaku had dressed in their old school uniforms, as if by tacit agreement. Although, neither had been to the Academy in weeks. There had been so much bitterness, so much loss, it had to have been all but impossible to span the gap between them.

It had been ugly, as Aurora guessed. Suzaku had taken his pound of flesh, had let the insults and accusations that had been rotting inside him fly. And, as always, there was the ghost of Euphie. Aurora was reminded of the way Suzaku had taken the attack from Kallen without defense; Lelouch's admission of his sins in desperation for Nunnally was quite similar. Both men were unafraid of punishment; in fact, if they believed they deserved it, they sought it out.

But even that hadn't been enough for Suzaku. Aurora had a hard time deciding if that would have been enough for her, either. And questions of Euphie's unnatural death of course turned to questions of Suzaku's unnatural life. Aurora sensed Lelouch had been lying before Suzaku repeated the question himself. Lelouch had always been a consummate performer, but a poor liar. And those closest to him had usually seen it. Aurora and Nunnally, in particular, had always been good at calling him on a falsehood.

Aurora was impressed with the hand that Suzaku had extended to Lelouch. She wasn't sure if she could have been able to do the same in his place, but it showed why, even at bloody, bitter odds, the two could count on each other. But when he spoke of Scheizel's set up and Lelouch's immediate accusation of betrayal, Aurora had to close her eyes for a moment as the sorrow and regret welled like blood from a small but deep wound.

They had been so close.

But one of Lelouch's famous contingencies wriggled him free from royal custody. As he flew away on a Geassed Guilford's Knightmare, Suzaku knew that they would never really be friends again. Lelouch's ability of Geass had been something Suzaku kept a tight secret, unsure of the ramifications or possibilities of the knowledge. But when faced with Schneizel, there was little he'd been able to do to duck the question, try as he might. Just like his younger brother, and perhaps even better, the second prince always knew the right place the pressure, the weak point to lean on. And what Suzaku had believed to be actions spurred by loyalty and caution were presented as selfishness and cowardice.

"Oh, Kannon," Aurora blurted before could stop herself. "He was always a pretentious ass devoted to Schneizel. The two of them were just pissed they hadn't managed to figure it out on their own, and long before then. Don't let them guilt you into paralysis, Suzaku. You do that enough on your own."

He was shocked for a moment by her interruption. It took him a moment to regain the thread of the tale, rattled by the compassion and impatience that mingled in her voice.

Nina's desperate attempt to take command of the Lancelot only drove home the issue Suzaku had struggled with from the moment of the FLEIJA's introduction to his Knightmare. Could he bear the burden of that decision?

He'd hoped that he could use it as a deterrent. Suzaku sighed heavily.

"Because that always calms everything down. But I was right; nothing would stop Zero at this point." Lelouch had become twisted and cruel, powerless against his own power. Siccing his wretchedly loyal dog on Suzaku, Lelouch had left it to Jeremiah Gottwald to deal with the White Knight. Aurora had kept up with the happenings of Gottwald, but carefully. He'd always been delightfully blind, and rather fun to tease, so starched and desperate for approval. Aurora had cautiously liked him, back when he'd served Marianne. But after the Orange Incident, she had been rather disappointed at the sheer number of screws in his head that had wriggled loose.

When he described Nina's frantic demands to launch the FLEIJA, Aurora's hand balled into a fist. Suzaku seemed understanding of her, if distant and removed. Aurora couldn't make herself feel the same way, her jaw flexing. That mad little girl. What could she know of decisions that determined life or death, or what it felt to have blood stain your hands? Suzaku may have been a soldier, but Aurora had been a spy, and both professions were just as bloody. She had made mistakes, taken contracts that she told herself were in the right. But when she had felt the child in her die at the death of someone that she'd caused, either directly or indirectly, Aurora hadn't been so sure. She understood Suzaku's plight, but Nina? This was exactly why scientists should stay well clear of the front lines.

Suzaku had always fought with Kallen on even footing, and though their Knightmares had been extremely different, they were always well matched. But not in the Second Battle for Tokyo. The Seiten far outstripped the Lancelot, but Suzaku was too ingrained to back down. That, more than anything else, was why he blamed himself for what happened.

He'd wanted to accept his death. It was what he had been striving for years to achieve. But Geass corrupted even that. The only thing Suzaku was aware of was the sight of the warhead hurtling into space before erupting into a cataclysm. None of the other sensations – the way the button had clicked down satisfactorily under his thumb, the smell of sweat and oil and metal in the cockpit, the faint taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bitten his cheek from the jolt of deflecting one of Kallen's attacks, the faint creaking of Lancelot's joints as it fought to remain in the air despite its damage – all receded as the command took over, and he did the unthinkable.

He almost crumbled under the guilt of it. Thirty five million lives taken at his hand, and Nunnally's among them. Yet, he stood in the crater alone. He'd always been alone.

Hysteria had taken him in its sweaty grip, parts of him wrenching free and spinning out of control, destroying him like the blades of a crashing helicopter. He lost his kindness to Nina, and this was the final devolvement. That push of the trigger hurtled Suzaku to the deepest depths of his personal hell, where he was content to stay. Well, Aurora would see about that.

Suzaku hadn't heard until later that Lelouch had been found out by his order, and sentenced to death. It would seem that Rolo, that poor, broken little boy, managed to do the one thing that had mattered to him. He managed to save his big brother.

It was probably the disapproval and disdain of Cecile and Lloyd that caught him most by surprise. He supposed they had seen him change more than anyone, and were disappointed with how far he'd fallen. But he wouldn't succumb to Schneizel's plot. He'd taken the responsibility in his own soul for the disaster; he might as well take it publicly, as well. And like Lelouch, Suzaku spun the disaster to suit his needs. In the end, they were painfully alike, after all.

He'd scented Schneizel's desire for the throne from the moment they'd first met. Suzaku knew that, like him and Lelouch, Schneizel thirsted for power. If he gave him that, then Schneizel would have been forced to grant him the rank of the Knight of One. Aurora had liked Gino from his first introduction to the tale, and although Suzaku probably never made the connection, she could tell that the Knight of Three had been enraptured with the Black Knight ace. Such a star-crossed attraction warmed Aurora's heart.

So it was with him that Aurora internally sided when Suzaku told her of his intention to assassinate the Emperor. Not because she thought it was wrong – she would have kissed him if he'd managed it. But it was wrong for Suzaku. He was more than this; Gino had known it, Lloyd and Cecile had known it, and Aurora knew it. But could she make Suzaku believe it?

Finally, Suzaku's mind accepted that the ends justified the means. He'd gone to Kamine, still and silent inside not from peace, but because everything had been shattered. The fact that he'd managed to make it so long after without giving into some sort of crutch made Aurora grudgingly impressed.

He may have seemed calm as he faced the Emperor, but being caught by surprise by Bismark betrayed the chaos that he was still reeling in. The normal Suzaku would never have fallen for such an ambush. He spoke of Bismark's accusation of his betrayal with quiet calm, but Aurora was furious. What right did that man have to judge Suzaku's actions? What right did he have sit in judgment of Suzaku and find him wanting?

That was why she'd waited.

When Aurora had first found Suzaku, she'd thought to end him. Killing him would be easy, and would no doubt avenge the wrongs he'd committed on the other side of the world, against members of her family that she still harbored love for despite the cruel distance of time and fate. During the drive back to the clinic, before she'd radioed Kendra, she'd considered it.

But she hadn't known, not the full story. So she'd told herself that he had to live to tell the truth. Now that it was unfolding in front of her, Aurora knew that he had to live because of the truth. Because the truth was, he'd hardly lived at all.

He'd almost died at Bismark's hands, even as his command demanded flight, even as the Knight of One flung the harsh truths he was simply too angry to feel. But the bastard had been right about that, Aurora had to admit. Gentleness and compassion had been the best parts of Suzaku. And she'd do everything in her power to see to it that they were once again.

Finally, he'd given into the urgings of his command and ran. Not to survive, but to stop Lelouch before he interfered and ruined everything. They were both careening down the same path of self-destruction to save the world. The question had been, who would get there first?

But well placed mortar fire had sent him tumbling into a crevice, stopping his headlong dash to Lelouch, the prince who walked through flames that threatened to engulf everything. He was rescued by Anya before any further collapse could crush him, and woke to the puzzling presence of his fellow Knight accompanied by C.C.

What followed was a strange experience that even Aurora needed a moment to accept. She'd never been particularly religious, but the idea of C's world certainly challenged much of what she had always thought about the universe she found herself in. When Anya had collapsed, Suzaku had felt stripped to the bone under C.C.'s considering gaze, and her quiet comparison of their thwarted quests for death.

Suzaku's request to enter C's world was expected by both C.C. and Aurora. No, a soldier would never stand by as a battle was waged, a battle where he could make a difference. And there, as the Sword of Akasha threatened to rear its head, he was needed. Needed to jolt Lelouch into action, aid him in the only option he had left. They'd presented each other with the perfect opportunity to gain what they both sought; the death of Emperor Charles zi Britannia. Suzaku had all but forgotten the presence of Marianne until she'd thrown Euphemia in his face.

Their grand scheme to stop time, to halt death, had been a vague, hopeless dream, one a child often grips to. Pathetic that two people of such power clung to it. The Emperor and Marianne may have been seduced by it, but Lelouch and Suzaku had fought too hard, sacrificed too much to allow such an existence to ever come to fruition. It had dawned on Suzaku that the reason Euphie and Shirley had kept their silence about Zero's identity, even as they died when they must have surely known it, was because they'd trusted Zero. They'd trusted Lelouch.

He'd blocked Marianne with pleasure, and had watched the mask of a loving mother slide away and shatter like glass. It was the only time he'd ever truly felt justice; protecting the future Euphie had dreamed of, and doing it at Lelouch's side. It had been truly awesome, watching Lelouch slide on the cloak of power. Instead of seeking it, he'd accepted it. And as a man who'd destroyed his own family, Suzaku understood the burden Lelouch undertook when he erased his parents from existence.

Even then, he hadn't forgiven Lelouch. Aurora knew that Suzaku would never forgive Lelouch, not really.

But there had been other matters to attend to. Aurora had been glued to the Pendragon broadcast, watching with open-mouthed shock as her skinny, pretty older brother took the throne, aided by a righteous, smiling Suzaku. But Aurora's suspicions had been immediately aroused. She rejoiced at the news of Charles' death, but what in the world had Lelouch been plotting? And Suzaku… He'd looked in control, justified. But through the tiniest chink in his armor, she'd seen his self-loathing, his determined march that came at the cost of himself.

These two boys – no, men – had shaken the world to its core, and they only wore their simple school uniforms.

With those two working together, they'd been invincible. Aurora had known it even then.

It had been hard to read his actions at first, but as Suzaku described Lelouch's efforts to wipe away the past, erase all dissenters, and secure his place on the throne, Aurora started piecing it together. Lelouch's Britannia wasn't an empire; it was a dictatorship. The presence of Lloyd and Cecile had been secured by Suzaku. He didn't want them subjected to Lelouch's purge, and he knew they could be trusted.

He admitted that it had been strange, referring to Lelouch with trust and deference after so much time spent questioning and hating him. All for the sake of the Zero Requiem.

Aurora wanted to pounce on those words, that simple phrase that had stuck like a thorn in her mind. But she kept her mouth shut, smiling a little as Suzaku mentioned his appreciation of Lelouch's intent to minimize the legend of Princess Massacre. It was true; few remembered Euphemia today in the glaring infamy of her older brother Lelouch. The Demon Emperor.

But there was one obstacle that couldn't be brushed aside: Schneizel.

The discontent among the remaining members of the Round was to be expected. From the intelligence Aurora was able to gather about the Lancelot Albion, she realized that the greatest warriors of Britannia had never stood a chance. Gino's pained offer of clemency had made Suzaku a little guilty, but he'd come too far now. There was simply no going back. Aurora believed that, utterly. What she didn't agree with was Suzaku's complete inability to move forward.

The Tristan hadn't stood a chance, especially when Suzaku rattled Gino's cage. But the Galahad was another matter. Aurora had managed to catch the transmission at its peak, and had watched mutely as Suzaku triumphed even over the power of Geass. All it had taken was the will – the command – to live.

He hadn't liked Lelouch leaving him behind to attend the UFN conference. Suzaku didn't do well with inaction. But he'd waited, prepped and ready for the slightest signal from his Emperor to spring into action. All past aside, when given the reason for it, Suzaku was an incredibly loyal person. He'd been loyal first to his ideals, then to Euphie. At her loss, he was loyal to his vengeance, then his quest for power. In the end, he was loyal to Lelouch.

Loyal enough to fly into the Ashford Academy's gym like a lightning bolt at his Emperor's claim of the most important ruling trait. Aurora remembered it vaguely. The will to destroy, even oneself. It was all quickly becoming clear, but she remained in rapt silence, listening to this strange, terrible, brilliant plan unfold.

With Suzaku's might, Lelouch had held the UFN representatives hostage. His Britannia became clear; it wasn't one to trifle with. It was one to fear, fear more than the empire of his father. But Schneizel hadn't been waiting patiently. The destruction of Pendragon had rocked Suzaku, but not for the right reasons. The casualties had appalled him, yes, but it also served as a vicious reminder of his own sin with that weapon.

And then, Schneizel had played his ace. Aurora obviously already knew that Nunnally survived, but she couldn't think of a worse way for Lelouch and Suzaku to learn of it. Nunnally had never played chess with her brother, and had never really witnessed Suzaku as a soldier. And Schneizel had always seen Lelouch as an opponent, never as a savior. Since Aurora had neither of these limits to her grasp of the situation, she could see what neither had until it had simply been too late. Struggling against tears, she listened to Suzaku describe the saddest thing of all; the loss of the bond between Lelouch and Nunnally.

He'd sacrificed it, to save her from the guilt. Yes, Nunnally had been the reason Lelouch had become Zero, but he could never tell her that. She was too kind to bear such a burden. Suzaku was too used to moving beyond the loss of the one most important to him to be as affected as Lelouch. That was why he'd been brought into the fold; for his power, yes, and for his strength on the battlefield. But Suzaku's purpose had been to keep Lelouch on track, to keep him focused on the end. No matter the means.

Between his sword and shield, Lelouch had been shaken from his indecision, and embarked on the battle that would change the world. Suzaku had approached it like he had every other; like it was his last. That wasn't true, not then, nor any of the other times he'd launched the Lancelot. But that lie he told himself made him ready to do anything. It heightened his Geass command, and although the odds were incredibly unlikely, he could always lose, despite his best efforts. Even then, he'd still clung to the possibility of death.

He'd known of Lelouch's plan for Mt. Fuji. He's regretted it, even as he'd urged Lelouch to put it into motion. Once again, when his pieces fell, Lelouch activated his plot with the board. All but alone, Suzaku had charged into the fray, cutting through the opposition with ease. But he was only one man, and being split between the forward and rear lines had halved his effectiveness. That didn't stop Suzaku, though. He may not be unstoppable, but they'd have to pry the Lancelot's controls from his cold, dead hands before he gave up the fight. But he'd known it was coming; the moment when the battle would be decided by the Anti-FLEIJA.

Suzaku hadn't witnessed the final, redeeming exchange between Lelouch and Nina, but it had been related to him later. Aurora allowed herself to soften in regard to her, at least a little. Really, all of her felt soft; bruised and sad and resigned. She knew how this would all end, and she now knew why. But that didn't make it any easier for her heart to accept, to hear Suzaku say the words. But she knew, better than most, the power of words. The earth-shattering consequences of lies and truths. So this mattered, and was something the both of them would have to endure.

Even reading the reports of the battle, it was hard to believe that they'd actually achieved it. That Lelouch's incredible mind and Suzaku's relentless skill had neutralized a weapon that had more power than a natural disaster. She was impressed, and miserable. To think that such amazing gifts had been forced to be used that way, that both men were dragged to such a field of battle. She despaired for man, and for Lelouch and Suzaku.

It had given them the chance they'd needed, and Lelouch, Suzaku, and a small force had snuck through the Blaze Luminous of the Damocles. No hiding behind that shield now. His confrontation with Gino was harder than he'd expected. He'd been a friend, and Suzaku regretted the way he'd laid waste to the modified Tristan. But Gino had certainly given him one hell of a fight, and he'd underestimated Gino's final intention.

Kallen had been another matter. On par with the Albion, the only way they would end it was when they'd torn each other apart. Out of respect, they'd allowed a moment to exchange words. But there was too much aggression from the past, too many battles fought without resolution. They crowded the moment, until it erupted into battle. As always, it had come down to the unending argument of their ideological differences. There was really no right or wrong side; only their own side.

He chuckled quietly, bitterly. All of the fancy hardware, all the impressive additions that had made the Lancelot and Guren so special, so unbeatable, were stripped away, and the battle devolved into a brawl. But even using his Geass command, there was no defeating Kallen. As always, their battles were ground into a draw.

Aurora listened intently. She'd been wondering this whole time, since she'd first pulled off his mask; how had Suzaku survived? He'd been ready to back down, to sit in silence as his Lancelot exploded. But his command and the promise he'd made to Lelouch forced him to do otherwise. Kicking open a lower hatch of the cockpit, he'd managed to reach a survivable distance before the Lancelot died, one final time. The explosion had hurled him into the wall of the Damocles, shattering his left wrist and cheekbone, a piece of shrapnel almost impaling him and rupturing a kidney. He'd lain there, drifting with a concussion and several second degree burns along his back and arms as the warmth of his blood gushed out onto the cold metal. He didn't know when those under Lelouch's order had managed to scoop him up, but it was in time to get him into surgery to save his life, repairing his face and wrist in the process.

He'd been under anesthesia when Lelouch had used his Geass on Nunnally, when he'd taken command of the entire world. But Lloyd told him later that when Lelouch had walked away from Nunnally, despite her spilling out of her wheelchair onto the stairs, he'd stiffened and twitched. Fighting his ventilator, it had seemed that even unconscious, Suzaku had felt Lelouch and Nunnally were in pain, and about to enact the final part of the Requiem.

Lloyd and Cecile had attended his fake funeral, though few others did. Milly, Nina, and Rivalz were the only others who knew Suzaku personally who stood in the rain as his empty coffin was lowered into the ground. Lelouch had been too busy to witness his Knight of Zero's burial, not that it had really mattered. Suzaku had still been recovering, and Lloyd had joked that it was too morbid to attend his own funeral.

Healed just enough to complete the final stage of the Zero Requiem, Suzaku dressed in the unfamiliar costume of Zero. He'd stood on that road, his hand trembling lightly on the hilt of the sword. It had been sweltering hot, but his fingers and face had felt cold. If he made a single mistake, then this would have all been for nothing. But could he do it? Could he do what Lelouch and he had agreed to, what his Emperor commanded?

Lelouch had certainly acted the part. Aurora could remember the surprised and dismayed expression on his face when he'd caught sight of that purple and black mask. What she now knew to be Suzaku had swiftly outpaced the Knightmare's fire. He hadn't allowed himself a moment to look at the faces he'd passed, the shock and belief, the suspicion and hope. He'd caught a glance of Kallen out of the corner of his eye, and thought that, maybe, she'd understood.

When he'd closed in on Lelouch, Aurora could remember not knowing what she hoped would happen as she'd watched, frozen and wide-eyed. Zero's aim was obviously assassination, and the Demon Emperor deserved it. But what about Lelouch?

They'd put on a show for the world, and the world had believed it. His sword had been straight and sure, but Suzaku's hands had been numbed as he'd thrust the sword through the ribcage of his friend. His enemy. His emperor.

He hadn't been sure what he'd expected to feel, but it hadn't been this incredible, rending grief and regret. This was what Lelouch had wanted, what Suzaku had wanted. But the price had been so incredibly dear. Aurora was unaware of the tears dripping off her chin, her heart crying out against Lelouch's last command to Suzaku. To sacrifice his ordinary, wonderful life to always be a Knight of Justice, to always be Zero.

"It was my punishment, and I was glad to accept it. After all, any chance I had at that kind of life had long, long ago been killed."

Aurora wanted to jump up, to scream at him. It didn't have to be that way! He could have that; he deserved that! But that sad, accepting smile on Suzaku's face warned her that it was too soon. He couldn't hear those words, he wouldn't.

One last time, the two of them achieved the impossible. They destroyed an evil Emperor, united the world in the hope of moving forward, and saved so many who had been so loyal and so strong. Schneizel had said it also; world peace against a single life. Was there really any comparison?

She remembered the stripes of Lelouch's blood on Suzaku's mask, remembered the way the new Zero had pointed his sword, as if directing Lelouch. Directing him right to Nunnally. Nunnally had told Suzaku later that a single touch of Lelouch's hand had made everything clear. And there had been nothing Suzaku could do to stop her pained sobbing as her brother bled out in front of her. After all, it was all his fault.

"Your brother died a hero, Aurora. He sacrificed his life for the world, and though he can never be publicly recognized, those of us who know the truth will always be indebted to him. Every great thing that has happened in these last few years have all been thanks to Lelouch's sacrifice. He was the man who held the world in his hand, and gave it back to the people." He spoke with righteous conviction, and Aurora could see that it was this thought that had supported him through much of his own darkness after Lelouch's death. But even that had faltered eventually.

And what about Suzaku? The world thought he was a dead traitor. Only a few select people knew that he was Zero, Kallen among them. Todoh, Cornelia, and Kaguya had all dropped some subtle hint over the past few years that confirmed their knowledge of his true identity. But none of them had said anything.

Suzaku was left with nothing after all he'd done. All he'd won, all he'd achieved, all he'd sacrificed, he was left with nothing but an empty mask and a broken existence. Orders and repentance weren't enough; if they were, he wouldn't be here. He was dying under this weight of penitence and sorrow. Aurora decided, with a fiery finality, that she wouldn't stand for it.

Like several of her siblings, Aurora couldn't tolerate injustice. But she resembled Lelouch in her unswerving determination to reverse it.

Night had fallen, and if she was exhausted, then Suzaku must be crippled with the need for sleep. She bid him a quiet goodnight, walking out of the room with Bannock on her heels. She didn't think she could say anything to him right now, and he must be tired of talking. Aurora made her way outside, where the moon slipped over the horizon and shone like a pearl, the trees dappling the ground with their shade. Plunking down beneath an oak some distance from the house, Aurora pulled her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

She drew a deep breath in, then out.

Burying her face into her kneecaps, she sobbed like something inside her was broken. She cried for all of them. For the cycle of violence which had only ended when someone incredible was lost, and those left in the wake had only truth to battle their pain. She'd wanted to know; she'd needed to know. But she hadn't thought it would hurt like this, so fresh and cutting. Aurora had watched Lelouch die. There could have been only one conclusion to Suzaku's story. But the reason he'd died almost made it worse.

"So, Lelouch," she whispered into the dark, her voice broken by the sobs. "You really were one of the best of us, after all." She cried long after she'd used all her tears. When she finally emerged from the haze of grief, Ban tucked against her side and the light in Suzaku's window extinguished, Aurora took shakily to her feet.

Lelouch was gone, lost to the flow of time. Nothing, not even their love of him, could bring him back. But Suzaku was still here, and if anyone had been so slighted by fate, it was him. She mourned for her brother, but she was determined to fight for his friend.

It was the least he deserved.

Chapter Text

Aurora was a light sleeper, and it took about half an hour before she could read herself to sleep. So much was whirling around her head, her eyes would have crossed if she tried to process it all at once. So she was determined to get some sleep and absorb it all tomorrow. But she'd only been out for about an hour when Ban woke her up.

Her irritated grunting and shoving him away was not sufficient; Ban kept trying to lift her arm with his head, a low whining vibrating in his throat. When she finally sat up and squinted at the gray dog that was all but invisible in the dark, he was standing on the bed, looking at her with wide eyed expectation. It was like he was saying, "Can't you tell? Something's wrong!"

It took only a moment before the puzzlement gave way to dread, her stomach dropping as she flung aside the comforter and leapt from the bed. Ban lunged down behind her, following her with a tightly clamped tail and worried eyes. Opening the door to Suzaku's room quickly, she paused in the doorway, her sharp eyes making out his sleeping form in the dark.

Moving on the faint moonlight instead of switching on the light, Aurora crept closer carefully. At first, she thought that Suzaku was even now soundly asleep, still and quiet. But as she neared the bedside, she realized that he was locked with tension, his breathing sharp and shallow while his brows furrowed deeply. His fist was balled, and he broke his tight silence with a tiny whimper that was an unmistakable sound of pain. She had to wake him up; she couldn't leave him struggling in his personal darkness.

Reaching over, she switched on the lamp, the soft gold glow throwing his face into stark shadows. Grimacing in preparation, she reached down and shook his good shoulder, knowing that she was probably too close to avoid a blow when he came up swinging. Sure enough, the bunched fist smacked against her right shoulder, and even as she winced at the dull pain, Aurora pushed him back down on the bed with more force than most thought she was capable of.

"Wake up! Come on, Suzaku, wake up!" At her sharp, brisk words, his eyes blinked open, blank and trapped. He struggled against her instinctively, but she managed to keep him down. He was still weak from the injuries and withdrawal; otherwise, Aurora knew that restraining him would have been impossible.

"Suzaku! You're here with me. It's Aurora, and you're safe."

As he blinked his way clear of the dream and went limp under her restraining hands, she heaved a relieved sigh before sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked at him silently as he pressed a hand first to his eyes, then to his mouth, waiting for him to say something. When he continued his silence, she had no choice but to speak.

"Are you OK?"

Suzaku pushed himself up, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being supine and helpless. He was still breathing quickly and startlingly pale, but he managed to drag himself together and look at her with a guarded, distant expression, clearing his throat to free the trapped screams.

"I'm fine. It was nothing." When he didn't elaborate, Aurora felt her brows crease in concern.

"Are you sure?"

He just shrugged, looking out the window at the land silvered by the moon.

"Like I said, it was nothing."

Aurora wasn't convinced.

"Because if you-"

"It was nothing, alright?" Suzaku snapped. "It was a nightmare! It's not like I'm exactly a stranger to them! They haunted me before, and they'll haunt me for the rest of my life! Happy now?"

Most people would probably have backed away and left the snarling, injured man to his own devices for the rest of the night. But as Aurora had revealed, she was no ordinary person. She merely narrowed her eyes before gently wrapping her arms around him. Suzaku immediately stiffened, leaning away from her as far as her arms would allow.

"What are you-"

"Just, for once in your life, accept the comfort that's offered. I'm not an idiot, nor am I blind. You need this. For once, just take it." Her tone was abrupt and impatient by his ear, leaving him no choice but to subside into silence. Eventually, his uninjured arm crept up carefully around her shoulders, holding her like she was porcelain. But it was he who was the fragile one.

Aurora waited, slowly rubbing a hand up and down his back in a soft, comforting rhythm. She was careful of the bruising she remembered from changing his bandages, smoothing the hair at the nape of his neck as Suzaku slowly relaxed. His head shifted, pressing his forehead into her shoulder as he shuddered hard. She felt his hand fist in her loose t-shirt, and Aurora merely kept stroking his back, patiently silent.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed. Suzaku kept her close, mentally pouring his fears and terrors into her comforting silence, the muscles along his arms and chest vibrating. No words were exchanged, and she didn't think there needed to be. It was enough that this time, he didn't have to survive it alone.

When he finally released her and leaned back against the pillows, he looked more exhausted than she'd seen him in days. Their hands didn't touch, but their fingers were only an inch from each other on the blanket.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. He looked at her, bemused. "Dredging all those memories up must have triggered the nightmares."

Suzaku's mouth crooked.

"They're always there. The only way to keep them at bay is the drugs."

Aurora struggled not to frown.

"That doesn't have to be true."

He just looked away, his eyes shuttered with distance and fatigue. Deciding now was not the time to tackle the issue of his psychological addiction since he was still wrung out from the physical battle with it, Aurora stood and walked away, switching off the lamp before shutting the door gently behind her. She made it back into her room before she collapsed on the bed, burying her fingers in her hair as she braced her elbows on her knees. Looking up, she made eye contact with Bannock, who stood, staring at her with a very intent expression. It dragged out a smile.

"What? Should I call you Lassie now?"

Ban merely stepped forward and very gently licked the back of Aurora's hand before shooting onto the bed.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." She settled back down under the blanket, switching on the light and slipping on her reading glasses again before picking up her book.

She finished it, and started another one. But nothing could settle her back down to sleep. It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that Aurora finally fell into a light, twitchy sleep, her book still in her hand, her glasses askew on her face, and her bedside lamp still burning.

The next morning, Aurora slept long past her regular wake up time of seven. It wasn't her internal clock that awoke her, however, and neither was it Ban. Something, a low creak, had her blinking awake, her vision lopsided and blurry. Spotting her dog standing by the door, his tail slowly wagging as he looked back at her, Aurora glared at him, then at the door, not quite sure what she was irritated about. On her way up, she glanced at the old-fashioned clock next to the lamp.

9:54. Yep, that would do it.

Aurora didn't do oversleeping well. It was the same reason she rarely napped; she woke up grumpier and more tired than she was when she went to sleep. Stomping to the door with a bad-tempered snarl just waiting to steal across her lips, she yanked open the door to see a standing, somewhat embarrassed Suzaku in the threshold of his room.

They stared at each other silently for a moment, him surprised and her confused, before Aurora spoke. Well, it was more of a growl.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" The belligerent, aggressive tone dragged up instincts of his military training, and Suzaku's spine snapped straight. Realizing she was squinting at him through crooked reading glasses, Aurora ripped them off her nose, hooking them on the collar of her giant gray t-shirt. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I was just-"

"Marching your ass back into your room and getting back in bed. You are in no shape to be roaming around, and I will be damned if you re-injure yourself because you've got a wild hair to start wandering around the place. Go. Now." She had a way of lingering over the n in "now" that was strangely threatening, baring her canines as she spat the word out. In the distant mists of his memory, Suzaku vaguely remembered his mother speaking to him in the same way when he was in trouble.

Before he could think to disobey, she stomped across the hallway, turning him around with little grumpy shoves and propelling him back to his bed. He tried to protest, but Aurora pretended she was deaf, settling him down without even acknowledging his argument. She left the room without looking at him, parting only with the low command of "Hold, Ban," to her dog. As Aurora shut the door behind her, the dog she called Ban sat by it, his eyes trained on Suzaku. It seemed that his legs were too long to actually sit, leaving his haunches floating in the air. It was clearly difficult, considering the muscular strain visible along his back. Eventually, the dog cocked his hips before walking himself down, his neck still erect and his gaze childishly magnetized to Suzaku.

"I don't suppose you'll let me out, will you?" he murmured. The dog's ears popped up and he leapt to his feet, trotting towards Suzaku with the aim of a missile. "No, no! Wait, I didn't mean-"

But instead of the dog lunging for his throat with bared teeth, Ban merely gathered himself and neatly leapt onto the bed next to Suzaku's legs. He thought briefly about pushing the dog off, but he wasn't exactly a lap dog.

He hadn't known dogs could be this big. Really, this Ban was more of a small horse than a dog. His legs were ridiculously long, his ribcage massive and his waist tiny. Gray as charcoal with black on his legs, back, and the tip of his tail, the dog sported a black mask that lent the appearance of a wolf. As he settled down and laid his head on Suzaku's leg, Ban gazed at him with his liquid brown eyes. There wasn't a drop of aggression there. Holding out his hand hesitantly, the dog briefly lifted his head to sniff it, then dropped it back down. Praying Ban would warn him with a growl before he ripped off his hand, Suzaku stretched out his fingers, running them hesitantly over the dog's silky ears.

When Ban didn't move, Suzaku stroked him more firmly, marveling at how such a strong-looking dog could be so soft. He'd tried to get up and find something to do – he was unaccustomed to feeling bored, and didn't like the way inactivity left his mind vulnerable. He'd thought perhaps Aurora had left, going to get supplies or on one of the walks he thought he remembered her taking. But he hadn't been fast enough.

"She did look pretty adorable, though. Didn't she?" he murmured to Ban, his smile a little crooked and unfamiliar as he twined the dog's ear through his fingers. As if in agreement, the dog flopped over on his side, his entire length pressed against Suzaku's legs, Ban's head on his hip. If he had met Aurora even two years ago, she would have been his height, if a little taller. Since he'd never stood next to her before this morning, not that he really remembered, Suzaku hadn't realized how tall she was. But the awkward growth spurt that had plagued him last year put Suzaku a solid four inches taller than Aurora.

With that gigantically baggy gray t-shirt obscuring her upper body and almost dropping to the hem of her shorts, she'd looked like a cranky rain cloud on long, gorgeous legs. Aurora had clearly slept in the braid she'd worn yesterday, the tail slung over her shoulder bursting with stray hairs and the left side of her head looking like her golden hair had exploded. Her glasses, which he often forgot that she sometimes wore, had slipped down her nose, one lense still in front of her eye while the other hung down near her cheekbone. There were faint shadows under her eyes, and such a cantankerous expression on her face, that Suzaku didn't know whether to laugh or run. He'd settled on the vague mortification of being caught when he'd used to be all but invisible with his stealth.

As he was barely able to make out the thunder of the shower, Suzaku assumed she was remedying her appearance, as ridiculously appealing as it had been. He couldn't decide if he wanted her to improve her attitude along with it. After Aurora's incredible patience, understanding, and generosity, it was a bit of a relief to know that she could wake up crabby and rude, just like a normal person. Suzaku wasn't comfortable with saints.

Frowning as he realized how fondly he'd thought of Aurora, Suzaku shifted his gaze from the apparently snoozing dog to the window. It had rained briefly this morning, the soft patter waking Suzaku up. It was one of the most pleasant ways he'd come out of sleep in his memory. But now, the sun was shining, and it looked like the grass and trees were laced with diamonds. Something tugged at his memory, but was quickly swallowed by his guilt. He had no business thinking of Aurora in any way but gratitude and a vague suspicion. Not only could he offer her absolutely nothing, but he loved Euphemia. Now, forever, and always. No one, not even her half-breed sister, could replace her.

Frowning, he traced the edges of the black markings on Ban's face. He hadn't thought of anyone, any woman, like that since before he'd met Euphie. And he refused to ever again. But it was disconcerting that Aurora tempted him, that something about her made him want to reach out and grasp something that had been taken from him long ago.

It wasn't long until the soft patter of footsteps emerged from the end of the hall, ending on the quick, brutal click of Aurora's door. All the women Suzaku had been around in his life would remain sequestered in their bedroom for another half hour – the female ritual was one that brought a faint sweat to Suzaku's palms. But not ten minutes later, footsteps reappeared in the hall outside his room, quickly clattering down the stairs.

Ban lifted his head for a moment, gazing at the door as if waiting for it to swing open. When it remained shut, however, he dropped his head back down heavily, sighing with a sort of patience that sounded distinctly human. Suzaku just smiled faintly and stroked the dog's head, telling himself that he wasn't bored. It was, of course, a lie.

When she returned with breakfast, Ban leapt off the bed as soon as Aurora opened the door, his tail wagging wildly in a circle as she came in balancing a bowl and several cups in her hands expertly.

"Yes, yours is downstairs. Go on."

Like a gray bullet, he was out the door and clambering down the stairs, his nails clicking faintly on the tiles of the kitchen as he scouted out his food. She bumped the door almost closed with her hip before striding over to the bed. Her damp hair had been scraped back brutally into a long tail, her jeans well-worn and white at the seams, her white long-sleeved t-shirt hugging to her curves.

"And as for you," Aurora said, placing a bowl of oatmeal on Suzaku's lap along with a spoon. As Aurora turned her back to settle with her usual mug of tea and her book in her beloved rocker, Suzaku grimaced at the bowl. Oatmeal. Blegh. He'd practically lived on the thick glop the drill sergeants affectionately called "oatmeal" his first few years of training in the Britannian military. It did not bring back fond memories, and he'd never really developed a taste, or tolerance, for it.

But, catching the arch look Aurora shot him over the rim of her reading glasses, he sighed and picked up the spoon, swallowing the first spoonful with a stoic grimace. He was surprised, however, when it wasn't that bad. She had a heavy hand with the cinnamon and nutmeg, and he guessed that she'd used milk and brown sugar, more decadent options than Suzaku usually consumed when dealing with oatmeal.

She granted him a smile when he scraped the bowl clean. Suzaku had a feeling Aurora was still a little out of sorts from her late wake-up. He decided that he would wait to ask her about some sort of distraction until she was in a more amenable frame of mind.

He lasted about fifteen minutes.

"So, I was wondering if maybe we could go for a walk."

"No."

She said it so quickly, the word almost clipped the tail end of his sentence.

"But-"

"No, Suzaku. You're not ready." Her blatant command over him made his teeth grind. Struggling with his patience, he reminded himself to be polite. He'd never had to reach for that, but it had become harder and harder over the last couple of years. His patience had slipped away, the mellowness Lelouch had one remarked upon ground away by time and circumstance like a rock slowly dissolving under the sea's onslaught. It left nothing but his overwrought discipline in its wake.

"Please, I can't just sit here another day doing nothing. I don't…I prefer not to let my mind wander."

Finally looking up from the page of her book that her eyes had been glued to since the moment he'd started talking, Aurora gazed at him consideringly, her brow arched slightly.

"Well, what do you want to do? Besides anything physical," she quickly added. Suzaku really had no idea. He couldn't remember the last time he'd inactive by choice.

"How about something to read?" Aurora suggested.

"I could go downstairs and pick something out," Suzaku quickly volunteered. The idea of a book was lukewarm at best, but perhaps he'd at least get to see something more of the house he'd been living in for about a week. She just smiled knowingly.

"No, but you can tell me what you like, and I can bring you back up a few selections."

He huffed out a breath. He really didn't have a preference for reading material, and had only latched onto the idea in the hopes of a change of scene. When Suzaku remained moodily silent, Aurora continued.

"There's a deck of cards around here somewhere, and I know a fair few games. Or I could drag out a puzzle I saw in storage."

"You were a great kid on rainy days, weren't you?" Suzaku accused sourly. Aurora marked her page with her finger before closing the book, laughing lightly.

"Far from it. My mother used to call me a little plane that had a jet engine. I was a notorious menace on rainy days. But I've had the few options there are pounded into my head enough times to know them by rote. Being wound like a top doesn't come in handy on stakeouts, either."

Suzaku furrowed his brow in question.

"It only took a few times of me incessantly announcing that I was bored before George demanded that I get myself under control. Either I quieted down, or I stayed home. Which was worse. So I figured out how to occupy my brain enough to keep my body quiet. Took a few months till I managed, but it was worth it."

Suzaku thought that over. She didn't seem obviously hyperactive, but she had an immense reserve of energy and strength that he'd glimpsed a few times.

"What do you like to do, Suzaku? Hobbies, pastimes, diversion?"

Suzaku faltered.

What did he like to do? He'd never really established a sort of hobby that occupied his time; everything he had was devoted wholeheartedly to his quest, whatever it had been during the roller coaster ride two years ago. Working out had kept his mind busy and his body toned, but did he like it, or did he just depend on it to keep him from imploding? It had occurred to him before that beyond his role as a soldier, Suzaku Kururugi was basically empty. He had no other defining aspects, no other part of himself to focus on. It was depressing, and pathetic.

"I… I don't know," he whispered, his brow furiously knitted at his own worthlessness. So distracted, Suzaku didn't notice when Aurora stood. When he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to see her standing next to him, a thick, square sketch pad in her hand and a bulky, industrial looking pencil clamped between her fingers, a stubby eraser sticking out of her fist like another thumb.

"Here. See what you can do with this."

Instead of waiting for him to take them, she deposited the items in his lap before sitting again. Suzaku helplessly stared at the items in his lap, almost afraid to pick up the pencil. Failure was not something he could handle, and had never really learned how to accept and move on from. So why try something he undoubtedly had no talent with?

"You ever draw before?" she asked lightly, flipping a page as she spoke, her flashing lenses still focused on the book.

"Not in a very long time," he admitted weakly. He'd been absent or otherwise involved when the class was gathered to work on art during his brief stint at Ashford, his one attempt during Art Week left unfinished. He'd been much too distracted by Nunnally's kidnap and his military duties to focus on the sketch of Lelouch. It had been one of the worst grades he'd ever received, a half-finished rough sketch that didn't look like much of anything. And the last time he'd put pencil to paper in an attempt to draw something, he hadn't yet met Lelouch. He remembered a vague sort of enjoyment and accomplishment associated with the task, but every child felt like a master when they put forms on a piece of paper, regardless of actual skill. Hesitantly, he opened the pale gray cover, revealing solid, coarse pages designed for art. His eyes strangely magnetized to the clean ivory paper, Suzaku ran his finger lightly along the edges of the sheets. They were too broad to even threaten a paper cut.

"What should I draw?" he said, glancing over at Aurora. This was her idea, after all. The least she could do was offer a little guidance. She just shrugged, still not looking at him.

"Whatever you want. That's the best part, I guess."

At a loss, Suzaku glanced around the room. There were plenty of things to draw. But did he want to draw any of them?

Just then, Bannock slid into the room, licking his chops in a decidedly satisfied manner. He circled on the rug, and dropped down. But instead of staying in a tight, curled ball, Ban flopped over on his side, his long legs stretched out and his back arched. It was almost as if the dog was trying to occupy as much space as possible. His huge ribcage rose once in an explosive sigh before settling into its regular rhythm.

Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, Suzaku snatched up the pencil and began to sketch out fast, strong strokes on the paper. All too quickly, he was absorbed, sketching Ban on a forgotten, empty art notebook and completely disregarding everything else.

Aurora was afraid to move.

Suzaku's face exuded such intensity as he worked the pencil and eraser with equal fervor. Keeping her head tilted towards her book, she watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye, mesmerized. She had a feeling that something very important was happening, but she couldn't say what, exactly. Even if Aurora wasn't certain what was unfolding in that human silence, she kept utterly still, loathe to interrupt.

He worked on the picture of Ban for at least two hours. Not a word was spoken, but the room was far from silent. The swift scratches of the pencil and frantic scrubbing of the eraser were constant, his occasional hum or grunt the only living noise in the room. Aurora was silent; Ban was asleep.

When he finally leaned back against the pillows, his portrait complete, Suzaku looked dazed, as if he was unsure what he had just done. Blankly, he looked around the room; in his fervor, he'd all but forgotten where he was. With his quick, lost glances, he met Aurora's eyes. She was looking at him steadily without turning her head from her novel, a small smile on her mouth.

"It's good."

She glanced down at the rough portrait. Aurora hadn't been placating him. It was rough, certainly, and lacked the precision that came from training. But it did have an elemental appeal, an unstudied truth that spoke to a natural eye and hidden skill. The unrefined drawing of Bannock displayed not only the dog's relaxation, but somehow the gentility in his face, as well.

"You have talent," she murmured. He blinked at her a few times like she'd spoken in Latin. Finally, Suzaku cleared his throat, and smiled a little sheepishly, flexing his hand, his tendons unused to such focused strain.

"Thank you."

Before she could say anything else, he flipped the page, and started anew.

For such a disciplined man, it was odd to see his rhythm so utterly jagged. At times, he sketched on the page with little more than ten strokes before flipping it to the next. Then he spent an hour and a half on a portrait of Cecile's face. Some of the pictures were heavy, dense with shading, while others were all but invisible with the delicate pencil strokes. The one thing that united them all, with the exception of the picture of Bannock, was that every drawing was done from memory.

Aurora saw them all flip by. Lelouch, Shirley, Gino, Lloyd, the Lancelot, Arthur.

Euphemia.

Suzaku sketched out countless pictures of Euphemia. Some laughing, some smiling, one scowling, another shifted into a pretty pout. There was one that Aurora recognized from his knighting, and another that looked like she was falling out of the sky. One picture that stayed with Aurora focused on Euphie's hands and face, her chin propped on her palms as she gazed dreamily away. He captured her delicate wrists, shining hair, and depthless eyes with the sight of a man who had not only seen, but loved.

He didn't look up when Aurora left to prepare lunch, nor when she returned. She could hardly complain, however, since he all but inhaled the egg burrito with a distracted air before diving back into the notebook. He was over half way through the book when he was forced to stop, the sun setting and his hands cramping viciously.

Since she'd managed to see most of them, Aurora didn't ask if she could look through the drawings. She doubted Suzaku would acquiesce, anyway. Instead, she moved the notebook and tools over by her neglected book and sat on the bed, carefully massaging his right hand and wrist as she met his gaze with a small smile. He was breathing a little hard for someone who had sat all day, and his eyes were a little wild. But Aurora didn't regret her decision. She couldn't say why, but something told her that her idea to give Suzaku that sketch pad could quite possibly be one of the best things she'd ever done for him.

"Still bored?"

He shook his head, a little dumbfounded.

"No, I… No." His hand still hurt a little, but the careless ease she loosened the muscles and tendons in his hand with made Suzaku feel too vulnerable. Bobbing his head in thanks, he retrieved his hand. She looked at him for a moment, her eyes entirely too piercing and sharp for his comfort. Then Aurora stood, shoving back the sleeves of her shirt before crouching to rub Ban. He awakened and rolled over, one paw in the air in invitation as she stroked his ribcage and spoke gentle nonsense. Suzaku was brought to attention when she said his full name.

"His name is Bannock?" he asked when she straightened, the dog lunging to his feet as she settled again on the chair, his head draped in her lap. As she rubbed his ears, the dog leaning into the contact with a grunt, she glanced over at him and smiled.

"Yeah. Why?"

Suzaku shrugged, a little embarrassed to be caught listening.

"I didn't even really want him when he first showed up. We'd just gotten the clinic off the ground, and this abominably thin dog, little better than a pup, just appeared at our door one day. He was riddled with worms, and battling an infection that almost turned him inside out. I wasn't qualified to care for him, and I didn't want to weigh Kendra down with another difficult project. But he suckered me in. I refused to name him at first, because I didn't want to get attached in the likely case that he died." Aurora stroked his neck, rocking slightly as she remembered with the fondness of a mother.

"But one day, Chandler, Kendra, and I were sitting around, having lunch, when he snuck in like a ghost and nipped Chandler's bread before any of us noticed. He was half way through the wedge before Chandler realized that his beloved scone had been stolen. At first, he was mad. He yelled, 'Hey!' in this hilariously indignant tone, and the dog lifted his head, popping up these gigantic bat ears in the most ridiculous expression ever, still chewing on the bread. I'd seen that look a few times, but it was the first time he showed it to anyone else. The two boys just stared at each other a few minutes before we all collapsed into howling laughter. Kendra suggested that we name him Scone. Chandler didn't think it was dignified enough, and instead said we should name him Bannock, which is pretty much the same thing. When I said it, he hopped up and laid his head in my lap. In a way, he chose his own name." She planted a smacking kiss on the dog's head before rising.

"I'm going to get dinner ready," she said with a wave before leaving the room. Ban watched her walk away before turning and leaping onto Suzaku's bed without invitation. With the dog settled against his leg, he rubbed the gray, muscled flank.

"Had her wrapped around your finger from the first moment, didn't you?" he murmured to the dog. Ban lifted his head and blinked almost knowingly at Suzaku. Panting for a minute, revealing a doggy grin with enormous, pointed teeth, he dropped his head back down and slipping seamlessly into a snooze.

Chapter Text

Suzaku stared down at the sketch pad.

Nothing happened.

With a rising sense of frustration, he hovered the pencil over the page, but the lightning rush of knowledge, the eager release that had erupted through him yesterday, was absent.

He was glaring at the paper like it was a mortal enemy when Aurora entered the room with a plate of toast smothered with strawberry jam and butter. Not her favorite kind of jelly, but it was a safe bet, since she'd forgotten to ask what Suzaku preferred. She'd opened her mouth to lightly say as much when she caught sight of the black, desperate expression on his face. Setting down the plate without speaking, she approached, surprised to see the notebook back in his lap. He must have grabbed it while she'd been downstairs. Considering the distance of the armoire from the bed, she frowned a little.

Approaching slowly, she carefully touched a hand to his shoulder. He jerked, and turned his eyes to hers. His frantic, angry expression made Aurora's stomach drop.

"Suzaku," she said slowly, calmly. "What's wrong?"

"I can't draw," he ground out. Breathing a slow, subtle sigh of relief, she removed the pad and pencil from his lap, lifting her brow at the resistance in his hand, before sitting.

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He glared at her in disbelief.

"There isn't. You've suddenly discovered this well of creativity, and that's fantastic. But creativity is driven by inspiration, and inspiration is a tricky, fickle thing. It's best not to force it when it's not there. It's highly unlikely you'll be satisfied with anything you produce, anyway. Think of it like a muscle," she said, driving the conversation in a more practical direction at the dissension on his face. One could forget how stubborn Suzaku was until you were faced with that bull-headed expression so often hidden.

"You have to build that muscle through regular, smart training. You can't suddenly work it within an inch of its life one day and expect it to be strong and ready the next. It's something you have to grow, Suzaku, as much as you've grown your strength. Give it time. Besides," she said brightly, leaning back, "you've got other things to worry about today."

He raised a brow, placated but still anxious.

"Such as?"

"Kendra's coming to see you today," Aurora said with a grin. The name sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure as to the significance of it.

"Who's that?"

Aurora blinked at him before shifting.

"Right, sorry. I forgot you were unconscious. She's the doctor who operated on you. She's coming over to get an update on your arm and shoulder, and assess how soon we can get you up and moving again."

For a moment, Suzaku was at war. Any news about mobility was to be celebrated. But doctors made him nervous. A side effect of his time spent dealing with Asplund's antics or just the fact that doctors all too often sought to sideline him when he was eager, even desperate, to fight, he wasn't sure. But it made his stomach clench.

"First things first," she said, interrupting Suzaku's nerves. Standing, she ripped back the sheet with a cheerful crack. He was clothed, but Suzaku still flinched a little. "We need to get you cleaned up." She held out her hands invitingly, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Yesterday morning, it had taken him ten minutes to get off the bed and stay on his feet. With Aurora watching and the threat of a doctor, he didn't give himself time to wince. Instead, he took to his feet in a single stretch of muscle. He couldn't have told her how excruciating it was, or how discouraged he was by the pain.

Without a word, she steadied him before ducking under his right arm, taking a shocking amount of his weight on her shoulders and hip. One hand gripping his while the other was carefully wrapped around his waist, she helped him limp out of the room and down the hallway, Ban a worried shadow behind them. He'd made this trek before, but had been too blitzed by pain and withdrawal to really remember. For the first time, his mind was honed to a point - almost painfully so - and Suzaku was determined to pay attention.

The walls were paneled with old, dark oak, the floor hardy pine that was occasionally scratched but glowed like gold. He caught sight of paintings that he had a feeling were by local artists on the wall, and framed cross-stitches he imagined done by some dainty grandmother in half-moon glasses.

It should have been old-fashioned, but the bathroom had an understated luxury to it. The pedestal sink was white marble veined with gray, the walls a delicate green. The claw-footed tub was gigantic, and Suzaku couldn't help but wonder that the floor didn't creak under the weight of it. Bordered with scrolled silver, the mirror above the sink caught the morning light that shone through the small window with a dazzling burst. It was on a different side of the house than his, and opened out onto a small garden, an ancient-looking wall, and the saturated hills beyond.

Aurora left his side briefly, easing him down on the toilet before stepping over to yank around the emerald shower curtain and crank the copper dials that matched the ones on the sink. Steam was already rising before she turned to help him out of the sling, easing off his shirt and unwinding the bandages to eye his shoulder and arm with a discerning gaze. She nodded from where she crouched at his feet, looking satisfied and slightly relieved.

"You're looking good. Do you need help, or-"

"I'll be fine," he assured her quickly. Suzaku wasn't too certain about that, but he was conscious enough to be embarrassed by any aid she would offer him from this point forward. Aurora looked at him for a moment, and he had a feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

But she said nothing. Instead, she merely took to her feet with a nod.

"Alright. If you need anything, just give a holler." With that, she disappeared through the rapidly accumulating steam, almost like a ghost. When he heard the quiet click of the door, Suzaku eased out a windy sigh.

Good Lord. He thought he was better. He wanted to be better, with the desperation of the usually healthy. But the obscene hurt that scorched along his nerves was unlike that which he had ever faced. The hurt from the withdrawal had faded, at least a little. But his arm ached with the ferocity of the newly broken.

Standing unsteadily, he finished undressing, knowing better than to test his arm. He couldn't quite remember what exactly was wrong with his entire upper left body, but the sensation of pain did its work, and he kept his arm slack and wrapped around his torso. Easing into the bathtub – both to accustom himself to the heat of the spray, and because his balance was not at its best – he glanced down when he felt something with his foot. Someone had attached small, scrubby plastic seahorses the color of sapphires to the bottom of the tub to minimize the risk of the slipping. For some reason, the silly little pieces of plastic made him smile as the water slicked his hair to his skull, and Suzaku finally relaxed, a little.

He supposed it was the way of injuries; you never realized how much you depended on a part of your body until it was damaged beyond use. He could only thank whatever gods or fates still watched him from the corners of their eyes that his left side, and not his right, had been injured. As he scrubbed the least feminine shampoo he could find – ocean breeze – into his hair one-handed, Suzaku searched his memory more thoroughly to see if he remembered this Kendra at all. But it was no good.

She must have entered the story during the black haze in his mind that had engulfed several days. Aurora spoke of her and some guy named Chandler with the fondness of close friends, or close family. He was just now edging into a sort of trust in regards to Aurora; but Suzaku found it was too much to ask of himself that he trust someone he didn't even know just by extension of Aurora. He might have once, but those days were long past.

As muscles, knotted from tension and pain, slowly loosened and relaxed and his defenses lowered, Suzaku almost collapsed in the shower under a sudden wave of need. He'd give anything, anything, for one dose of heroin, one slide of the needle to take away the strain and constant ache for one peaceful night. As he trembled under the weight of it, Suzaku struggled to remember the moment when he'd shifted from needing it to survive his own memories to surviving himself. Even when he couldn't pinpoint the exact instant, it was still an ugly epiphany.

Surging up under the craving was anger. Anger so blistering hot, it burned away the desire for the drug and left nothing but its own writhing flames in its wake. He shuddered against the intense flood of it, almost foreign in his mind after months of trying to deaden the edges of emotions that cut him to ribbons. What he was angry at, Suzaku couldn't quite say. Aurora, heroin, the world, Lelouch.

Himself.

How pathetic, he thought of himself sourly as the rage slowly ebbed. Suzaku couldn't quite give himself a reason, but his own weakness made him disgusted. She'd been smart, he had to admit. Aurora had kept him distracted over the past couple of days, be it by stories or drawings or simple conversation that he hadn't indulged in since Euphie's death. Since the worry of him getting his hands on some heroin was non-existent considering their location and his condition, she'd been working to keep him from completely mentally imploding under the lack.

Why did she care?

The question rippled through his mind as he pressed his hand against the wall in a weak bid for support. Aurora was invested in his recovery; Suzaku didn't doubt that for a moment. But why? And why couldn't he bring himself to do the same?

That answer, at least, was easy. Because he didn't want to recover. He didn't want to survive. But that option had been removed from him by Lelouch three years ago, and now by his half-sister.

Weak, Suzaku slid down to sit in the bottom of the tub, the shampoo suds sliding down his spine as the water beat on his head and back. His long legs cramped against the edge of the tub, his stitches vaguely itching, Suzaku heaved a huge breath of hot, damp air before pressing his forehead to his knees. He'd gotten what he wanted, he supposed. He'd clung to the heroin in the hopes that it would numb all the wounds still gaping inside him. And he'd hoped, believed, that the drug, the addiction, would break him. Because broken pieces couldn't feel.

But as his arm furiously throbbed and his shoulder ached, he knew better.

Aurora had left the bathroom a picture of calm and ease.

As she nervously paced outside the bathroom door, Bannock the only one witness to the complete destruction of her cool façade, Aurora gnawed on her thumb nail. She was worried.

Acute ears tuned to the squeak of skin against ceramic or the thud of falling bones, she knew she was too far away if something happened to Suzaku to prevent injury. She could only pray that if he was injured, she was close enough to minimize the damage. Besides, Kendra was coming today.

What should have been an easy chuckle of relief tittered out in a strangled, awkward laugh. Cursing under her breath in brief, repeated huffs that were ground out in time with her quick, cutting strides, Aurora swung to a stop when Ban cocked his head to the side. He'd heard her say far worse obscenities before.

"What?" she asked in a savage murmur. The dog just blinked. "I know, I know," she groaned. Aurora paced a few more times across the width of the hall before stopping again. "But what if something happens? His stitches could reopen, or he could mess up the plating in his arm if he slips, or…"

The sky could collapse on them like a big blue bowl or Ban could start speaking in a human voice. There was no point sending herself twitching into an aneurysm of worry over possibilities. It was probably a little too soon for this sort of independent venture, but Aurora couldn't warrant stripping Suzaku of what little pride he was accumulating just to satisfy her own concern.

Speaking of which…

Aurora wrung her hands as her mind swerved in a direction she had struggled to bar it from. She'd seen the man naked, after all, but this time… The impartial position of being a healer was fading despite her best intentions. The platonic edge that she'd been clinging to since clapping eyes on him was quickly crumbling from under her fingertips. Suzaku was still injured and she was still utterly devoted to caring for him, but his complete vulnerability was starting to slip away, his immense, ingrained strength manifesting again. She was seriously, completely deranged if she found that sexy.

So she was seriously, completely deranged, Aurora admitted to herself as she took to pacing again. If she was being completely honest, another reason she had let Suzaku clean up by himself was because her heart had thudded like a jack hammer when she'd taken off his shirt. Again, not the first time she'd seen the strong, carved planes of his chest, but Aurora's throat had dried up so quickly, she might as well have been mute. She'd been fine this morning, then, wham! Her blood was doing the tango, and she'd yearned in a way she hadn't allowed herself to in a long time, just because she'd helped him slip out of his shirt. Her fingers had itched to touch, to soothe. Suzaku's normally bronzed skin had paled a little from his natural tint, no doubt due to his lack of exposure to sun in the past couple of years. Old scars stood out like white lines against his skin, and his current injuries lent the air of a battered warrior. Not too far off base, really.

"No, no, no," she chanted under her breath, desperate to dissolve the images of his physical beauty that were sinuously sliding through her brain before her muscles started to quiver. "So off limits, he might as well be off planet," she reminded herself with a harsh shake of her head as she growled to herself. Aurora's breath quickened; from anxiety or attraction, she wasn't sure. As the water squeaked off, she lifted her head like a deer scenting fire. Despite her urge to leap forward, her muscles clenched still, and she waited.

And waited.

Finally, she lightly knocked, calling his name softly as she slowly opened the door. He was standing in front of the mirror, examining his stitches, wearing nothing but a frown and a towel clinging to his lean hips. Behave! The command roared through her head as she locked her wants and needs so far down, dynamite couldn't get them loose. It had been an important skill during her career, but one that always made her a little sad.

Aurora leaned down, snagging the change of clothes, bandages and the extra sling she'd retrieved when he'd first stepped into the shower. That task hadn't taken nearly as long as she would have liked. Setting the pile on the toilet lid, she backed out of the room, her hand on the door knob. She felt her eyes glide over the shiny scars of burns along his back, especially around his right shoulder blade and his mid-spine. Biting the inside of her cheek, Aurora heaved a deep breath before speaking.

"Leave off on the shirt. I'd like another look at your stitches, and then we need to get you bandaged up again."

He nodded his assent, and she closed the door. Aurora didn't last thirty seconds before she began pacing again.

Suzaku was venomously impatient with himself and clothing in general by the time he'd managed to secure the loose pants around his waist. If he'd thought moving and showering one-handed was hard enough, it was nothing compared to getting dressed. Already exhausted and a long day of inspection still ahead, he lowered himself slowly down onto the toilet, depositing the pile onto a charming cabinet made of cherry wood and carved with leaves and branches. Carefully, he rubbed his right hand over his left forearm, not daring to go any higher.

His gaze into the mirror had been the first time Suzaku had really seen his injuries. Needless to say, it wasn't pretty. It could have been fatal – it should have been, if not for the women who had saved his life. Suzaku tried to be angry about it, about their meddling in his much sought-after release, but he was just too tired. And really, it was hard to blame them.

From what little he'd learned about Aurora, it wasn't much of a stretch to realize that she cared. She tried not to, and her leading edge had been dulled by her training and experiences. But that need to reach out, to offer help where it was needed, was deeply rooted in her personality. Suzaku thought that, maybe, he'd once been the same. Paired with her doctor friend who, like all good doctors, probably took the oath she swore to protect life seriously and his Geass command, not even a solid attempt by Britannian soldiers could kill him.

He would have given anything once to be so indestructible, to have the ability to survive, to do what needed to be done. If he couldn't die in service, then he could at least fight forever in it. But now…

Now, he thought as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, he was too tired to fight and too broken to care. Oaths and orders be damned. Already wallowing and in too much pain to drag himself out, Suzaku didn't look up at the knock, or the careful opening of the bathroom door.

"Hey," she said softly, crouching in front of him, her fingers resting on one of his knees. "You alright?"

He just lifted his head and looked at her archly. Really, she was too smart for such a question. Looking a little abashed, she just cleared her throat. "Right. Stupid of me. Sorry. Anyway, let's have a look at your seams."

He straightened, feeling the blood rush to his skin under her appraising gaze. Since that hadn't really happened before, Suzaku felt a frown tug at his face at the gentle touch of her fingertips. Aurora took it as a sign of pain.

"I know, just bear with me a little bit longer. Your stitches are looking pretty good – no sign of infection or anything like that. I'm impressed."

Suzaku watched her carefully as she assessed his condition, wondering why he now felt vaguely embarrassed by her pointed attention when he couldn't really recall feeling that way before. Her long, amber hair was tamed back into a high ponytail, the ends slightly curling from the humidity. She wore a bright blue t-shirt and black jeans – strong pops of color on casual clothing. That did seem to be her preference.

Leaving off the bandages, Aurora helped him into his shirt, buttoning it up for him much the way a mother would for her son. The mild sense of maternal care made him blink, causing Suzaku to remain still as she strapped the sling on. Aurora smoothed the flaps and straps a few extra times. Suzaku couldn't quite guess why.

Standing, Aurora helped him to his feet, smoothing a curl of damp hair over his ear. He stared at her in mild shock. What in world was she doing? She glanced over from the side of his head, their eyes colliding. For a moment, her silvered blue eyes were blank and calm; suddenly realization hit, and color bloomed on her sharp cheekbones. Aurora took a hasty step back, clearing her throat awkwardly as she rubbed her fingers together as if to negate the feeling of his hair.

Eventually, they made their way back to the bedroom, and Aurora kept a wary distance from Suzaku, and he from her. Not physically, as that was impossible, but mentally. Whatever camaraderie that had developed between the two of them over the last couple of days was buried under a layer of tension. Neither of them knew the exact origins of the discord in the other, but was somewhat guilt-ridden over the feeling in themselves.

She couldn't sit down. Aurora didn't quite know what kept her from sitting in her usual rocking chair, but her nerves jumped like sparks under her skin. Instead, her fingers tangled together like wires. Suzaku, who sat propped up by pillows and his hand quiet, loosely fisted on his thigh, kept his eyes trained outside, gazing at the land lit by the pearly sun. No words were exchanged; both of them knew that there was nothing worthwhile to say.

Ban sat on his rug, too disturbed by the strain in the air to relax. He looked worried, as if he was having a difficult time understanding why two people who had spent so much time with each other over the last week were suddenly distanced by awkward silence. His ears suddenly popped up at a faint sound, and when he lunged to his feet, Aurora spun to follow, knowing without having to question that he'd heard Kendra's arrival.

She waved a hand to Suzaku, hoping that he understood the gesture as a promise to return, but couldn't be sure. After all, she was hardly in control of herself enough to be certain she would understand the signal if the situation was reversed. Lightly loping down the stairs, Aurora felt the smile bloom across her face before she even reached the door. Yanking it open, it broke into a grin as she caught sight of Kendra, her dense black waves gathered at the base of her neck by a light blue barrette that shone against her hair like a star. A few strands fell into her eyes, which she promptly blew back with a crooked grin.

"You look absolutely gorgeous," Aurora said with an enormous grin, hugging her friend close before taking the heavy bag that was practically tipping Kendra to one side.

"You're just saying that because you haven't seen me in a week," Kendra replied, fighting against a grin, but losing. She wouldn't say it, but the relief that Aurora was still safe made the doctor's knees a little weak. As Aurora slung her arm over her shoulders and led her into the cottage, Kendra was assailed by memories of her previous stays in Ireland. The first, of course, being her honeymoon. A brutally fantastic afternoon spent on the couch, and the antique rug, with Chandler made her smile a little smugly as they passed the living room.

As Aurora gave her a brief overview of Suzaku's condition over the past seven days, Kendra listened with half an ear. She carefully filed away the information, but was busier absorbing the state of the cottage and Aurora. Kendra had known that her friend could be trusted to take care of Chandler's family home. She'd also known that Aurora could be trusted to take care of Suzaku. What had kept the doctor awake at nights since the pair's departure was how Suzaku would react to being cared for by a stranger.

Following Aurora into the guest room that she'd hardly ever looked at in her previous visits, Kendra couldn't help it as her brows lifted at the sight of a stiff-backed Suzaku staring at her with clear, if a little worried, eyes the color of emeralds. Normally, her bed-side manner was smooth as silk. But the frank, spooked expression in his eyes had Kendra clearing her throat, dragging in a brief breath to smooth her hesitation.

"Hello, Suzaku," she began with a smile, stepping forward with her right hand extended. "My name is Dr. Kendra Andrews, and I'm here to see how you're doing."

His eyes went to her hand, then to her face, before he cautiously extended his own hand. As their hands clasped, his fingers a little cold for her taste, Kendra had no difficulty realizing that it was politeness more than anything else that pressed Suzaku to return her greeting.

Straightening and setting her leather satchel down next to the bed, she glanced up, practically scenting the anxiety swirling through the room like smoke. She looked at Suzaku, noticing the way his gaze slid from her over to Aurora, where it lingered with a sort of vague worry and confusion. She looked at Aurora, who gazed back as Suzaku with the most clouded expression Kendra had ever seen on her friend's face. She looked back at Suzaku. Back at Aurora. Spinning on her heel, she roughly began to shove Aurora out of the room.

"Out," she commanded.

"But, I-"

"No, out," Kendra repeated, rudely shutting the door in Aurora's face. She knew that her friend's strength was nothing to trifle with, and waited a moment to see if Aurora would try to shove her way back into the room. But eventually, Kendra was able to make out slow, reluctant steps on the stairway. Glancing down to her right, she caught sight of Bannock. He stood next to her by the door, looking up at Kendra with an expression of bemusement and concern.

"Alright. I don't want you in here, anyway. Go keep her company."

Opening the door maybe ten inches, he slipped through like an eel, trotting after his mistress. Heaving a sigh, Kendra turned back towards Suzaku, who had remained silent during the entire exchange, and flashed a bright smile.

"Sorry about that. Let's try that again. I'm Kendra, and I'm going to be taking a few x-rays and conducting a short exam. Nothing too extravagant, but I'd like to get a good read on how you're doing. Have to see if my surgery was a success," she added with a slightly joking tone. When it didn't glean even the slightest response from Suzaku, Kendra struggled against a frown as she hefted the dense duffel Aurora had carried for her upstairs.

By this time, Suzaku accepted the fact that he didn't remember the woman Aurora spoke of with such trust and friendship. The woman who was equally responsible for saving his life. It didn't mean he felt any more comfortable about this whole situation. His first thought at seeing her next to Aurora was that this Kendra Andrews was petite. But the reality was she was of average height, especially more obvious when she wasn't standing next to the Amazonian tall Aurora. Her thick black hair reminded Suzaku of an Eastern European princess's; thick and waving and shameless. As she peered at him through small round glasses, he was able to make out through the flashing of light over the lenses that her eyes were the tawny gold of a lion's coat.

Her expression was kind, and business-like. Dr. Andrews pulled out a slim silver laptop from her satchel, setting it on the often ignored desk that was tucked into the corner of the room. She worked on it for about five minutes before turning away, dragging over the chair by the desk to sit in front of Suzaku, the soft light pouring into the window haloing her face with a sort of holy light.

"So, Suzaku. How are you doing?"

He cleared his throat quietly against the knot of anxiety that had started to clog it. She spoke in a gentle, kind tone, but something about her assessing eyes reminded him of things long since left in the past.

"Fine."

Like Aurora, she lifted her brows but kept her silence at his ambiguous, false statement. When he didn't continue, Kendra shifted forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she laced her fingers together.

"If you had to rate your constant state of pain on a scale of one to ten, where would you be, about? Six? Seven?" She could tell by the puzzled look in his eyes that he'd never attempted to quantify his pain in such a way before.

"I… I suppose so."

"OK. How are you sleeping?"

The jerk of his good shoulder and his averted eyes told her that his quality of sleep was poor at best. She'd wait to ask if it was mental or physical disruptions. Or both.

"Any trouble keeping food down?"

The shake of his head was the first unambiguous answer he'd given her, but the distant expression in Suzaku's eyes told Kendra that he had little concern for his food intake. Aurora had probably been pretty soft with coaxing him to eat. That had been fine with his condition for the last week, but healing needed calories, and if he wasn't barfing it up, then he needed to start packing it in. He was too thin, anyway. She estimated him to be a good fifteen pounds underweight considering his build and height.

Mentally tallying all this to later talk to Aurora about, Kendra asked Suzaku a few more basic questions before helping him shift to face her, his feet on the floor and the light illuminating his face. Taking note of his expression and sensitivity, Kendra undid the sling and drew his left forearm out, turning his palm up as she held his hand. She carefully noted his reflex to her running a finger lightly along his palm.

"Push against my fingers," she commanded lightly, pressing down on his fingertips with soft weight, pleased when she felt him return the pressure. Not much strength behind it, but he still had control over his far extremities. Gently checking the flexibility of his wrist – good flexion for someone who hadn't used the joint in a week – she very carefully helped him straighten his arm. The wince in his eyes was minor, and something Kendra expected. But he could fully straighten his left arm and return it to a neutral bend, with help. So far, he was looking good, and very lucky. When she faintly heard music through the floor, she breathed a sigh of relief, and returned her attention to Suzaku.

Kendra had performed her tests on Suzaku was a quiet expression and intent eyes. He didn't have to know her to see the weighing and considering going on in her head. Personal knowledge wasn't required to see that she had a busy mind, just like her friend. She stood to unbutton his shirt – Suzaku had been dressed and undressed, bound and unbound, more times today than in the past few days combined. Her probes of his stitches was more surgical than Aurora's gentle touches; harder, but more precise. Suzaku instinctively ground his jaw over a yelp when she touched a tender spot along his upper arm, but he could tell by the calculation in the doctor's eyes that she'd seen his reaction.

Nodding slightly to herself, she withdrew a stethoscope from her satchel, lightly directing him breathe deep four times, moving the tool each time. The exercise had always seemed so easy before; now, Suzaku's ribs screamed at the stretch, and he fought not to choke on the pain. Putting the stethoscope away, she made a careful study of the bruising along his ribcage and spine. Kendra's manner seemed oddly cool and precise compared to the warmth she'd displayed when she had first greeted him. He wondered why, but was privately relieved. Small talk was not a strength of his.

She helped him stand briefly, seeing more than Suzaku could possibly begin to guess. He supposed it didn't make him feel any better that he had no idea what she was looking for. Helping him sit again, she draped his shirt over his shoulders – to ward away any chill, Suzaku supposed – before turning away to dig through the heavy bag Aurora carried.

From it, she withdrew a large, flat gray mat and a square looking device that vaguely reminded Suzaku of an old camera.

It was about the size of a toaster, and bright yellow. A black handle extended around the back, and the top and bottom were riddled with buttons and knobs that might as well have been labeled in a foreign language. Kendra fiddled with the settings with a knowledgeable touch, and she held it with the care and excitement one displayed towards a very anticipated gift.

She draped the gray mat – which he realized was a lead apron – over his right shoulder and lap, instructing him to hold it in place. Aiming the device at his collarbone, she pressed a black button on the top of the box.

She was taking x-rays.

All of Suzaku's past experiences with x-rays had involved cavernous rooms, cool, flat tables, and being caught in the crosshairs of a gigantic machine. But as Kendra studiously took radiographs of his shoulder and upper arm with her little machine, Suzaku felt little beyond mild discomfort and curiosity.

Satisfied with his arm and shoulder, Kendra shifted the lead apron down to his lap, x-raying his ribcage. Once she finished with the front, she skirted the bed and crawled onto the mattress, taking images of his spinal column and ribs from the rear. He caught a vague sense of childish excitement from the doctor as she hopped off the bed and set the machine on the desk next to her laptop. Connecting them with a small cable, she clicked around a few minutes before turning back to him.

"While that's downloading, off with the trousers, Suzaku." She spoke brightly and crisply, removing the lead apron and folding it before helping him stand again. He hardly had time to feel vulnerable and embarrassed before he was wearing nothing but his underwear and Kendra was crouched down, inspecting his legs with a close, impersonal gaze. Helping him sit again but not offering any clothing, she ran through a quick inspection of his joints before turning her attention to the stitches on his calf. After gently prodding, she nodded.

Suzaku had hoped with the number of times that he'd stood up and down, been dressed and undressed, that he'd be getting better at it. But it proved just as much of a challenge as it had this morning. The only difference was the absence of the low burn that sizzled in his blood at Aurora's presence. Suzaku told himself that he should be relieved.

Finally put completely back together, Kendra left him lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, to return to the desk and laptop. Suzaku was appalled at how exhausted he was.

She dragged the chair back over to the desk, and spent a good fifteen minutes hunched in front of the laptop, clicking occasionally and flicking through images. Kendra had her chin cupped in her hand, her cat eyes slightly narrowed. Sometimes, she hummed or grunted, but since Suzaku couldn't see the screen or anything except her profile, he didn't try to decipher it. He'd almost started to doze when she stood and cleared her throat. Disconnecting the cable from the laptop, she dragged the chair back over next to the bed, the open laptop balanced on one of her hands.

"Alright, Suzaku." Sitting, she smiled at him. "Good news; you're going getting better."

When he just quirked his brows a little, she laughed.

"I'm guessing you'd like to know what is actually wrong with you. I imagine it's pretty tough to be in a lot of pain and not know why."

It was, actually. It was terrifying in a very primal part of his mind, but Suzaku hadn't addressed it. The timing hadn't been ideal, and he was afraid. The answer to that question could destroy him more effectively any message his brain interpreted as pain.

Settling in the chair more fully, Kendra took a deep breath. "Let's start from the top and work our way down." With a few clicks of the mouse pad, two images came up side by side. Suzaku's knowledge of anatomy was weak at best, and looking at x-rays was not a favorite memory. But even with his rudimentary knowledge, he could see the outline of his collarbone and the flat plane of what he assumed was his shoulder blade. Scooting the chair closer, Kendra set the laptop on the mattress, leaving her hands free to gesture and point.

"You were shot from behind, correct?"

At his nod, she continued.

"Thought so. The bullet grazed the top of your left scapula, cracking it here." She pointed to a small black fissure in the sheet of white on the image on the left with the tip of her little finger. "Then it caught the bottom of your left clavicle. It had to have been a pretty high caliber bullet, because the shock reverberated up the bone, breaking it all the way through." The break was obvious, even to a layman.

"I put in a metal plate and screws along the bottom of the bone for support. Clavicles can be hard to heal, and because of the bone destruction, I wanted to give you as much support as possible. Considering the amount of damage, I'm not inclined to remove the plates at this point. That might change given how you heal, but I'm looking to avoid putting you through any more surgery."

That hadn't been the approach to his health historically; Suzaku found that he appreciated it.

"Plating the bottom will give a guide for healing the rougher side of the break. The top of the clavicle and your scapula should heal pretty well on their own, and have already started to. This bad boy, however, is another story entirely." Closing the two x-rays, she pulled up three images, one dominating the left side of the screen while two shared the right. Suzaku couldn't tell what bone he was looking at, it was such a gnarled muddle.

"This is what's left of your humerus." Zooming into the image on the left, Kendra pointed at a gurgle of black and gray in the middle of the shaft of bone interrupted by two white rods that were too straight to be natural. "It looks like a train wreck, but you're luckier than you think. Bad news first. The bullet shattered your bone. Mid-arm, mid-shaft. Hell of a shot."

"Think he got a commendation for it?" Suzaku murmured darkly. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Kendra laughed.

"He should have. Took me twenty minutes just to fish out the bone shards. Two plates on this mess. Since I couldn't place the ends directly together, considering they'd disintegrated, I wanted to give the bones as much of a guide for healing as possible. This one will obviously take the longest to get back to regular shape. And it's going to hurt like a mother for months."

"Is that the technical medical term?" Suzaku said wryly. Like any doctor, she peppered him with terms that he had only the vaguest idea of what they were. But her speech was largely dominated with enough regular vocabulary that Suzaku was not only able to keep up with her diagnosis and explanation, but also allowed him to start to relax.

"Close enough." Her lips tipped up into a smile. "Now, the good parts." She zoomed back out, bringing up the paired radiographs. "These are front and back images of your arm. What this shows us is that the majority of your bicep and tricep muscles remain undamaged. This will help with mobility later on. Perhaps even more important is that the major artery and nerve in your arm were able to survive without severe injury. How that happened, I'm not quite sure. Your brachial artery was slightly nicked, but I was able to repair that during surgery. Their survival not only ensured yours, but are also the reason you can move your fingers."

"What this means," she said with a happy sigh as she leaned back, "is that, however long it may take, you should get back to normal eventually. If that nerve had been damaged or, God forbid, severed, that would be a whole other story. And while repairing that bone will be no cake walk, you should be able to use your arm fully in a few months."

Suzaku paled.

"Did you think you were going to be tossing balls and swinging from the monkey bars in a couple of weeks?" Kendra chided gently. "I've done what I can for your bones. What they need now is time, and plenty of rest. Just like you. However," she said, leaning forward again and returning her attention to the laptop as she closed the humerus x-rays and opened others, "that only explains why your arm hurts. This is the rest of you," she finished, spinning the laptop so the screen faced him. On it were four images of what he could only guess was his ribcage.

"Aurora told me that you fell through several floors of an old building. Do you remember that?"

Vaguely, Suzaku recalled the slapping sensation of pain through the whirling black of unconsciousness. The final smack against the water had knocked him fully unconscious. Realizing she was still looking at him, he nodded.

"That trauma combined with Aurora's CPR should have collapsed your ribcage. Again, you're a lucky son of a gun, because, while they're hammered to hell, your ribs are still basically intact." While she showed him the fracturing along his ribs and sternum, Suzaku eventually had to admit to himself that he couldn't really see any of what she was talking about. It must be part of the super doctor vision to see things in x-rays that mere mortals couldn't. But her explanation did answer some lingering questions he had, especially why it was so difficult for him to move.

"You're going to have to stay in the sling for another month. Considering how you heal up, we might be able to move you into a functional brace for your upper arm by then. This is, of course, entirely dependent on your rate of healing, which is good from what I've been able to see. I'll be removing most of your stitches next week. I think the only ones I'm still waiting on are the ones on your arm. But you could be stitch-free in a week or two. So," she said, shifting her tone as she removed the laptop and set it on the floor, lacing her fingers together as she leaned back in the chair, "why don't you tell me why you're not sleeping well."

Suzaku swallowed, helpless against the instinct to remain silent about his pain. If for no other reason than to defend himself against a weakness he had yet to overcome, and most likely never would.

"Is it the pain or dreams?" she asked simply, waiting for him to struggle his way past his silence.

"It's… it's both," he finally managed. Kendra simply tilted her head.

"Can you tell me about it?"

He looked up, gazing at the doctor through the strands of hair that fell into his eyes. There was no pity, and no condemnation in her gaze. Much like Aurora, she looked at him with understanding, and an empathy that didn't smother. But unlike her friend's open, natural demeanor, Kendra's was much more professional and completely free from judgment. Both, he realized, offered comfort and encouraged trust.

"Everything hurts." He chuckled a little darkly. "Obviously. Sometimes it's hard to settle down. I still cramp up pretty bad on occasion."

Kendra nodded.

"That's usual. Starting tomorrow, I want you and Aurora to start working on some stretches. Nothing strenuous, and she gets to decide how far to push, not you, Soldier Boy," she warned sternly, a little tip to the corner of her mouth softening the statement but not the intent. "But that'll help with flexibility, healing, and should make it a little easier to get to sleep. But you're having trouble staying asleep, too." Somehow, she managed to make the last sentence both a statement and a question.

"Yes. The dreams are… well, they're difficult." Suzaku spoke quietly, the pain stealing the strength from his voice.

"Do you dream in color?"

It seemed like an odd, random question, and had Suzaku's brow furrowing when he looked back at Kendra. Her eyes were clear, her face completely open.

"I… I guess so."

She nodded.

"What are your dreams about?"

"I don't remember them very often." Didn't want to remember them, really.

"But the ones you do remember. Staple dreams, like being late for a test or falling? Or maybe you're on a quest, a journey to gain something. Or do you dream about the past?" She'd known. Somehow, she'd known what he dreamt about, what sent him hurtling awake in the dead of night, chased to consciousness by his own memories and leaving him shaking in the inescapable aftermath. It wasn't apparent, but something in Kendra's eyes told Suzaku that she'd known before she'd asked the question what his dreams were about, and the extent of their damaging effects on him. Suzaku closed his eyes.

"The past. Always the past. That's why…"

"That's why you started using heroin." At her calm statement, Suzaku's eyes flew open and up to hers. As before, there was no judgment in her eyes. No worry or sorrow, no pity or anger. And, thank God, no disappointment. She merely looked at him, her only focus the facts. He spoke before he realized he was forming the word.

"Yes," he whispered. Kendra merely tilted her head.

"How is that going? The withdrawal."

Suzaku couldn't help it – he snorted.

"About as well as could be expected. Meaning not well at all. It's been… difficult."

"Of course. How has it been with Aurora?"

Suzaku found himself considering before he spoke. What was there to say, really, about the time he'd spent with Aurora thus far?

"All right. She's been kind." He glanced over at Kendra's silence. He found her brows raised slightly. "What is it?"

"'Kind' is an interesting choice of words. I don't think I've ever heard, or used, that adjective in regards to Aurora Sterling."

He couldn't help it – he had to ask.

"What would you use?"

"I believe the usuals are 'difficult,' 'secretive,' 'intelligent,' and 'eccentric.' Of course, not all of them are bad things, but not too many people would accuse her of being kind. Can you tell me what makes you think of her in that way?"

Suzaku remembered the past few days – the blurry memories of her holding him while he trembled and shook, the way she'd smiled through tears when he'd told her of Euphemia and Lelouch, comforting him after a nightmare even when he hadn't wanted it. Her handing him a sketch pad, and a release and comfort he'd never known. Telling her of his life, and knowing that in her, his secrets were safe.

But all Suzaku said was, "She's been very patient and understanding."

Kendra just nodded.

"That's good to hear. How are you handling your addiction?" Again, the no-nonsense question that flew in out of left field. Gottwald hadn't been this adept, or effective, during his interrogation of him over Clovis's death.

"I… I'm fine. It's under control." It was the lie Suzaku had told himself for the last six months, and it was becoming clear how wrong he'd been. And she didn't believe him. It was a tiny flicker in his eyes, but Suzaku could tell that she knew he was lying. But Kendra didn't call him on it. Instead, she just nodded again.

"How many times a day do you think about heroin? Not necessarily how much you want it, but just thinking about it in general?"

All the time. It was a low-grade hum in his brain, surging up like it did in the shower before retreating again to just above neutral.

Suzaku shrugged.

"Not very often."

"Any major swings of emotion? Excessive anger over nothing, paralyzing depression without a trigger."

The depression was always there, a sticky grip on his ankle just waiting to drag him down. And his little anger burst today wasn't the first he'd dealt with.

"Not really."

She sighed through her nose.

"OK, Suzaku. Here's the deal." Her fingers were still laced, she was still leaning back in her chair, but Kendra's presence changed. Her eyes got a little hard, and very cool. "I'm not invested in you emotionally, not like Aurora is. I saved your life, but you're not the first, nor the last life that I've held in my hands and given back. It's a pretty big deal for Rora, but not for me."

It had been a long time since Suzaku had faced such a stone-cold truth.

"My point? There is absolutely no reason to lie to me. You won't disappoint me, you won't hurt my feelings, and there's absolutely nothing for you to be ashamed of. The only thing you're doing is hurting yourself, because lying to me is preventing me from helping you. Now, given what I've just seen, it would not surprise me if you sought out your own pain or destruction. But not on my watch, pal. I made it my duty, my life, to save the lives of others. And watching you destroy yours is not something I, or Aurora, will tolerate. When you go back to Britannia, you can do whatever you damn well please. But here and now, you will get better. And we will never give up. Now, do yourself a huge favor, and be honest. How are you doing?"

Suzaku swallowed against his dry throat. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that. He should be insulted; he should be furious. But in reality, he was confused. Maybe that was why when he opened his mouth, the words that spilled out were not the ones that he'd planned.

"I'm not doing well. At all."

And he told her.

He told Kendra about the urges, the anger, the pain, and the fear. He told her why he'd started – to forget. To forget the truth and the lies, the memories and the future. When tears started to trickle down his cheeks, she said nothing, silently offering him a box of tissues. He said nothing of Euphemia, and perhaps he didn't need to. What he confided in Kendra, he'd never told anyone. When the words suddenly stopped, like a well running dry, he felt hollow.

Kendra hadn't moved, but the hard light in her eyes had softened.

"Have you told Aurora any of this?"

He shook his head.

"No. How could I?"

"I'm not demanding that you tell her, but I strongly suggest it." It took her a moment to understand his lifted brows. "I'm not going to tell her. Everything you tell me is kept in confidence. I'm sorry, I though you knew that."

That hadn't usually been his experience. Evaluations, both physical and mental, could be accessible to anyone who held a high enough rank in the Britannian military.

"I don't know," he said indecisively.

"Think on it. Otherwise, did anything strange happen during your withdrawal?"

"Well, I…"

Kendra tilted her head, but said nothing.

"After the worst of the physical part, I… I thought Aurora was Euphemia." Suzaku had to give it to Kendra – she controlled her face admirably.

"Can you clarify that?" she asked, instead of calling him a lunatic, which is what he still privately thought of that whole scenario.

"You know that I was Euphemia's Knight. When she died… I took it pretty hard." Massive understatement of the century, but Kendra just nodded. "So, when I woke up from dozing after the worst of it, I didn't see Aurora there. I saw Euphemia, standing next to the bed."

"But you know now."

"Of course I know now," he replied shortly. "I… Aurora tried to tell me, but it just wouldn't compute."

"So what did she do?"

"She walked me through my memories, pretty much my entire life. When I remembered her death, Euphemia just sort of disintegrated. And there stood Aurora."

"That must have been hard."

"It was obscene. It was like losing her all over again. I was furious. I was wrong, but I was still madder than hell, and completely heartbroken." Again. "But… I couldn't blame her. Aurora was trying to help me, and was honest in telling me that she wanted information. That she needed it."

"Did she tell you why?"

Something, a very subtle change of inflection, warned Suzaku about Kendra's shift in tone. He glanced over, and worked at it for a second. She wasn't the impartial doctor now, not completely. It was almost as if she was on the defensive. But why?

"Yes. She told me about her past. So I told her mine. It seemed like a fair exchange."

Some of the all but invisible tension bled from Kendra's shoulders.
"That's interesting that she told you. Aurora doesn't tell many people about the old days anymore."

Suzaku kept his silence – he couldn't know home much Kendra knew, and he would be damned if he betrayed such a secret. After staring at each other in silence for a moment, she laughed.

"I know, Suzaku. I know about Aurora's father, and her career, and her family, and her relocation. After all, I was a client of hers, a long time ago." Suddenly, the cause for her change of tone became clear. Kendra had been protecting Aurora.

"You were her client?"

Kendra sighed.

"I guess I was pretty rough on you a while ago, and haven't done or said much to earn your trust. Since Aurora trusted you with her secrets, I guess I can trust you with a few of mine. After all, who would you tell?"

Who indeed?

"Aurora's not the only royal bastard. No, we're not related," she said quickly, waving the question away even as it was blooming on his face. "My mother was the second royal consort – I'm Schneizel's half sister. Our mother had an affair with a Romanian ambassador. When I was born, I was promptly shipped off to an orphanage in Russia. After a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, I managed to claw my way into an academy, and had graduated by the time I was fourteen. I had completed my doctorate just before my twentieth birthday. I was something of a pet of the university's, and when I was invited on a speaking tour of the homeland, I accepted without a second thought. I was a brilliant prodigy in the medical field; no one would mistake me for the second prince's disgraceful half sister. Unfortunately, I was very wrong." Her fingers, still laced, slowly tightened, squeezing the blood from her knuckles.

"Charles knew the truth before I even entered the country. He viewed his own misbegotten progeny with a little more leniency. Not much, but enough. Those of his wives, however, would face a much harsher fate. Really, it was shocking my mother survived his wrath. But she was hardly free from punishment. Haven't you ever wondered?"

Suzaku was confused by her question.

"Schneizel was the perfect heir. Still is, really. Charles could not have asked for a more ideal successor. And yet, he was forever locked in the so-close-and-yet-so-far position of second prince. Did you ever wonder why? It was because of me." She said it with a sigh, and surprising regret. "Schneizel and his mother were punished for her indiscretion with his position. I, of course, was completely unaware of that until later." Sighing, Kendra briefly rubbed her forehead before rethreading her fingers.

"Twelve of my fellow students and doctors were killed almost before I could blink. The only reason I survived was because Aurora had gotten wind of the plan with her impressive network. Obviously, the subject is a sensitive one for her, and she came to help. She barely got me out of there alive. It quickly became obvious that I couldn't stay, and I couldn't go home. So, instead, she arranged for transport out of the homeland and a job at a clinic in London. She was fifteen, and she saved my life, and made me a new one. She always did have quite a hand with fake ID's."

Suzaku just shook his head.

"And yet you help me."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what to think of you. I don't know the first thing about you, really, and I'd be a moron if I tried to convince myself otherwise just from what I've seen of you on TV. And, obviously, I'm no moron. I don't want to know about your past, Suzaku. Not now. Not until you can talk about it without it obviously crippling you. It was hard enough for you to tell Aurora. And no, she won't tell me without your permission. If there's anything that woman knows, it's secrets. As for your replacement of Aurora with Euphemia, I wouldn't let that freak you out."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled gently at his worried question.

"Yes. It's not terribly common, but not impossible, either. To my best guess, your brain was under severe stress during the withdrawal, obviously. It couldn't erase the memories of Euphemia, as they were too intrinsic in your through process. But, it could wipe out the major source of pain – the memories of her death. The withdrawal, like any major trauma, can ask as a reset button for your brain. Conveniently, Aurora was there – a young female who bears a faint resemblance, caring for you and worried about your welfare. Not much of a stretch, really." When she said it like that, Suzaku doubted his sanity a little less.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but this whole recovery period isn't going to be easy, Suzaku. I'll be here regularly, but the person who you're going to have to trust is Aurora. I'm glad you've already confided in her – that is a big, difficult first step whose importance can't be overstated. She understands you a lot better than you might think." As Kendra stood to start packing up her equipment, Suzaku rubbed his temple.

"I'm not sure I can do that. I'm not sure why I told either of you anything in the first place."

She paused while placing the lead apron back in the bag.

"Secrets are poison. You can get used to the dosage over time, but you'll OD eventually. Just ask Aurora. She's still a recovering addict from that drug. You had to tell someone at some point, Suzaku. You're just lucky it was us."

"And why is that?" he asked tiredly. Kendra just rolled her eyes as she shouldered her bags.

"Because we're awesome. Duh." With that, she strode out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Chapter Text

As Kendra trotted down the stairs, pointlessly readjusting the strap of the heavier bag on her shoulder, she cocked her head slightly once she'd reached the first floor, her eyes narrowing satisfactorily when she caught the murmur of music down the hall. Leaving her bags at the foot of the stairs, she followed the heavy thrum of primal bass to the studio, the frantic finesse of mechanical strains becoming clearer as she got closer.

Aurora had a penchant for electronic rock during her work-outs.

Kendra pushed open the ajar door in time to see Aurora leap into a fully executed butterfly kick, landing lightly and bending into two back handsprings. She turned, her fists in tight to her chest, and leapt into a jump kick that had enough power to break her imaginary foe's jaw. Pivoting, she delivered an uppercut, backfist, and elbow strike in rapid succession. Aurora then ended the set on a viciously fast roundhouse that carried her momentum down into a left split. As the forceful, self-assured lyrics, declaring it was time to walk away without apologies and how the voices in the mirror speak, wound to a close, Kendra cleared her throat.

Her breath rolling in and out in controlled waves, Aurora looked over instantly at the sound. For a moment, the silver in her eyes was sharp enough to cut through concrete, the eyes of a hunter primed to spring into action. Hence Kendra's distance when she'd broken her friend's concentration. She knew better than most Aurora's potential lethality.

"Looking good," the doctor said with an approving smile, slowly walking into the room that smelled like grass, metal, and sweat. The open window accounted for the first scent and fresh breeze that whispered through the room, bringing the cool in with it.

"Thanks," Aurora returned, only slightly out of breath. Sliding her leg forward around her, she stood lithely in a graceful, controlled stretch of movement. Aurora always had a way of making the hardest thing look easy, Kendra thought to herself. It was most likely because of the intensive training she had endured in her youth. Her footsteps echoing on the sprung maple floor, Kendra glanced over at the mirrored wall, seeing Aurora step over to stop the music already revving into its next song and grab a towel. Swiping it over her face, she chugged generously at a water bottle before turning back. Looking at each other in the reflection for a moment, Kendra spun slowly on her heel.

"No dancing?"

Aurora just shrugged before stepping over to plop down on a carved bench next to a small duffel and a stack of clean white towels. Kendra joined her, the two women sitting shoulder to shoulder. Ban snoozed on a round bed placed at the end of the bench just for him. He found work-out time boring.

"A little to warm up. I'm kind of out of shape, so I thought some of my bastardized katas would be the best call. Besides, I get a little itchy when I don't imagine punching someone after a couple of weeks."

"Or actually punching someone," Kendra murmured drily, remembering how she'd once foolishly agreed to spar with Aurora the last time they'd come to Ireland. Kendra had boasted that Aurora wouldn't have to hold back. She hadn't broken her nose, but it'd been a close call, and even as a doctor, Kendra hadn't been sure that the nosebleed would ever stop. Aurora just grinned a little sheepishly; she still felt bad about it, but Kendra had asked her to go for it, after all.

Her smile fading, Aurora toyed with the corner of the sweat-laced towel.

"Um, Kendra?"

The doctor glanced over, her brows raised in question.

"Did I do something wrong?"

It took Kendra a moment; when it dawned on her, she smiled and rubbed Aurora's shoulder affectionately.

"No, sweetheart. But you could have cut the tension in there and spread it on bread like butter. Did you and Suzaku have a fight?" Her suspicions were sharpened when Aurora didn't make eye contact, or respond right away. But when she looked back up, Aurora's eyes were in control and her smile disarming.

"Of course not. Just a little awkward this morning. He's not exactly the easiest person to talk to."

Kendra sighed as she leaned back against the wall and stacked her ankles.

"No, not really."

"Speaking of which, how is he doing?"

Kendra ran Aurora through Suzaku's physical condition, adding more technical terms than she had with Suzaku and directions for his care. Especially in regards to the stretching, his diet, and the hourly deep breaths he would have to take to avoid pneumonia. Aurora took it all with a nod and a serious expression.

"Aurora… I'd like your opinion on Suzaku's mental condition."

She glanced over, frowning slightly.

"You're the professional, Kendra, not me. I only have impressions."

The doctor nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. I don't want you to betray any confidences, but can you give me an idea of him? Think of it this way – if you had to explain Suzaku to someone who'd never met him and couldn't know the specifics, what would you say?"

Aurora sighed, rubbing the center of her forehead with two fingers. It was a tell, one of a few that betrayed exhaustion, confusion, and stress. Silently, Kendra rubbed a soothing hand over Aurora's shoulders, but didn't recant her question.

"He's… incredibly angry. Angry and heartbroken and helpless. He's trapped in this vicious cycle of hating his situation but is incapable of escaping it. Suzaku has lost so much, but never really had a chance to grieve for any of it properly. And when you never grieve, I guess you never allow yourself the chance to look back on memories with any sort of positive emotion. Which ends up adding guilt to the whole mess. You never really accept the loss, and the pain eats away at you like a cancer. And I don't think he understands any of that. Or wants to."

Nodding, Kendra tugged on Aurora's gold ponytail warmly.

"Pretty much hit the nail on the head there, Rora. I agree with you, on just about everything."

Narrowing her eyes, slightly, Aurora caught the wisps of Kendra's drift.

"What's your point, Kendra? That he's beyond help? That I'm wasting my time?"

"Physically, no, of course not. But mentally? I don't know, kiddo. You might have bitten off more than you can chew. I don't think I'm qualified to deal with his battery of mental problems, and I have a doctorate. And all those things you mentioned were just a kickboard for the addiction, which is a whole other breed of cat." Kendra sighed. "I know this is the best, if only, option for his recovery, but I'm worried about you. Suzaku will heal up; he'll go back to Britannia. But what will you be left with? You can't change him, Aurora. And you may have saved his life, but you can't save his mind. You don't like failure; if I recall correctly, you always used to say that it doesn't suit you. So how will you handle failure in something of this magnitude? That's what I'm worried about."

Aurora gazed at her friend a moment before pushing to her feet, pacing along the paneled floor with long, agitated strides.

"I know you're right. No, I do," she said before Kendra could open her mouth to protest. "I know that until he wants to get better, he won't. But I have to try, Kendra. I have to give him a chance; he's never had one before, so none of us can know if he'll take it. I have faith that if I show Suzaku that someone cares, someone wants the best for him, someone wants him here on this planet, then he might be a bit more amenable about his own existence. You and I both know humans aren't designed to be alone. And he's been so incredibly alone, Kendra. Being here, in this place, could show him that he doesn't have to be alone, not anymore."

"You can't go with him, Aurora," Kendra gently reminded. She just rolled her eyes.

"I know that. And he can't stay here. But if memories can destroy Suzaku, maybe memories can also give him the strength to carry on. I won't give up on him; not now, not ever."Aurora stood in the center of the room, her hands curled into loose fists, her feet planted as if ready for attack. Her shoulders were squared, and her eyes blazed like the silver was molten. She was just a slim, tall woman in a blue tank, black pants, and black, high-arched shoes. There was still a faint sheen of sweat on her skin, and her ponytail was a bit ragged, hair falling free to frame her eyes and cheekbones as the base of the tail started to loll to the left. She should just be ordinary.

But she was glorious.

If only Suzaku could see her now, Kendra thought. This was a woman to believe in. And if she believed in him, how could he ever doubt himself?

"Since when did you get so righteous?" Kendra asked with a crooked smile. Aurora's shoulders loosened a little, the corner of her lips tipping up.

"You and I both know I wasn't always this way. And I'm no stranger to grief. But when you lose everything, and manage to scrape yourself back together, you believe more than most that almost anything is possible, if you had just a little bit of help."

Sighing through her nose, Kendra stood, nudging Ban's rump with her toe before kneeling down. Massaging his ears, she pulled his face close.

"You keep an eye on them, you hear me?"

Ban blinked, then licked Kendra's nose. She stroked his head before straightening.

"At least somebody around here is thinking with a clear head," she murmured with a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a frustrated sigh. Looking over her shoulder at Aurora, Kendra jerked her head in invitation, and they left the room together, Ban lowering his head again. His whip-like tail may have been over his nose, but his ears remained pricked, tracking the women's movements.

They retrieved Kendra's bags, loading them into her non-descript silver rental sedan. The western sky was gathering clouds, and if Aurora had to guess, she'd estimate they'd get rain before dinner. Once they finished settling Kendra's equipment, Aurora wrapped her in a hug. She held on for a moment, closing her eyes briefly.

Kendra wanted to protect her, she knew that. And Aurora knew that her friend was worried for both her and Suzaku. Instinct, ground deep in a young girl that had learned the hard way how to take care of herself, wanted to snarl that she didn't need protection. But Aurora wasn't that girl anymore. That little girl had served her purpose – she'd survived.

Survived long enough to allow Aurora to grow into the sort of woman who could appreciate her friend's genuine concern for exactly what it was. As she pulled back, Aurora pressed a kiss to Kendra's cheek, careful that when she straightened, a charming, tilted grin was on her face.

"Don't worry, Mom. We'll be fine. I'll be careful. See you in a week."

Kendra tipped her head back to look into her taller friend's eyes, one brow lifting. She could tell when she was being dismissed. Shaking her head before kissing Aurora's cheek in return, Kendra turned and seated herself in the car. She'd slammed the door shut and buckled her seatbelt when Aurora could faintly hear her speak.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Leaning over as far as she could in the constraint of the belt, she rustled around for a moment before straightening and rolling down the window, holding what appeared to be the thigh bone of a mastodon in her hand.

"Since Chandler wasn't able to come this time, he sent along a present for Ban."

Aurora took it with an incredulous expression.

"You do realize it will take him six years to get through this monstrosity, right?"

Kendra just shrugged with a smile, turned on the car, and backed out of the narrow dirt drive. Aurora stood and watched until she disappeared, waving when Kendra reached the end of the drive and shifted gears, slowly twirling the giant bone between her fingers. Shaking her head as she mounted the steps of the porch, she loosed a quick, crystalline whistle through her teeth. Ban came thundering out of the house like an ungainly gazelle. When he caught sight of the bone, the gleam in his eyes could have lit a stage.

Silently, Aurora held out her hand, the palm facing him. Skidding so hard on the hardwood floor that his butt dipped, Ban plopped down in a maneuver that would have appeared designed to a bystander. Aurora knew, however, that when it came to food, Ban was an uncoordinated klutz. The sheer excitement made his brain leak out of his ears.

On command, he shook with each paw, laid down, stood up primly on his hind legs before settling down to sit again. On the directive to "Say please," Ban sang out a series of low, warbling howls that sounded distinctly like speech, his liquid eyes warm and pinned on the bone like a hawk sizing up a baby rabbit.

The ritual had been commonplace for the both of them; but Aurora had to admit that no matter the circumstances, Ban talking was probably one of the funniest things she'd ever heard. As he delicately nipped the hulking treat out of her fingertips, the gray dog immediately spun and trotted into the living room. Walking inside, Aurora saw him circling to lie down on the old hooked rug in soft rose and steely blue.

"No. Bed," she said sharply before he had time to settle down and start slobbering. With a sigh, Ban straightened and trotted over to the dog bed tucked next to one of the couches. He had one in almost every single room in the house.

Satisfied that her dog wouldn't ruin an antique rug with his saliva, Aurora strode back to the kitchen. After perusing the refrigerator for a moment, she wolfed down Suzaku's untouched sandwich from a few days ago before opening a can of chicken noodle soup and setting about heating it. She didn't know what had gone on up there today, but she imagined Suzaku was probably feeling a little twitchy and nervy. And soup seemed the best comfort food she could offer, not knowing his tastes.

Busily crunching an apple as she set tea to boil, Aurora ran through a quick version of her cool-down stretches, since her routine had been interrupted. Most of them she could do easily without interrupting her snack, but there were a few that required her to clamp the apple in her teeth when she had to use both hands. She supposed that if anyone had walked into the kitchen and caught sight of her, bowing into a bridge stretch with an apple pierced by her canines held in her mouth, they would have thought she was either psychotic or escaped from the circus. Neither of which were necessarily untrue. Lazily pushing off with her feet, she paused her walkover, holding the handstand, a silent pillar of muscle and bone. She then brought her feet down, straightening as she reached up and freed the apple with a crisp crunch.

Just then, the tea kettle loosed a dry squeal. Ban paused in his fanatical chewing and howled in response. Smiling around the apple bones that hung trapped between her front teeth, she poured her tea, and spooned Suzaku's soup into a bowl. Balancing it and the mug in one hand, she finished off the apple before ascending the stairs. When Aurora pushed her way into Suzaku's room, she found him lightly dozing. He jerked awake at the sound of her footsteps, and Aurora instantly felt guilty, despite the instinctive near silence of her movements.

Suzaku was embarrassed that he'd fallen asleep at all. It was galling to admit that his interaction with Kendra had been so exhausting. Once, he'd fought battles for hours on end without pause or falter, a juggernaut that only stopped when the Lancelot gave out; his physical strength had never been the first to fail. Now, a few hours of talking and listening were enough to drive him into a fatigued sleep. He would have been angry if he hadn't been busy blushing over Aurora's appearance.

She looked ready and young and lethal, her muscles still a little flushed from exertion and her acres of fair, exposed skin lightly dewed with sweat. Moving with a looseness of joint that spoke of eager exertion, Suzaku couldn't help but envy her a little. He'd used to revel in the health of his body like Aurora was; now, it was just a cage.

She was legs and hair and eyes, and Suzaku had to swallow frantically against the saliva that suddenly pooled in his mouth as she placed the bowl of soup in his numb hand. She said something to him; he had no idea what. His brain had gone helplessly silent as he really saw her, perhaps for the first time.

Her skin was lighter than his by several shades, a delicate cream that bore old, faint scars. Battle scars, he had no doubt. He had suspected her strength, but the sleek muscles along her arms and shoulders told Suzaku he hadn't been nearly generous enough in his estimation. The honey glimmer of her hair was darkened along the temples by sweat, the sleek tail streaming over her shoulder delicate in comparison to her physical strength.

Aurora glanced at him, and Suzaku felt a detached curiosity trickle through the shock as all sound faded and the light sharpened. It was her eyes, he realized. The color of a silver bullet, just waiting for the squeeze of a trigger to change the timeline. The color of approaching storms, brimming with a violence held in check by the atmosphere. It was locked in by her flesh, caged in by the bars of her bones. This kinetic energy that could burn down the universe and take everyone, including herself, with it. She was elemental; a monolith made mortal.

Then she blinked, and the sensation faded. She was just a beautiful woman, looking at him for a response before giving up with a shrug and walking away. As she shut the door behind her and he could hear the illusive patter of her footsteps down the hall, Suzaku felt like he'd just survived a hurricane. How could someone feel that much? How could someone be that much?

She wasn't even in the room anymore, and yet Suzaku's fingers itched to touch her skin, to feel every scar, to know every battle without having to be told. To heal or break her anew, he couldn't be sure. Confused and scared at his own needs, he curled his fingers into a fist, and clenched it tight. It was only when faint thunder rolled in the distance that Suzaku realized he'd felt that same whirling realization as he'd looked into Aurora's eyes before.

The color had been different, but the distinct sensation of being in the presence of a titan was much the same.

Aurora was more like Lelouch than she thought.

She showered, changed, and trotted back downstairs. She checked in on Ban, and smiled – he'd already obliterated one end of the bone, and was gnawing his way down the shaft. Heading back to the kitchen, she prepared a plate of cheddar cheese slices and a couple hard boiled eggs. One of each were for her, but the rest were for Suzaku. Now that his diet was freed up, it was time to get sneaky.

As distant thunder rumbling along the northern horizon caught her attention, Aurora freshened her tea and then began her rounds through the house closing windows against the impending rain. With that chore finished, she scooped up her plate and made her way back upstairs. Armed with her current book and her reading glasses shoved up on top of her head, Aurora knocked at Suzaku's door and poked her head in.

"Hey. Mind if I join you?"

Suzaku looked up from his sketch pad. He was about halfway through a picture of Milly Ashford on the day of her graduation from the academy. Aurora recognized the silly heart hat in her hands from the pictures. He gazed at her for a moment, and Aurora was reminded of the strange look he'd given her when she'd dropped off his soup. Part calculation, part fear, part wonder.

Finally, he murmured, "Come in," and Aurora made her way to her usual seat. With what she thought was admirable stealth, she scooted the half-empty bowl of cooled soup over and set down the plate of eggs and cheese within easy reach of both of them. With a contended sigh as her used muscles stretched, coiled, then relaxed, she picked up a slice of egg and chewed it slowly as she pulled her glasses down onto her nose. She could see that Suzaku had turned his attention back to the drawing, his fingertips already darkened with graphite from shading.

"Normally, I prefer to watch a storm alone. But you've got the best view of the house." As if to punctuate her words, lightning cracked through the dim storm light, the growl of thunder quickly chased by a soul-piercing whine from downstairs. Suzaku had followed her gaze to the window filled with clouds and misted by early rain, but quickly whipped his head towards the distressed sound, his brows furrowed in concern and question. Aurora sipped her tea, waiting, her eyes calming tracking over the lines of text. As dependable as the sun, Bannock came thundering up the stairs.

"In here, you big baby," she called without looking away from her book. The big dog, ninety pounds if he was an ounce, slid to a halt from his mad dash to Aurora's room, squeezing through the ajar door with his ears flat against his neck and his eyes wide with distress. His present from Chandler long forgotten, Aurora stroked his head and neck comfortingly as he gave another quivering whine, the next thunderclap resonating in their bones. She murmured the comforts that seem to come naturally to a mother before pointing his head towards the bed and patting his rump.

She could tell by the expression on Suzaku's face that he'd expected Ban to jump on the bed, and he didn't seem very opposed to the idea. Aurora had a moment to think over that development with a small smile. But confusion chased over his chiseled features when Ban hunkered down and crawled under the bed, until the only visible part of him was the white-tipped end of his tail. Sighing, Aurora pushed herself up from the chair and crossed the hall to her room. When she returned, she was carrying a somewhat ratty navy blanket that was usually bunched on the floor at the foot of her bed. It was something of Bannock's baby blanket, and while he didn't often sleep on it anymore, it helped with travel or storms.

Crouching down beside the bed, she lifted up the bed skirt, and murmuring soothing comforts as the rain started to fall in earnest and the thunder picked up rhythm, she slid the blanket under Ban's head and shoulders before retreating back to her chair. Sighing as she munched on a piece of cheese, she sent the chair rocking.

"That dog has faced down violent degenerates, hostile drug dealers, and dirty soldiers without so much as a flinch. He's tasted blood, and is a goddamn hellhound in the protection of me and mine. But he's always been a complete coward when it comes to thunderstorms." Shaking her head, Aurora set her book back in her lap and resumed reading.

Suzaku thought he knew why Ban was afraid of storms. The things Aurora had mentioned, the things that could be fought against, could be defeated. But a thunderstorm was Mother Nature's show, and no matter how strong and brave and smart you were, there was no defending against that fear. There was just no reason to it. That was probably the magnificence of it.

Then again, he could be totally wrong. After all, Ban was just a dog.

As Suzaku worked on the shading of Milly's hands, a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. As the rain pelted the cottage with a wild drum beat, he glanced over to see the foot resting on Aurora's knee jiggling like a spastic puppet. She must have seen the tilt of his head, as her eyes invariably met his.

"Sorry," she said, her smile apologetic, her foot falling still. She took another sip of tea, and returned to her book. Not two minutes had passed, though, before her foot started bouncing again.

"Didn't you work out today?" Suzaku asked. She glanced up at him, then down at her foot. It fell still again as she took another sip of tea.

"My bad. Storms get me kinda worked up. They're just… elemental."

Funny, he'd thought the same of her not an hour ago.

"Besides, I have to go at it for about six hours before the first edges really get ground down. That's not terribly feasible."

Curious about this side of her that she'd mentioned but he'd never really seen, Suzaku set his pencil down.

"So how do you handle it?"

She toasted him with her faintly steaming mug.

"It's a blend of chamomile and lavender tea. It takes a bit to get used to, but it keeps me from doing cartwheels on the ceiling or scratching someone's eyes out. I think of it as a very mild form of medication."

Suzaku tried to grasp the concept of being wound so incredibly tight.

"Was your mother like that?"

Aurora had returned her attention to her book. Instead of looking up and responding, she just shrugged her shoulders and hummed three distinct syllables. It was obviously, "I don't know," without the enunciation. It struck Suzaku as an incredibly juvenile response. He tilted his head, his brows furrowed and a small smile curving his lips.

"How old are you?"

That got her attention. Placing her elbow in the spine of the book to hold it open, Aurora wrapped her other hand around her mug.

"I'm nineteen."

It seemed impossible. But, then again, her age was difficult to estimate. Sometimes she had the mannerisms of a fourteen year old, sometimes she had the expressions of a forty year old. He'd never met someone so mercurial.

"You're as old as I am?" Suzaku asked, shocked. She waved his question away.

"No, no. I turned twenty last month, which makes me…" She paused as her fingers rippled in the air, counting out the months, "eight months younger than you."

That gave Suzaku pause.

"You know when my birthday is?" He couldn't help the defensive, slightly suspicious tone. It was an odd topic – he hadn't celebrated his birthday in years. So how, and why, would she know? Suzaku shouldn't have been surprised that Aurora sensed his resistance and misgiving. Turning the book over on her thigh and halting her rocking, she gave him her full, undivided attention. When coming from the bright silvered blue of her eyes, it was a little spooky.

"I know your birthday is July 10th. I know you were born in the Wakkanai Municipal Hospital in Hokkaido, not far from your family's summer estate. I know that you're the eldest of three brothers. You are the only one to inherit your mother's eyes, eyes she displays because of the tiny drops of Britannian blood that she carries. It was this blood that allowed your acceptance into the Honorary Britannian system at the tender age of thirteen. When you were fourteen, you broke your wrist in what was called a "training accident," when, in reality, it was the result of three Britannian officers ganging up on you when your parentage became known." She set her chair to rocking again.

"I know that you were considered for warrant officer three times before Cornelia promoted you. The first time you were passed over, they gave you the consolation prize of granting your request to join the Honorary Britannian Special Response Unit when you were fifteen years old. During your time with the HBSR, you were considered for officership twice more, your four commendations for bravery weighing in your favor. But you carried a citation on your record for inappropriate conduct. Only snotty Britannians would punish someone for defending an ally against the scorn of others. But racism was how the old Britannia worked." She shrugged, and took a sip of her tea. Suzaku tried to breathe, his fingertips tingling and numb.

"How… how could you know that? All the copies of my military file were-"

"Destroyed. Except for two. One of which is in the Royal Registry, which I do not, nor will I ever, have access to. The other was in the possession of your former commanding officer." As she gazed at him over the rims of her glasses, her eyes calm and her expression pleasant, it dawned on him.

"Lloyd was one of your clients."

Her smile widened.

"Asplund was one of my last big cases, and a royal pain in the rear. I went above and beyond the call of duty for that moron, so, yes, he owes me to this very day. He did knock out quite a chunk of his debt by getting me the complete version of your military file, though."

"Why?" Suzaku managed, slowly regaining control over his breathing. He trusted her, or he wouldn't have told her his whole history following the time after his stint in the HBSR. But it was terrifying, and impressive, that she could find out so much just by making a phone call. Suzaku didn't care to be so vulnerable, even with someone he was starting to trust.

Aurora pressed her mouth to the knuckles of her fist before responding.

"Because I needed to know what we were up against."

Suzaku had no idea what to say to that. Lightning dominated the faint light, and for a moment, her face was cast in the stark wash of dancing electricity. Then the thunder was growling along their skin, and she was smiling gently as Ban groaned from under the bed.

"You're alright," she crooned, her eyes never leaving Suzaku. Something was pressing against his chest, something that begged to be set free into the air, to be voiced into fruition. Just as Suzaku opened his mouth to ease the pressure in his heart and head, the lights went out.

"Damn," Aurora muttered, pushing up from her chair. Taking the moment to scramble back from an edge he'd nearly leapt over, Suzaku took advantage of the dark and regained control of his facial features, rolling his lips together as he swallowed the words he'd almost spilled. He still had no idea what exactly they were – all he was certain of was that he wasn't ready to say it. He may never be.

The room was painted in shadows with a heavy brush, the air dense and the light swallowed whole. Aurora moved with assurance, despite the lack of light, and when her eyes caught his as she deftly opened one of the drawers in the armoire and withdrew a pack of matches, Suzaku realized with a sort of wonder that she could see in the dark as well as he could.

That was impossible. No one had night vision like his.

Yet despite the thick gloom, briefly shattered by lightning that stole the dark more than gave the light, Aurora moved with assurance, lighting the candles scattered around the room. Suzaku had never noticed them before, and assumed they were arranged for just this purpose. When she'd finished, the room rippled with the gentle echoes of the firelight, the breath of flame flowing along her skin and dancing on her glasses.

"Sometimes the power will go out during a storm. This one's more fireworks than a drencher, but the flowers could use it regardless."

Suzaku nodded, still a little skittish. From what he'd almost said, or maybe just the way the woman looked in the candlelight. As guilt reached up and grabbed him by the throat with hot, sweaty fingers, he flung his eyes back down to the sketchbook with a frantic desperation

Why?

Why did Aurora make it so easy to forget Euphemia, and the obligations he had to her memory and spirit and pain? To forget what had been lost, and what had sealed the sentence of the life he now lived? He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to slide the armor back on, the distance that he wasn't sure he could now live without. But when it didn't click firmly in place, he felt the panicky fear of exposure slither in through the cracks.

Aurora sat, feeling helpless.

She had no idea what was going on in Suzaku's head, but whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. She'd seen the flashes of struggle and fear, of panic and distance. And she couldn't begin to guess their origin or meaning. What in the world was going on in that pretty head of his?

As the intimacy of the atmosphere began to sink in, Aurora lost her courage to dig for answers. She knew it was cowardly, but she couldn't be sure she'd be what he needed. She'd made a solemn vow during the ferry trip over, swearing to never ask him for something he couldn't give. And what Aurora wanted from him, as a woman, simply wasn't possible.

In an act of desperation, she shoved a whole hard-boiled egg in her mouth, in case any damning or embarrassing words slipped past her impressive filter. Suzaku looked over at her oddly, and as Aurora pictured how she must look with her cheeks puffed out by egg, she made the resigned realization that she'd probably never looked so stupid in her life. But, taking advantage of her painfully comical appearance, she merely flashed a thumbs up, nodding and humming as if it were the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted in her life, and nudged the plate closer to Suzaku, gesturing towards it in invitation.

He looked at her askance for a while before finally taking a piece of cheese and nibbling at it as Aurora doggedly chewed. Neither said anything. Their pasts had proven them fearless, but now, they remained mute with fear.

The lightning waned, and the rain settled to light, comfortable rhythm. Ban emerged from his hiding place, disappearing for a few minutes before returning with his half-gnawed thigh bone and earnestly settling down to work. Suzaku smiled in approval, and finally returned his attention to his nearly completed sketch. Aurora watched him work for a few moments before flipping over her all-but-forgotten book.

Time passed quietly as the tension slowly ebbed. Suzaku absently ate the rest of the plate, absorbed in the finishing touches of Milly's silly hat. Aurora finished her book, quietly sipping the last of her tea as enough of the clouds parted to reveal a glittering sunset burning along the clouds, the illusion of fire and smoke softly stunning. Each drop of water reflected the distant light, until it seemed that the whole countryside shimmered and flamed.

Aurora nudged Suzaku's leg with her toe, jerking her chin towards the window. Whatever he was going to say died on his tongue as the sweeps of crimson, bronze, and gold sizzled in the sky. They watched the sun fold itself onto the horizon in silence. It was almost holy, the fury of the sky manifested in color.

As the witch-fire red smoldered to violet, a color that never failed to remind Aurora of Lelouch's eyes, Suzaku looked back at her.

"What was it you did? For Lloyd, when he was your client?"

Aurora glanced over at him, the lenses of her glasses flashing in the candlelight as she tilted her head, the corner of her mouth kicking up.-

"You don't want to know."

Suzaku wondered if he felt bad for Lloyd. Not really. The emotion that did trickle through, however, was humor.

"That bad, huh?"

She laughed as she set aside her empty mug, standing to make them dinner and refill her tea.

"Worse."

Chapter Text

"Dr. Andrews thought I was recovering, didn't she?"

Suzaku's question was quiet, and precise. He firmly swallowed back the desperation, the temper that wanted to bubble free and lash out, burning and stinging indiscriminately. But if he wanted to get out of this bloody bed, he'd have to play it cool. Aurora glanced up from her book. It was a new one, the cover forest green and engraved with gilt letters that read Phantom Watch. She'd been reading since a little after breakfast, and she was already about a quarter of the way through it.

"What?"

Suzaku breathed through his nose, leashing in his temper like a snapping and snarling dog lunging at the end of a thinning line.

"Dr. Andrews. Kendra. She said I was getting better, right?"

Aurora shifted, narrowing her eyes a little.

"She did." When she didn't continue, Suzaku slowly spoke.

"Because I was wondering if perhaps I could see the rest of the house."

She didn't say anything for a moment, and Suzaku couldn't begin to read her face, to guess what she was feeling, calculating.

"You hate it when people help you, don't you?"

Suzaku blinked as his temper seethed, furious that she'd so completely dodged his question. He struggled for patience.

"I hardly see what that has to-"

"You hate it. Right?" she reiterated. Her face and voice were completely neutral, her eyes piercing and unsettling. Suzaku could feel the strands of his control fraying, feel them slipping through his fingers as he tried to choke back the rage that came from nowhere. His molars clamped together, the muscles in his jaw flexing savagely.
"I don't care for it, no," he finally conceded, desperate to steer the conversation back into his intended direction. He had to get out of this room, no matter what it took.

"Is it the physical aspect of it, or the implication that you're weak that pisses you off more?"

His good hand clenched in the sheet.

"Your point?" Suzaku had meant for the words to come out smoothly, had meant for the question to be light. Instead, it was snapped out, the words shooting like bullets into the quiet. Aurora leaned forward slightly, but there was still a complete absence of aggression in her stance.

"My point is, if you want out of this room, you're going to need my help."

"I can manage on my own," Suzaku said abruptly, his breathing starting to quicken.

"No, you can't," she said back quietly, completely reasonable.

"I've been managing long before I met you," he reminded her with venom.

"And you've done such a fine job."

There it was. A slight crack in her defenses. It was a tiniest flash in her eyes, but it was all the more engagement Suzaku's temper needed. It bucked free, snapping and crackling in his eyes like electricity.

"You're not my keeper. I don't need you to baby me, and if I want out of this room, I'll damn well get out. You can't keep me here."

It had been some time since his voice had been that ugly, that hard. The vowels cracked and slapped, the consonants cutting like knives. Aurora slowly stood, and the self-destructive impulses that Suzaku was helpless against prepared for an onslaught that he rightly deserved.

But when Aurora spoke, she was calm, the control she exerted over her words obvious. Something had gotten under her skin, but her discipline was much less compromised than Suzaku's.

"Actually, I can. Don't underestimate me, Suzaku. I can overpower you, especially now. And like it or not, I am your keeper. And if you want out of this room, it will be with my physical help, or not at all. If you won't take care of yourself, than I damn well will. So, those are my terms. Out of here with me, or not at all."

"You can't stop me," he sneered. He was baiting her; he wasn't quite sure why. Slowly, she leaned forward, planting her hands on either side of his hips on the mattress. Aurora brought her face within inches of Suzaku's, her eyes mercilessly locking onto his.

"Yes, I can," she said simply and slowly. She drew away, walking out of the room and closing the door without a backwards glance. The scent she left behind was odd; cherry blossoms and ozone, like lightning had just cracked over a cherry tree.

He wanted to scream after her, to throw things at the door, to pace off this ballistic anger that thirsted to tear something apart. But Suzaku didn't do any of those things. He cursed extensively and creatively under his breath, but he didn't feel any better. It was like the hard, sticky ball lodged in his chest swelled, pressing against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Desperate, he tried to put his feet on the floor, the intense bulb flashes of pain frustrating him enough to drive him to a halt.

When Aurora returned, he tried to rear up, pointing at her with his good hand.

"If you think that just because-" His words ended on a strangled gasp, however, when she flattened the palm of her hand against his chest just below the center of the collar bone and gently pushed. As Suzaku flopped gracelessly back against the pillows, struggling for breath, she quietly sat.

"I told you. It's not wise to underestimate me."

Suzaku closed his eyes against the humiliation, trying to get his breathing and temper back under control. When he finally managed to look at her again, Aurora didn't look angry, or even smug. If anything, she looked sad. Earnestly, she braced her elbows on her knees and laced her long fingers together. A silver ring glinted on her thumb, a thick piece of silver that twisted and twined in a Celtic pattern.

"Please, Suzaku, just let me help you."

He turned his face away, towards the window. The brief lack of oxygen may have fizzled out the majority of his temper, but there was still a very large part of Suzaku that loathed any sort of aid. He'd fought and bled and struggled on his own for so long, he simply didn't know how to, or even if he could, accept help.

"Please."

He looked back at her; he couldn't help it. It was the plea that caught his attention. Why did she want so badly to help him? Suzaku had no idea when or why he nodded his assent, but the smile Aurora flashed him when she stood temporarily soothed the snarling dog of his temper.

They took to their usual positions when he had to go anywhere; Suzaku standing, slightly swaying as he struggled to maintain his balance with a compromised core, and Aurora tucked under his right arm, her left arm wrapped around his hip and her right hand holding his. Out of habit, Suzaku tried to use her support as little as possible initially, but it only took about ten steps for his ribs and shoulder to start shrieking and his equilibrium to be gradually transferred to her shoulders. Aurora bore his weight with ease, and Suzaku had yet another reminder of how strong she was – stronger than him at the moment. He'd been carelessly stupid, and driven by a baseless temper, to forget that.

They made their way out of his room into the only other part of the house Suzaku had seen. The long hallway that ran from the top of the stairs, past their two rooms and the bathroom they used to several closed doors. But instead of heading down the stairs, Aurora guided him down the hallway; apparently the doors weren't intended as an impediment.

She showed him the master bedroom, the room Kendra and Chandler normally used during their stay here. Decorated in rose and dark green, it struck a compelling note between quaint and classic. It was about the size of their two rooms combined, which weren't exactly small to begin with. She pointed to the connected bathroom, and Suzaku caught a glimpse of cream and light green through the ajar door.

Turning to the door that faced the master across the hall, she opened it to reveal a study. The three windows were generous – allowing the natural light to pour in, it lit the dancing dust motes that reeled and spun like fairies. There were several bookcases, so Suzaku assumed it was the library before Aurora mentioned that the library was downstairs. The books were mostly technical, medical and law. There were two desks, one snug under the windows while the other was tucked into the corner. An old sofa, the cushions broken in and comfortable, was recovered in a soft looking fabric of gentle blue.

Suzaku liked the room – he couldn't remember being in one of its like in his entire life, but it felt… good. Open and light and sturdy. As they made their way back down the hall – he was a little surprised at how easily Aurora kept rhythm with him – she pointed out the linen closets, if he needed extra blankets or towels.

The stairs were a challenge. For some reason, Aurora's sense of his rhythm evaporated. They couldn't seem to find a middle ground, and as they struggled down the curving staircase carved of old mahogany and polished within an inch of its life, Ban watched from the bottom, his ears pricked and his eyes wide as he watched the awkward spectacle. They were both sweating and panting a little by the time they reached the bottom, and Aurora lowered them both down on a step for a brief rest. Pushing the hair the fell into her eyes back, she looked over at him sheepishly.

"Don't worry. We'll figure it out eventually."

"By the time we figure it out, I'll be able to manage it on my own," Suzaku said wryly, struggling valiantly to keep the bitterness from leaking into his voice. He was rewarded by Aurora's husky laugh.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Want to see some more?"

He nodded fervently, and the struggle to stand began anew. By the time they were both upright, they had to stand for a moment to catch their breaths again, Aurora from the exertion and Suzaku from the pain.

"Do you think I could use a cane?" It wasn't that he was ungrateful – he hated the help, but he wasn't blind to how hard Aurora was working to keep him safe. Her mouth quirked a little, and she shook her head.

"It's not a bad idea, but your ribs have to heal enough to take the torque. Until then, it's not worth the risk."

He fell silent, trying not to wince as every step reverberated up his spine to spark in his shoulder and ribs. Ruthlessly, Suzaku squashed the pain down. Now simply wasn't the time.

Aurora veered to the left, taking him through to the kitchen, opening the back door to show the rolling hills that spread out from the house, pointing out the flower beds and herb garden that grew in the shadow of the cottage, the blooms tumbling along beside a thin dirt walk that led towards an ancient looking wall only about waist high. Turning back inside, she led him to a small, formal dining room and on to a sitting room that looked out onto the front porch. It spoke of comfort – the sofas were large and deep, the chairs equally so. But there were small, pretty touches that lent a quiet air of formality and beauty – tiny glass animals arrayed on a shelf, the antique rug Ban had tried to anoint with his slobber, and a beautiful painting of several horses in a field that looked about a hundred years old, judging by the style. The entry way was old fashioned, a sparkling gilt mirror hanging over an amoire, a small, delicate umbrella stand under several carved wooden hooks meant to hold jackets. The front door was ornate and aged, and creaked just a little as Aurora opened it.

As in the back, there were flowers everywhere. A small graveled area led to the dirt lane that rolled out to the road, rimmed with hedges that were beginning to bloom with small red flowers. There were several rockers on the wide porch, and a windchime of glass and wood tinkled from the rafters. The sun poured over the flowers, some still damp from last night's storm.

Aurora mentioned the nearby tiny village of Gallagher, and how Galway was only a half hour drive away. She spoke of the O'Tooles, who took care of the house most of the time, and how it had once belonged to Chandler's family. That drew Suzaku to a halt.

"You mean Kendra's husband?"

Aurora nodded.

"Does it not belong to them now?"

A Cheshire-cat sort of smile stole over Aurora's face, and she seated them on one of the couches in the living room, using the pretense of a story to give Suzaku a break.

"Chandler is actually nobility. He's the fifth son to the Andrews house, a very old and powerful family bloodline that is pretty much a bunch of jerkwads."

He blinked, and unsuccessfully choked back a laugh at the description. He'd met Sir Percival Andrews, the current head of the family, and knew that the strict, unbending man was all too often needlessly cruel to his large brood.

"Chandler was always kind of a black sheep; he was soft by comparison, and although our childhoods make his look like a dream-boat, it was by no means easy. England has always been important to Chandler, and he was determined to see it revived. When his family couldn't shut him up about it, they disowned him."

"For being passionate about something?" Suzaku wasn't really that surprised, but he was still sad. Families weren't meant to be like that, he thought. Hardness wasn't supposed to be a way of life with people you were meant to love and depend on.

"'For being a disgrace to their prominent bloodline with his embarrassing obsession that did nothing to further his brothers' careers.' As if Chandler was supposed to devote his life to them just because he had the misfortune of being born later. He managed to take most of his inheritance, a pathetic sum by comparison, with him, and set up shop in London. This home, however, which through a strange set of marriages and inheritances had ended up an Andrews property, was taken from him. Chandler was pretty much the only one who ever came here, and he loved the place, but it was just another thing they held over his head. So, as a wedding present, I finagled it back into his name. Nothing illegal, but that butthead Percy had no idea he was giving it to his son in a very convoluted manner." She smiled winningly, and stroked a hand over Ban's spine, who had returned from his chewing to check on them. He was already over halfway through the bone, and the smear of rawhide over his face betrayed his enthusiasm.

"You're going to finish that bone before Chandler comes, aren't you?" she asked the dog, who wagged his tail in eager agreement. Suzaku spoke as Aurora helped him stand.

"Chandler's coming?"

Aurora nodded.

"Yep, the next time Kendra comes. Don't worry, he's nicer than me or Kendra. And don't let the politician thing put you off – he's one of the rare breed. The ones who aren't corrupt. In a way, his family saved him from it. If he'd stayed in Britannia much longer, it would have ruined him."

Suzaku thought that over as she led him down the hall that mirrored the upstairs one. However, besides another closet and a small bathroom with a tiny shower, there were only two doors, one on each side.

The one on the right led to the library. As he limped towards the center of the room at Aurora's side, Suzaku now saw how his belief that the upstairs study was the library was hilarious. The room was huge, and lined from floor to ceiling with books. The only breaks were the door and the two windows. The shelves weren't just plain wood – they were intricately carved and beautifully polished, oak if he guessed right. The ceiling was dark blue, spattered with an accurate representation of the stars. The many sconces that could offer light seemed to grow out of the shelves, old-fashioned and small. The actual books ranged far in quality and genre. There were even a few classic Japanese books, which made Suzaku's eyes suddenly sting. He had a sudden flash of his mother reading aloud to him and helping him with his penmanship. As the memory faded, his stomach cramped, and he almost doubled over from the pain. He could hardly hear Aurora's words through the roaring of blood in his ears. When he was finally able to make it out, she was talking of returning him to bed, her hand hard on his arm and her arm fully wrapped around his waist.

"No! Just… just give me a second." Desperately, he sucked in air, and pushed the memory back. As the spots in front of his eyes slowly faded, Suzaku forced himself to straighten, even as his head swam and his ribs ached. Aurora had slid her hand down to get a firm grip on his wrist – he realized she was monitoring his pulse. She looked into his eyes like she was trying to see to the back of his skull; whatever she saw made her lips purse.

"I think we're done." Aurora spoke in a no-nonsense manner, which made Suzaku doubt he'd actually heard a slight tremor to her voice. Frantically, he gripped her hand.

"Wait! Just wait a second. We're almost done, right? Then we can go to the kitchen. I'm a little hungry." It was a lie, but the last thing Suzaku wanted was to go back to the room. Even weak and nauseous, the thought of it still made him restless. She tilted her head and looked at him askance before speaking reluctantly.

"Alright. Just take it easy, OK?" This time, when Aurora took her place as his human crutch, Suzaku didn't even bother trying to hold his own weight. Gratefully, he leaned on her, too frightened of the feelings it triggered to examine why such a simple memory affected him so deeply.

When they crossed the hall to the other room, all the disturbing worries about his mental state melted away. As they made their way to the center of the well-lit room, the floor giving and bouncing just fractionally under his feet, a smile, almost foreign-feeling, made its way across Suzaku's face.

"This is…" he trailed off, drinking in the mirrored wall with the bar and the neat, compact set of weights under one of the three windows. There was a trim stereo system along the opposing wall, along with a bench and, oddly enough, a dog bed.

"The studio," Aurora supplied, her smile warm and eager. He rocked to his toes, then back to his heels. Aurora gently placed her hand in the center of his back to steady him. When Suzaku glanced up, his green eyes sparkled, the shimmer of joy sheening over the stone green.

"What kind of wood did you use for the floor?" he asked, tottering over to the stereo, which was paired with a mini fridge stocked with water and sports drinks. Aurora followed him, her hand just waiting to catch his elbow to stabilize him.

"Maple. And it's sprung traditionally. Just the right amount of give," she said proudly, swinging into a smooth backspring to prove it, landing lightly with an impish smile. Suzaku blinked at her owlishly, momentarily forgetting the merits of the beautifully polished floor. He'd been able to move like that during his prime, but he hadn't tried anything that dramatic in months. Yet Aurora did it with such simplicity.

"You've been trained, haven't you?" he finally managed, choking past his surprise.

"Extensively," Aurora said, nudging him towards the door with a little grin. "Now let's go get you something to eat."

"In what?" Suzaku asked as they stepped out into the hallway, conveniently ignoring her suggestion for food. He looked longingly over his shoulder at the now closed door, but knew realistically that it would be quite some time before he got free rein in the studio.

"Oh, lots of things," she sighed windily as they entered the kitchen. At his continued silence once she'd seated him in a chair at the kitchen table, Aurora laughed a little. "I guess you could say my resume is rather broad. I was trained comprehensively in dance, martial arts, rhythmic gymnastics. I can dance modern style pretty well, but most of my training focused on ballroom dancing. My ballet is provincial at best," Aurora explained as she set about making a gigantic salad, displaying the grace she'd learned in the training she spoke of with her simple movements.

"Why? I mean, why learn all that?" Suzaku asked, shifting slightly, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. It didn't seem that there was one. Aurora glanced over her shoulder at the question as she sliced grilled chicken. He wondered at the light meal, but told himself it didn't matter, since he wasn't really hungry anyway.

"Because. People are more likely to reveal their secrets to someone they think belongs to their circle. That's also why I was trained in classical art and literature, music and history. I was lucky enough to be able to sing decently, and learned how to play the piano and violin, and a little guitar, which I'm pretty bad at. Unfortunately, I can't draw worth a damn, so we just had to get along with my sparkling charm." She fluttered her eyelashes comically at him over her shoulder, and Suzaku couldn't help the quiet laugh that slipped out.

"The martial arts were more to protect myself, also a requirement for the job. I was taught to defend myself with anything from a gun to a ballpoint pen to my bare hands and just about everything in between, and I've had to, on multiple occasions. There was a particularly memorable time that involved a bar of soap and a shower curtain rod." She spoke a little dreamily as she washed cherry tomatoes in the sink. Suzaku thought that Aurora was a little young to be that nostalgic about the good old days. But then, he couldn't even look back on his good old days at all. He wasn't even sure he had them.

"Who taught you?" Suzaku murmured, thinking of Todoh.

"A bevy of tutors. George wanted the best for his apprentice. Which usually meant that they were snotty perfectionists with sticks up their butts, but they did get the job done."

Avocado was sliced and cheese sprinkled as Suzaku tried to imagine the life of young Aurora. He couldn't say why he wanted to know her past, at least the aspects of it that had made her who she was.

"What about school? How did you fit it all in?" he asked as she sat, sliding a bowl in front of him. It was quite possibly the most beautiful salad he'd ever seen. Rich, dark romaine lettuce was heaped with just about everything you could think to put on a salad. Chicken, bacon, avocado, tomatoes, cheese, carrots, cucumbers, green onions. He looked up to see an array of salad dressing bottles and a glass of ice water in front of him. Aurora was already eagerly munching on her salad.

"I didn't go to school," she said simply around a bite of lettuce. Aurora swallowed and gestured with her fork at the bottles. "Pick your poison. I didn't know what you liked, so I put everything on. Just eat around what's a no-go, and I'll remember for next time." As he squirted a basalmic vinaigrette over the salad, Suzaku spoke again.

"Why didn't you go to school?"

Aurora glanced over at him, then shrugged. It had been faint, but he'd seen the question in her eyes. Why was he asking about school, about her past? The only school he'd ever attended had been Ashford, and he hadn't exactly been a star with attendance. So why did he wonder at her never attending? All of his basic schooling had been sanctioned by the Honorary Britannian administration, and could hardly be called an educational experience. And before that, he'd been privately tutored from home.

"A couple of reasons, I guess. My education in the early part of my life had been weak at best. By the time my mother died, I could read, kind of, and not much else. Then George took me under his wing, and I was way too far behind to risk enrolling me in a regular school. Too many questions he couldn't afford to answer. So he caught me up himself. Once I had surpassed where I should've been, he sent me off to the tutors for the rest. Not only were the questions the schools would have asked dangerous, but leaving behind any sort of record simply wasn't wise. Not for either of us. Then George died, and I was on my own, and the last thing I wanted was to be a high school freshman who had never gone to school before. Besides, I already knew what I was going to do, and I didn't need to go through public high school hell to do it."

As Suzaku munched on his surprisingly delicious salad, he thought over what she had said.

"I guess it's kind of interesting that you're such an avid reader, then."

Her smile was small and crooked.

"You could say that I'm making up for lost time."

Suzaku thought that over as he ate the salad more by rote than design. He supposed he'd always known that Aurora wasn't simply a nurse, long before she'd revealed any aspect of her past. But he never expected that she was so experienced and thoroughly trained. Having dealt with the people that had once made up her target pool, Suzaku knew better than most the training required to simply interact with them on a level comprised of any sort of trust or respect. They didn't bleed you dry to make certain it ran blue, but close enough. With his background as a politician's son and the mystique of Zero as a defense, Suzaku could hold his ground with the nobles of Nunnally's court.

Barely.

He was so deep in thought, it took several tries before Suzaku realized that he had eaten the entire bowl, except the green onions. Aurora's smile as she stood and started clearing the table was tiny, but he could tell she was glad. Although why eating his entire meal would make her happy, he couldn't quite understand.

He settled back in the chair, the ache in his arm and shoulder almost blinding. Carefully, he closed his eyes, his teeth grinding tight in a lame attempt to distract himself. Valiantly, Suzaku tried to take a deep breath – he was only able to drag in about a third of a lungful of air before they spasmed, sending a burst of helpless coughing into the air and jerking him forward in his chair. Through the haze of his angry lungs and the harsh burn of his injured ribs, Suzaku finally became aware of the soothing strokes over his back and shoulders, the touch light and gentle. As he managed to get his breath back, he glanced over to see Aurora kneeling next to him, her brow softly furrowed and her eyes soul-wrenchingly worried.

"Nice and slow. Take it easy, try to relax and soften your muscles."

He nodded minimally, struggling to follow her advice as his breath wheezed. Finally, he managed to breathe regularly, and Aurora slowly took to her seat, her eyes still pinned tightly to him. There was something in her eyes, something that edged along his spine and felt disturbingly like guilt.

"What is it?" Suzaku managed to rasp out, worried that perhaps the coughing was a sign of something terribly wrong with him, something that maybe Dr. Andrews had forgotten to mention. Something that meant he was broken, that recovery was out of the question. It took Suzaku a moment, in the stretch of silence before Aurora answered, to realize that the idea of being incapable of recovery was frightening him. The impulse faded, and Suzaku had convinced himself that he didn't care by the time Aurora straightened.

"Um…" Her voice was strangely choked, and in the brief time Suzaku had known her, he'd never heard her verbally stumble. "It's nothing. Really," she managed with a weak chuckle. The small, frail smile quickly faded, however, and she pressed her hand to her mouth briefly in what he thought of as a gesture of someone straining for control. "It's just…"

She looked away from him briefly, and when Aurora looked back, twin tears silently tracked down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was painfully quiet.

"I don't know if I can help you. I don't know if I'm good enough."

Suzaku was shocked into silence, and her voice, cracking on the heavy words, continued.

"I don't think I'm smart enough, or strong enough to help you the way you deserve. I don't want to disappoint you. And I'm afraid that when you'll finally reach out for help, I won't be what you need. What you deserve."

"I-I don't deserve anything," he argued, almost desperately. Aurora swiped away the tears, shaking her head slowly.

"I've never known someone who deserved more. More than me for a guardian, certainly." The smile was self-deprecating, and, for some reason, made Suzaku a little angry. She was talented, intelligent, and caring; if anything, he didn't deserve her.

"Aurora, I… might not be grateful for what you did for me, but I can't deny that your actions saved my life. And if I were to choose someone to hold my life in their hands, someone that I would be indebted to, well… I think it'd be someone like you."

She tilted her head, her expression slightly incredulous.

"My past aside, Suzaku, I'm just a kind-of nurse with barely the equivalence of field training, and completely devoid of a formal education. I know it's unrealistic, but I can't help thinking that Kendra was right. You could benefit from professional help. I told her that I would never give up on you, and I won't. But, my inexperience might actually be hurting you. And, I can't forgive myself for that."

"There's nothing to forgive, and there's no such thing as putting your past aside. Trust me, I know. You're the culmination of everything you were before, not what you simply are now. And all you need concern yourself with is keeping me alive long enough to get me back to Britannia. I can't justify putting you in danger any longer than that."

"I can take care of myself. It's you I'm worried about."

Suzaku's lips tilted in a dry smile.

"Don't be. I've never had a better caretaker."

Twisting slightly in her chair, Aurora rested her elbow on the back, propping her temple on her fist. She gazed at him silently, just long enough to make him uncomfortable, before she finally spoke.

"Promise me something?"

"What?" Suzaku shifted in his chair, searching for some relief. He never made blind promises, not when breaking them was so destructive. Aurora stood, resting air-light fingers on his shoulder.

"Pick someone better next time."

His low, sharp exhale had a hint of laughter, and as he stood with Aurora's help, he could still see the trace of tears under her eyes. As she moved in closer to support his weight, Suzaku could make out faint purple shadows under the silvered blue of her eyes. No, he didn't think she'd ever give up on him. There was comfort in that. But Suzaku knew better than most the danger of blind devotion, and how it all too often took you down a road that left you eternally damaged and limping with betrayal. The core of integrity that had been forged into him long ago prayed that he would never inflict such pain on Aurora. Yet another transgression he would never be able to forgive himself for.

Chapter Text

Excursions became a daily routine for Suzaku and Aurora. It took several days before they'd fully explored the house to both their satisfactions. Aurora didn't mind Suzaku's enduring curiosity and eagerness to discover the house he was staying in – besides, the more familiar he was with his temporary home, the less likely he would be taken by surprise and get hurt.

However, their easy truce shattered four days after their lunch of salad and histories. Aurora had been trying to head off Suzaku's restlessness as best she could, and had hoped his ongoing weariness would play in her favor. But a lifetime spent training himself far beyond the capacity of his peers was hard to forget, and besides threatening to deep fry his brain, his boredom and protracted recovery turned his temper to magma.

It was just after lunch, and Suzaku was sitting in the parlor in one of the sturdy armchairs flanking a cold fireplace built from local stone. He was idly finishing a picture of Todoh, stately in hakama and utterly forbidding in expression. The natural light almost made the paper glow, and brought a touch of color to cheeks still pale from the ache of healing. After being snarled at once already today, Aurora was carefully quiet as she approached, which for her meant turning all but invisible. She knew Suzaku was tired, grumpy, sore, and impatient, and hadn't decided if she should avoid him or make the best of his current temperment.

Idly leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, Aurora noticed the way he carefully smudged the shading of his old teacher's hair with the tip of his finger, his shoulders still steel cables of tension despite being fully immersed in what should be a reprieve. Eventually, he tipped his face towards the sunlight tumbling into the room and gazed out the window, his expression one of such yearning that Aurora couldn't help but think of the sturdy, beautiful cane she'd found at the back of the closet next to the laundry room. He hadn't been outside since stepping out onto the front porch during their first tour of the house.

In her own head, Aurora could admit that she was afraid on an instinctive level that was completely impervious to logic and reason. When Suzaku was in the house, he was in her domain. Sometimes she went on walks that kept them from tearing each other's throats out – despite their general respect for each other, there was only so much tight space two active, proud, difficult people could stand. Yet even during those outings or when she went to the nearby village for errands, Ban kept a piercingly close eye on him that Aurora had yet to explain. She knew it wasn't fair, but she couldn't shake the worry that he would be even more vulnerable if he were to venture outside. As long as Suzaku was under this roof, inside these walls, she had a chance of helping him. But out there, he could slip away. Physically, mentally, or worse. It was a childish need to defend, one so overwhelmingly strong and foreign, she had no defense against it. The same thought kept creeping up, though: She had to protect the protector.

Deep in thought, Aurora was unaware that she had been tapping her finger against her bicep. In the dense silence of the room, however, the faint noise soon became obvious. Aurora was wrenched from her circling, guilty thoughts when Suzaku twisted in his chair, his narrowed eyes landing inexorably on her. Their brows were matched in their deep furrows, frowning at each other across the room for different reasons. Suzaku's expression was bent by annoyance, bemusement, and pain, Aurora guessed. Plausible enough. Her own face, however? That was a bit of a thorny issue.

What irritated Aurora more than anything was the simple fact that she couldn't sort her feelings into easily defined categories. She'd always appreciated chaos – her old business thrived on it. But it wasn't usually roiling around inside her own head. That had always been a realm of relative organization – the sheer amount of information stored there demanded it.

Smoothing her expression with effort, Aurora cleared her throat before straightening and uncrossing her arms. It wouldn't take much to piss Suzaku off, and an irreverent expression and stance might be the trigger. Aurora wasn't afraid of his temper. But she worried that it would rage too hot, too fast. On the rare occasions she gave her anger free rein, it had always been a thoroughly exhausting physical experience. Even sitting still, the sheer fatigue could be magnificent. But Suzaku simply wasn't in good enough condition to withstand that sort of storm, not fully. And God forbid he turn the manifestation of his anger on himself.

"Mind if I sit down?" she finally asked. Suzaku simply gazed at her silently. She couldn't read his expression – was he contemplating something, reaching for that incredible discipline, or was he sullen enough to actually be that much of an ass? Finally, his good shoulder jerked in his version of a shrug as he straightened. Making her way to the couch, Aurora plopped down carelessly, tucking up her legs and resting her elbow on the arm. Propping her temple on her fist, she watched him silently. Instead of returning her gaze, Suzaku dropped his eyes back to his notebook. After making a few tiny, pointless corrections, his fingers and wrists flexed in a manner that betrayed his irritation and discomfiture. Finally, he slapped his pencil down the metal spiral binding and lifted his eyes to hers, his green rises sparking with gold bursts of temper.

"What?" he snapped, soft color making its ways back into his cheeks. A shame that he was grumpy; cranky Suzaku was quite pretty. Aurora knew, though, how thoroughly full rage could contort and corrupt his beautifully sculpted features.

She blinked before quietly asking, "You OK?"

"Do I look OK?" Suzaku snarled immediately, pointing towards his left shoulder, still thick with bandages and framed by the navy blue sling cradling his arm that was now all but ubiquitous in his life. This time, Aurora didn't have to work to reign in her temper; it didn't even flare at his goading expression. Really, his irritation was completely understandable. If they were going to survive in this house together for any length of time, this had to be a moment of cleansing and compromise. Despite the sick churning whipping through her stomach from fear, Aurora continued.

"What wrong?" she asked in the same quiet, neutral tone she'd used before.

"What… Are you joking?" Suzaku bellowed as he took to his feet with ungainly gracelessness, slapping his notebook down on the floor with enough force to send the pencil shooting under the couch like a missile. "I'm in so much goddamn pain my eyes are about to cross, I'm bored out of my skull, and if I don't get out of this house right now, I'm going to tear the fucking place down!"

Aurora didn't move an inch during his tirade, watching the way he clumsily paced around the room, gesturing wildly with his free hand and occasionally speaking through his teeth in sheer frustration. He was still off balance and weak, but he swayed less that he usually did.

Aurora said nothing, and apparently Suzaku took her silence as an invitation to continue raging. Then again, it seemed that he had a lot to get off his chest, so even if Aurora had responded, she might not have been able to stop the freight train of his temper.

"I'm tired of being treated like a prisoner, of having every single second be a constant reminder of why I'm here and why I hurt so much! It makes me want to claw my eyes out," he growled into the palm pressed against his face, the violence of his tone especially worrying since his threat was aimed at himself. Moving his hand up, Suzaku pressed the tips of his fingers hard against his forehead, his eyes screwed shut. "I can't stop thinking about how badly I've failed Nunnally. I promised Lelouch. I promised him that I would take care of his sister, his legacy. I killed him for that promise. And instead, I was careless, got my idiot self shot, and have to sit around here, scratching crap in an old notebook to keep from bashing my head against the wall."

She wanted to touch him then, just a comforting brush of her hand over the iron of his shoulders. But she knew better, and did nothing at all.

"But who am I kidding?" Suzaku sneered, dropping his hand, opening his eyes into a narrowed glare, and making his unsteady way to the window. "Junk toodled into a notebook doesn't earn me worth or peace, especially since I don't deserve it. I'm just an animal who can only survive in the cage of its own making. Anywhere else, and I go crazy."

The words could have been miserable – the connotation was there. But they dripped thickly with crimson anger and black self-loathing, and Aurora could physically feel her heart aching beneath her ribs. But still, she said nothing.

"But it still feels like I'm in a cage. I can't go outside, I can't go up or down the stairs, I can't move without your permission and I need help like I'm some kind of invalid who would be better off being put out of my misery like a sick dog. Intellectually, I understand why you have to do it. But I can't help feeling like any second, my skull's just going to split apart from being so damn angry! It's like I'm suffocating," he murmured with venom before dropping his forehead to the glass of the window. It landed with an almost comical thunk, but still, Aurora held her tongue, waiting.

For a while, the only sound was the clock ticking in the hallway. Ban had long ago retreated up to Suzaku's bed – he wanted no part of this tense exchange, and had been a little wary of Suzaku all morning. Aurora couldn't blame Ban; he was proving cleverer than her. Eventually, Suzaku sighed and straightened as best he could, limping back to the chair he'd occupied and dropping awkwardly down onto the cushion, grimacing in pain as he struggled to get even the slightest bit comfortable. She waited a few second before straightening, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward to prop her elbows on her knees. Finally, she spoke.

"Feel better?" The words could have been smug; they usually were. But really, Aurora just felt sad.

"Not really," Suzaku murmured as he rubbed his fingers in a circle at his temple. She could only imagine that his headache, which he'd told her never really faded, was now blinding. Taking heart in his tone – more tired than petulant – Aurora stood and left the parlor for the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water and three ibuprofen tablets in her palm. Handing her offering to Suzaku, who accepted reluctantly, without words, Aurora took a seat on the couch again, waiting for him to sip the water and swallow the pills with a backwards jerk of his head before continuing.

"I get why you're pissed. No, I do," she said, raising her hand to halt the protest he was already opening his mouth to make, his brows furrowed in angry disbelief. "And I know you can control what you think, but not always what you feel. Honestly, I'm not surprised by what you said, and I'm not particularly insulted, either. If that was your aim, you'll have to rethink your strategy."

His expression didn't even crack into a hint of a smile to match her small one. O… kay. Taking a breath, Aurora rallied.

"I know you're bored, and, trust me, no one understands boredom quite like I do. But I also hope you understand that I can't just let you wander around free as you please. I don't want to scare you, but if you reinjure anything in your shoulder, or, even worse, your arm, you could easily double your recovery time, and severely compromise your ability to ever fully recover at all."

He shrugged like he didn't care, but just before Suzaku glanced away, Aurora saw it in his eyes. The flicker of fear.

"Aurora, I can't stay in this house another hour. I can't stand it." He was still furious, his tone still saturated with rage. But Aurora looked for, and found, something else. Pleading. A desperation she couldn't bring herself to ignore. Sighing, she dropped her head, carding her fingers through her hair as she swallowed instincts that screamed against reason. Compromise, she reminded herself. She hoped for a lot of give from Suzaku. It was only fair that she bend a little too. Schooling her face, Aurora straightened.

"OK. Here's my idea. You can go outside for five minutes today. Considering how you're doing, we'll think about increasing the time as you improve. If I'm not with you, Ban's with you. No negotiations on that point. And you'll always use this until Kendra clears you otherwise." Standing, Aurora went to the laundry room to retrieve the walking stick that providence seemed to have shoved under her nose. Returning, she leaned it against the arm of his chair before she sat again. He trailed his hand over the carved head hesitantly, clearly unhappy with the physical representation of his weakness. Then Suzaku sighed and his brow smoothed slightly, probably remembering that it had been his idea in the first place.

"Five minutes? Really?" he said instead, arching a brow at the childishly small time she was granting him. Aurora's gut jerked at the idea of him being alone outside at all, but she squashed it ruthlessly.

"Until I'm certain you can handle more. If you set out on an hour long trek today, and you get tired or, heaven forbid, hurt, I'd rather have to drag you back for only five minutes instead of an hour. I'm lazy like that," she said with a self-deprecating smile and a sparkle of humor, fighting to hide her fear. Still no response in kind. Damn, she'd really thought they'd made some progress these last few days.

Suzaku struggled to his feet, testing the cane and leaning his weight onto it carefully. When it held and he didn't crumple in agony, Aurora slowly released a breath she didn't know she was holding and stood as well. He turned towards her, and the forbidding glint of anger was still in his eyes.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather Ban join me on this first walk."

"Of course," Aurora instantly agreed, whistling through her teeth, the call immediately answered by a thud over their heads and a cascade of thunder down the stairs. As Ban trotted into the room, Aurora smiled and tried to breathe around the ball of hurt lodged in her chest as Suzaku greeted the dog with the finger he could spare from his grip on the cane, a smile finally peaking through his mask. Suzaku had agreed to her proposal, and she could understand why he didn't want to be around her at the moment, but neither of those facts dissipated the wound his choice had dealt. Was being here with her really so repulsive that he'd rather spend time with her dog?

Aurora thought to remind him of his time limit, but knew that Suzaku would merely snap at her. She considered helping him open the front door, a struggle he was unaccustomed to, especially with a cane in his hand. But she knew that a man's pride could only take so much injury, and his was still bloody from circumstances neither of them could control. As the door creaked shut and she could faintly hear his careful steps as he navigated the short stairs of the porch, Aurora dropped back down onto the couch. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes and tried to swallow the burn. For a moment, she allowed the self-pity to swell, wallowing in the conundrum of being the caretaker of an unwilling patient.

Then, with a force of spirit that had seen the birth, death, and rebirth of her world, Aurora stood, and shoved the hurt aside. Suzaku was a grumpy ass who was taking out a slew of emotional problems on her. She couldn't really blame him, and she was a complete wimp if she took it so damn personally. Striding towards the stairs, Aurora attacked the mess in her room with the vengeance of a Valkyrie, keeping a careful eye on the clock. She'd asked him for five minutes; she already knew that she'd give him ten.

Suzaku's guilt surged before he'd even stepped off the porch. That first deep breath of warm, sweet air had all but eradicated his anger, leaving a gaping hole for accusation to fill. He hated himself for how he'd spoken to Aurora. While he'd raged and cursed and whined, part of him had sat back, slack-jawed and horrified at his own behavior, but with zero control to correct, or even stop it. Yet Aurora had said nothing. She'd sat still a stone, her temple propped on her fist, her eyes the only part of her moving as she'd watched him rattle around the parlor like a crazed marble.

And then she'd offered him exactly what he'd wanted, what he needed. Suzaku still smarted a little from that ridiculous five minute limit, but he understood. And that's what probably smarted the most. After he'd been a complete asshole, Aurora had been considerate, gentle, and fair. How could he stand being around her when she was so collected, so understanding, when he was such a mess, falling apart at the seams so completely, that he could practically visualize his guts littering the floor? It made him feel like a shamble of a human being next to her quiet grace.

His cane skidded for a moment on a patch of wet grass at the north side of the house, and although it was a tiny slip, Suzaku's heart was thumping against his ribs and his pulse bounced against his skin before he even really registered what happened. I'm such a coward, Suzaku thought to himself darkly as he readjusted his grip on the cane. He yearned for death, but feared pain, feared being maimed into ineffectiveness. Even if that was exactly what he had earned. Taking a breath, he glanced down at Ban, who looked at him with the same eyes his mistress had. Not the color, but the intent – patient, warm, and concerned.

"I was a total jerk, wasn't I?"

Ban's tail slowly started to wag, and Suzaku took it as agreement. He sighed, and kept walking, the grass quietly swishing around his ankles, the branches of nearby rowan and oaks swaying softly in a breeze that only had enough strength to just stir his hair. The sky was an unreal blue, puffy clouds with bellies of silver gliding along, their shadows gentle dapples on the land.

He breathed deeply through his nose, and tried valiantly to organize his emotions, get them under control so he could apologize like a normal human being once he got back inside. It had been hard the last few years, but not like this. Every time Suzaku thought he'd pinned something down, something else would slide out of control. Once he'd gotten control of his irritation, depression bloomed. After valiantly wriggling free of that and pushing it back behind the wall he'd erected brick by brick, needle by needle, anger swamped him. It burned hotter and hotter, until he was afraid that if he didn't let this go, didn't let this rage like a wildfire, it would tear him apart. Swallowing it back as if it were a hot rock in his throat, helplessness, and worse, hopelessness, slid in like a fog.

Finally, Suzaku collapsed on a bench next to the herb garden behind the house. He was trembling, his teeth nearly chattering. He gripped the cane like a lifeline, and squeezed his eyes shut against the swirling images of memories that refused to die. How could he last, with this sort of chaos tearing him apart from the inside out? How could he survive when he had no choice but to do exactly that?

Suddenly, he felt a weight on his leg. Rustily opening his eyes, he saw that Ban had dropped his head on Suzaku's thigh, leaning against his lower leg in what was likely his version of a canine hug. Slowly, he set his cane against the bench and stroked his fingers over Ban's fur, his silky ears pricking up slightly before settling back down contentedly. Focusing on the handsome gray dog instead of the mire of his own mind, Suzaku eventually was able to settle back against the bench, breathing in the clean country air with a careful stretch of ribs that hardly complained and closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth sinking into bones he'd thought had long ago gone cold. Without really thinking, he began to murmur to the dog as thoughts drifted through his head.

"The silent observer. That's what you are. Just like Arthur was. You watch the world pull itself apart and put itself back together and all the morons scrabbling and fighting and killing, and you're probably the only ones who make it through the mess intact. Sometimes I think you're the smartest ones of the bunch." But that wasn't really fair, he decided as Ban tilted his head into Suzaku's touch, and he started to scrub his ears the way the dog asked. Aurora had remade herself after losing everything more times than he'd thought possible, and even if she wouldn't tell him the details of those losses, he could tell they were dire. One survivor to another.

And yet, considering all that, she'd gone above and far beyond the call of duty when it came to him. Not just time and attention, but compassion and interest. After suffering the losses that had been stacked against her, logic demanded that Aurora be broken, shattered into pieces that struggled to limp on without the capacity to relate. Like him. But he mattered to her, and Suzaku still had absolutely no idea why. He'd done nothing to deserve it, and in fact, his actions and past should have ensured that he never mattered to anyone ever again.

But Aurora was different. She'd sat on that couch, in that rocker, next to him at the table, and had not just cared for him, but about him. She worried about him, often at the cost of herself. She'd even doubted herself for him, a heavy price from someone of such pride.

And he'd shouted at her. Screamed and bitched and fussed like a lunatic. A cranky child. Groaning, Suzaku pressed his fingers to his eyes before running them through his hair. An apology was the least he owed her, followed by a profuse thank you for finding him the time to dull the sharp edges of his anger. Frankly, it was embarrassing that it had to be done at all, but there was simply no way around it.

Gathering up the cane, he stood, too quickly. Struggling to keep his balance, muscles screaming in protest, Suzaku was startled when Ban leaned against his leg, bolstering him until he could fully straighten. Watching the dog with surprised eyes, Suzaku pondered Ban's instincts as he wandered away to sniff at, then pee on, a large rock. Eventually making his way back to Suzaku's side, who still hadn't moved, he rubbed his head lightly on Suzaku's leg, itching and affectionate, but not hard enough to knock him off balance. Softly, wonderingly, he stroked Ban's head.

"You're just like your mom, huh? Maybe you were related in a past life. Twins, perhaps." Suzaku shook his head as he smiled a little. "You guys are pretty special." He'd have to keep that in mind; the shredded tatters of his honor demanded it.

It was hard work – he was already more tired than he'd gambled on – but Suzaku finally made it to the kitchen door. Hauling himself up the steps and into the kitchen, he toed off his shoes from old habit and started to the sink, desperately thirsty after his rampage earlier. Ban seemed to have the same idea, trotting in after him just fast enough to avoid his tail catching in the screen door as it banged shut and heading straight for his bowls. The loud slaps of his drinking were quickly overwhelmed, however, by rhythmic stomps down the stairs, heralding Aurora. She strode into the kitchen on mile-long legs, a full hamper in her arms and ear buds firmly shoved in her ears. Suzaku slapped off the water even though his glass was only half full, turning to face her, wishing he had the cane to steady himself ready in his hand, not leaning against the counter behind him.

She was humming, a pleasant, soft melody that she did better justice to then Suzaku would have initially assumed. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, her eyes flicking to the clock on the microwave before she smiled amiably.

"Hey. Let me get this load going real quick." Aurora spoke slightly louder than necessary, no doubt because of the music pumping in her ears. She turned and disappeared into the laundry room. As she pivoted, Suzaku glanced at the clock himself. He'd been gone for eight minutes. Interesting.

It had certainly felt longer than that. Leaning back against the counter as he slowly drained his glass of water, Suzaku tried to formulate what he would say to her. But, distressingly, nothing came to mind that didn't make him sound like a blithering idiot.

He wondered why Aurora hadn't demanded his return sooner. She'd said five minutes. Suzaku didn't have a watch – he never wore a watch anymore – but he'd assumed that when his time was up, she would come hunting for him. Or, more likely, he realized now, she'd whistle and her clever hound would round him up and herd him home like a collie bringing back a lost lamb. But she'd done neither, and had let him return of his own accord.

Maybe she'd lost track of time. Aurora was clearly doing chores – a fact that made him guilty as hell, since he was in no condition to help. As she walked back into the kitchen, winding the tail of the headphones around her mp3 player then tucking it in her back pocket, Suzaku sized her up. She was still in the jeans and green t-shirt she'd worn earlier, her hair now bound in a messy bun that seemed ready to burst from its band. Small silver balls gleamed at her ears, and her toes were painted electric blue. Blushing over the fact that he'd noticed her toes of all things, Suzaku looked away as she joined him next to the sink, washing her hands before reaching into the fridge for a jug of juice.

After pouring a glass, she took a single sip before setting it back down on the counter and busying herself with the task of gathering a few pieces of fruit and slicing them with deft motions of a very sharp knife. Suzaku tried to read her face, tried to gauge if she was angry or sad or annoyed, but none of those emotions manifested. Aurora glanced at him occasionally, her expression open and pleasant, but she still remained silent. Finally, he realized she was waiting for him to talk.

"Aurora, I…"

She paused, looking up from the generous dollop of peanut butter she'd just slapped onto the plate already arranged with sliced apples, bananas, and two pears. Saying nothing, Aurora capped the peanut butter, set it aside and mirrored his pose, leaning back against the counter, her hands gently tucked in her pockets.

"I'm sorry," Suzaku finally managed to choke out, cursing the blush that flamed across his cheekbones. She tilted her head, furrowing her brow.

"For what?" Was she mocking him, torturing him into admitting the full extent of his behavior? He couldn't deny it was just punishment, no matter how badly it stung.

"For how I behaved earlier," he managed to grind out. "It was completely-"

"Normal," she interrupted with a shake of her head. "That was totally normal, Suzaku."

He stared at her in open mouthed shock as she snagged an apple slice, swiped it through the peanut butter, and took a crunching bite.

"What are you… I behaved like a moron!" Suzaku said, almost desperate now for her to understand. She just shrugged.

"Maybe, but, again, considering, it's totally within the realm of acceptable."

"Considering what?" he demanded, unsure why the idea of her absolving him made him so frantic. Aurora stilled as she finished her apple slice, looking at him with intensity.

"Considering the traumas you've suffered, just within the past five years," she said quietly.

"That doesn't excuse me of anything!" Suzaku all but screamed, panting as his ribs seemed to constrict. He didn't know where this panic was rising from, why it was crushing his lungs and creeping up his throat, but he thought dimly that it might finally succeed in killing him. A monster of his own mind. Through the pounding of his heart in his ears and the roaring of blood in his skull, Suzaku could barely make out pressure on his skin. Faint, and soft, against his wrist and cheek. Focusing on it, grabbing onto it like a drowning man snagged a rope, Suzaku used it to tamp down the panic, to give himself incentive to drag in oxygen. Finally, his vision cleared, and he could see Aurora, standing in front of him, only inches away, her eyes sharp as scalpels and her mouth soft with worry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't accept your apology. That was rude of me. I simply felt it wasn't necessary, but that doesn't excuse my behavior."

His breath heaving like he'd run a mile, all Suzaku could do was nod. Aurora slowly dropped her hand from his face, the brush of skin against skin sending a shock down Suzaku's spine that made his eyes widen and his breath stutter. Slowly, Aurora stepped back, tugging his wrist slightly to encourage Suzaku to follow her.

"Come on, let's sit down." It was only once he straightened away from the counter that Suzaku realized his knees were shaking. Once he was seated, she returned for the plate and their glasses, setting the array on the table before sitting herself. Aurora's hand rested on the table, as if reaching out to him, but restraining from touching him. He shocked himself by almost wishing she would.

"Let me explain why I wasn't upset about what happened a little bit ago. I have some idea what it's like to recover from trauma, and I know it isn't an easy road. I may seem to have my shit together now, but four ago, I was a train wreck. Kendra and Chandler, bless them, had to deal with a lot of flak while I figured out how to put myself back together. It was abominably hard, and would have been completely impossible without them." She sighed, and Ban approached, resting his head on her lap. Stroking him with her other hand, Aurora continued.

"I don't blame you for being angry. I won't lie and say that your choice of Ban didn't hurt me a little, but that's just petty, and we don't need that thrown into this mess. And I won't say that it was easy to watch you. It was hard to see you so angry, but I believe that's what needed to be done. Venting is important, and a little different than acting out."

"What do you mean?" Suzaku couldn't help but ask.

"Acting out is simply that – out-of character behavior in an attempt to gain something. Attention, respect, even punishment. But venting is truth. It can be ugly, it can be careless, and it can hurt like a mother, but it's true, at its core. At least truth about how you feel."

Suzaku was shaking his head before Aurora even finished speaking.

"No. I didn't mean what I said. I was just-"

Aurora held up her hand, smiling a little.

"Yes, you did. And you were right. I was treating you like a prisoner." She sighed, as if she was preparing herself for something. "Honestly, I was afraid. I was worried that if you stepped out those doors, you'd get hurt. I wouldn't be there to stop it, and it would be my fault. Silly, I know, but you can't always control what you feel," she said, shrugging her shoulders as she quoted herself.

"So I'm sorry for that. I was maybe twitchy about some of the other stuff said, but I smoothed my feathers long before you got back. No harm, no foul. What worries me is what you said about yourself." She popped a banana slice in her mouth and chewed, her expression thoughtful before she continued.

"You've got a lot of poison up here, Suzaku," she murmured, leaning forward and ghosting a finger over the skin above his brow, brushing aside his hair, before leaning back. "You keep it in, it's going to kill you. And I am not exaggerating. You have to let the things that hurt you see the light, see the air. That's how you make it real, and that's how you take its power away. We are most afraid of what is unknown, especially when it's in our own heads."

"I don't want you, or anyone, to see it," he whispered. Clearing his throat, Suzaku tried to infuse his voice with even a modicum of strength. "I won't dump my problems on those around me in a stupid attempt to lessen the load. A load I brought upon myself."

Aurora restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but only just. Suzaku could see it.

"That's just silly. People you trust, people who care about you, want you to share the load. That's what it means to care. If someone you care about is struggling, what do you do?"

Suzaku stubbornly remained silent, so she continued.

"You try to help. That's ingrained in you down to the bones, Suzaku, I have no doubt. Well, it's a two way street. You worry the people who care about you when you schlump all this pain around by yourself, letting it break you down from the inside out. It's horrific to see, and even worse to be rendered helpless to stop. As for deserving it, well," she sighed, "that's a discussion for another day."

Suzaku just shook his head, feeling guilty and defensive and countless other things he couldn't name.

"No one cares about me like that. Not anymore," he murmured, thinking of Euphemia and Lelouch. Again, Aurora touched Suzaku's wrist, but this time, her fingers wrapped around him with enough strength to get his full attention. When he looked up at her, she was gazing at him like he was the only thing in the room, the only thing in the country, the only thing in the world.

"I care," she said with complete and utter seriousness.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't think he could say anything at all. Suzaku had known, had even thought about it outside. But the depth of her concern for him went far beyond what he'd estimated, and only served to make him feel more undeserving. Just as he was about to wrench his hand free, she released him, and the tension of the moment was gone.

Ban woofed, low in his throat, and Aurora stood to let him back outside. Suzaku thought that the dog had been too busy babysitting him to do his usual rounds. She refilled his water bowl, giving each of them a moment to compose themselves. When she turned back, Suzaku had finally dragged up something to say.

"Thank you. For the cane," he said, glancing at where it leaned against the counter. Aurora snagged it, twirling it between her fingers like a baton as she brought it over to rest it against the table within his easy reach.

"Consider it yours until you don't need it anymore."

He wanted to protest; he felt like he should. But it wasn't as if she was gifting it to him permanently, and Aurora's face told him that arguing would be pointless. Sitting down again, she edged the plate a little closer to him, plucking up one of the pear halves.

"I will ask that you hold off on tackling the stairs by yourself, though. Call me if you need help."

He nodded, although he wished he wouldn't have to.

Nibbling on an apple slice, Suzaku finally blurted out, "I'm sorry I worry you so much. I just don't know why you care."

It was the truth, and he could see Aurora realize that, as the shock in her eyes faded to sorrow. Clearing her throat, she edged forward slightly.

"Do you know what the hardest thing about taking care of you is, Suzaku?"

He shook his head, not sure he wanted to know the answer, but certain that he should suffer from it.

"The battles. Not against the men who did this to you, not against your injuries, and not against your instinct. It's the battles against your mind. It is tearing your soul apart from the inside out, punishing you far beyond what you deserve, and making your life a living hell. It's trying to save itself, and you won't let it, so your mind has reverted to reptile brain function in order to survive. But the truth is, reacting to what has happened to you at a basic level only increases the damage exponentially. It's a vicious cycle, one exacerbated by the drug use."

He couldn't help but flinch, glancing down to the crook of his arms as the skin seemed to burn before dragging his eyes back up to hers. She stood, and leaned over him, her fingers sliding into the hair under his ear.

"But if I succeed?" she whispered. "It will be the hardest, most rewarding victory I've ever won. I can only hope you'll be willing to help me. I only want to see you healthy." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she walked out of the kitchen, slowly climbing the stairs up to her room. He could hear her moving upstairs, a board creaking occasionally over by the doorway to the hall.

Suzaku sat frozen, dealing with too many thoughts, too many emotions, to pick one to bring under control. Instead, he blindly reached for the cane, heaving himself up and stumping to the parlor. Taking a seat in the same chair as earlier, he reached down for his notebook. It was only once it was in his lap that he realized the pencil was gone. That was alright. He didn't really want to draw anyway. Sitting quietly, his hand curled around the spiral binding, Suzaku gazed out the window. His face was quiet, and his mind reeled.

Chapter Text

When Kendra and Chandler arrived at the cottage, Aurora was surfing the net, debating with herself about a purple evening gown that would go stunningly with her eyes, but she'd probably never have occasion to wear. At the cursory knock on the door, Aurora leapt up from her seat in the kitchen, loping out to meet her visitors before they'd cleared the small foyer.

"Hey, guys! You're early," Aurora said laughingly as she drew Kendra into a hug. Pulling back, she was immediately hauled into Chandler's bear hug. He crushed her close, lifting her off the floor and making her shriek a little in surprise. In retaliation, Aurora vised her grip around his ribs, and he set her loose, making an exaggerated face as he rubbed his side.

"Geez, Stretch. Thought you were going to break me in half there."

She punched his upper arm lightly, grinning in return to his crooked smile.

"Yeah, right. Me and what army?"

He laughed, a good belly laugh that somehow always made the people around him smile, at least a little. Chandler was a tall man, easily over six feet. His shoulders were broader, his arms much stronger than expected for a diplomat. His slightly shaggy hair, just shy of blond, was tipped in gold from the sun, his dancing hazel eyes already framed by laugh lines, even though he was still shy of thirty. Chandler was a good sport, a good man, and a good friend. He teased and joked, and often was the one responsible for lightening his wife's determined focus and stoic demeanor. The only time Aurora had ever seen Kendra cry from laughter had been from one of Chandler's silly jokes.

Herding them into the kitchen, Aurora ushered them to chairs, asking if they wanted a drink or anything to eat. If any of them thought it odd that she was playing hostess in what was technically Chandler's house, none of them said anything. She had just sat down and closed her laptop when Chandler spoke.

"Hey, where's that sneaky hound of yours?" He looked around the kitchen, as if Ban might pop out from where he'd been hiding in the oven.

"Oh, he's on a walk with Suzaku. I thought we had an hour till you got here, so I figured it was better if he got it out of the way."

Kendra shifted, propping her chin on the heel of her hand, her eyes assessing behind the small, round frames of her glasses.

"A walk, huh?" She didn't look irritated, but Aurora just shrugged with a sort of relaxed resignation.

"Not worth the battle, trust me. And if I had to guess, it's doing him good."

"All right. Anyway, we're early because someone woke me up at six this morning wanting to know if it was time to head out. Honestly, it's like it's Christmas, or something," Kendra complained good naturedly, rolling her eyes at her husband, who grinned like a cheeky boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What? I was just excited to see the mutt and my favorite girl."

Kendra peered at him with narrowed eyes while Aurora smiled behind her hand.

"Your favorite girl. Really. Well, I'll just have to take that into account for later, I suppose."

Chandler ran his hand soothingly over Kendra's, trying and failing to hide his grin at a good bit of teasing.

"Darling, you're my favorite wife-"

"I'm your only wife," Kendra reminded him darkly. The twitch around her lips, however, betrayed her humor.

"Even so, you're my favorite wife. But I can't help it if Aurora's taller."

As Aurora failed to hold back her howl of laughter, Kendra ignored her and poked her husband in the ribs.

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"It just means she makes better cookies," Chandler reasoned innocently. Her laughter restarted, Aurora was unable to confirm or deny. Kendra, however, sighed.

"It's true. She does have a way with gingersnaps. If you're finished, Aurora," she said, trying to talk through Aurora's giggles as she imperiously pushed the bridge of her glasses up her nose, "would you be so kind as to retrieve my patient?"

Nodding, not quite trusting herself to talk yet, Aurora stood and moved to the back door, finally disciplining her breath enough to manage a whistle. As she turned and sat back down, Chandler shivered comically.

"Holy crap. I forgot you could whistle like that. Make's my spine tingle."

Kendra zinged her nails up Chandler's back, and this time he shivered for real. Laughing, Aurora finally managed to ask them about the clinic. The pair updated her as they waited for Suzaku to return, speaking of some of the regular patients, the ponderous progress in London, and the weather. Apparently, it was raining like the world was about to end. Chandler teased that if they had to come to Ireland to dry out, things must be pretty bad across the Manx.

Finally, Aurora caught the uneven stomp of boots over gravel, and stood to open the screen door. The sun had been playing hide and seek all day, the breeze as schizophrenic as the clouds. Just that moment, the sun and wind were soft, hardly tousling her hair as she leaned out to watch Suzaku approach. Ban walked at his side like a trusty shadow, and Aurora's smile, wide with humor, softened into an expression she didn't know she made. When Suzaku looked up to see her waiting for him, he froze for a moment, unreadable expressions flickering in his eyes. He eventually shook himself free and made his way over the last couple of yards to the door.

Ban lunged ahead of him, leaping gracelessly up the stairs and bounding into the kitchen. His low, vocal whoo's competed with Chandler's laughter, and Aurora stayed by the door, holding the screen open as Suzaku made his way up. She didn't help him, and he didn't ask. Aurora knew that both of them wanted to show Kendra how he was improving, give him a chance to maintain his pride in front of a stranger. As he stepped into the kitchen, Chandler looked up from where he and Ban rough-housed, his hazel eyes calming into an expression you didn't expect on his open, friendly face.

It wasn't aggression, necessarily. But it was a wariness, a measuring that reminded you that though Chandler was often a big jokester, he was also the canny, clever head of multiple committees and one of the most vocal, and determined, proponents of London's resurrection. An especially hard task in a time when money was tight and solidarity prompted by appreciation of the past was a luxury few could afford.

He straightened, very subtly stepping in front of his wife. Suzaku leaned his cane against the wall, squaring his shoulders in a motion that Aurora knew for a fact was painful. She introduced them, and, for a moment, the two men stared at each other. If Aurora wasn't so invested in them getting along, she would have rolled her eyes at this male territorial display.

The moment broke, however, when Chandler's stance loosened, his head tilting slightly to the side in an expression of consideration as he offered his hand for a shake. Suzaku took it, cautiously, but Aurora only fully relaxed when Chandler smiled. He looked down to talk more nonsense to Ban, who was delighted that his playmate had arrived. Kendra stood, hefting her extremely heavy bag with little effort and lovingly shoving Chandler and Ban out of the way.

"Let's head upstairs, Suzaku,"

Letting Aurora help him out of his jacket, he hurried after her as best he could, leaving his cane by the door. By accident or design, Aurora wasn't sure. She watched him, watched the way he walked, his limp less pronounced but his core still stiff with pain. Kendra paused at the base of the stairs, offering her help in a subtle, professional manner Aurora suspected she'd absorbed in med school. It was only once she'd heard the pair clear the top of the stairs and make it to his room that she relaxed, looking back at Chandler.

He had sat again, Ban all but drooling into his lap as he shifted the dog's collar and scratched where it normally sat. His expression was odd; partially interested, partially smug, partially surprised.

"What?" Aurora asked as she took her seat again. He looked at her silently for another moment, then shook his head, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing. So, you got any cookies around this place or what?"

She shook off her suspicion about his odd expression, lifting her brow at him.

"Uh huh. Now you want cookies."

He grinned, clever and silly.

"Of course. You think I'm going to eat cookies in front of Kendra? Come now. We both know I could only have two or three before she'd look at me and sigh in that way she has. This way, we can eat as many cookies as we want, and she'll be none the wiser." He looked at Aurora as if she should be heralding his genius.

"You just want to secure my silence by making me an accomplice," she teased with a mocking, serious expression on her face.

"Well, yeah," he said, jokingly exasperated. Aurora stood, pouring a glass of milk and retrieving a covered, half-full plate of gingersnaps she'd made yesterday, sliding both in front of Chandler. As she sat again, the man was already on his second cookie, closing his eyes in bliss.

"You, my dear lady, are one after my own heart, and a goddess of gingery baked goods," he claimed, pressing his hand to his heart as he made short work of another cookie.

"Yeah, yeah, sucker fish. You know, Kendra's just looking out for your girlish figure," Aurora said as Chandler paused in his determined cookie consumption to take a sip of milk.

"It is rather impressive, isn't it?" he said, flexing his not unsubstantial bicep. Aurora just laughed, shaking her head. He nudged the plate towards her, and as she daintily chose a small cookie, she noticed out of the corner of her eye Chandler sneaking a covert treat to Ban, who just as furtively snapped up the bit of dough. Sighing as she nibbled on a gingersnap, she leveled a glare at Chandler.

"If you had it your way, he'd be as big as a blimp," she chided. Chandler just shrugged.

"Man's got to eat," he said simply, wolfing down another cookie with a disarming smile. "So," he continued, rubbing a wide-palmed hand down Ban's spine, "how're you doing?"

"Alright, I suppose," Suzaku said as he sat on the bed, watching Kendra unload her equipment. Now that he was slightly more familiar with the process, he could devote his attention more to the doctor taking care of him. He'd forgotten how black her hair was, the way her eyes flashed gold behind the silver rims of her glasses. She made an interesting pair with her husband; she dark and clever, he brash and laughing. But Suzaku had noticed the way that they smiled at each other, and was shocked at the stab of envy that sliced through him.

"Good. I'm glad to see you're getting around better."

"The walks help," he said, uncharacteristically volunteering information in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the realization that he still wanted that life. A life with someone he loved, who loved him fully in return, a future not just a possibility, but their right. He could have had that with Euphemia, maybe, but…

Shaking himself, Suzaku dragged his thoughts out of a past he couldn't change, focusing on the doctor's brief examination of his general condition. Kendra's manner was different, but it reminded Suzaku of the bi-monthly health exams he'd had to undergo during his tenure in the Honorary Britannian system. He'd hated it, every time. The poking, the prodding, the measuring, the judging. But he'd endured it, because God forbid they pull him from active duty, from the field. The only place where he didn't feel like he would go insane from the static in his brain.

"Care to share?" Kendra's words jerked him back to Ireland, where he sat in a guest bedroom in Kendra's house. He stared at her, confused, as she took his pulse, her eyes regularly flicking from his down to her watch and back again.

"Your brain's circling around at a million miles an hour. Care to share what's got you so far away?"

Suzaku didn't say anything, because he didn't want to share. Didn't want to dredge up details of a past that loomed over his present. It didn't need encouragement with conversation. After noting down something on a pad of paper, she looked at him for a moment. When she realized he wasn't going to answer, she simply nodded.

"OK. Let's get that sling off."

He'd gotten his sling down to something of a science over the last week. He was also getting pretty good at getting dressed and undressed one handed. Usually, he got everything on by himself, then Aurora just checked the straps and velcros to make sure the sling was secure. At night, she simply undid the straps before leaving him to his own devices with the rest. Suzaku hadn't had to ask for the independence; she'd given it to him willingly, once she was certain he could handle it.

He caught the brief flash of surprise in Kendra's eyes as he managed to mostly undo the sling himself before she could really help. Smiling a little from a ridiculous, small burst of pride, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt without her command. After all, he had a better idea this time what this whole process was about.

She was smiling in approval as she helped him slide the sleeve free of his mangled left arm, her fingers moving lightly over skin sensitized by injury and healing. She did the same pressure exercises as last time, voicing her satisfaction with his improvement. As she listened to him breathe, Suzaku told himself he was getting better at it, that pneumonia wouldn't be a concern. He didn't really believe it until Kendra said much the same, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders in a way his own commands could never have done. Kendra straightened from bending over him, rubbing her eyes under her glasses briefly before pressing her hands to her lower back and arching her spine. Suzaku couldn't help the small frown that stole over his face.

"Are you… are you OK?"

Kendra looked surprised at his vocalization of concern, but pleased.

"I'm fine, Suzaku. Just a little stiff from the car ride. Now, let's see how your joints are doing." She ran him through a similar series of stretches they'd done last time, paying special attention to his shoulder, which was brittle and stiff with disuse. Carefully inspecting the stitches, Kendra declared another week for his shoulder, at least as much for his arm. Her insistent probing revealed that the soreness of his ribs was no longer caused by loose bone, but healing bone.

She seemed satisfied with his spine, and was glad to see that the muscular atrophy through the rest of his body was minimal – there was nothing they could do about his left arm and shoulder, not for a while. His bruises were entering their final phase of magnificent color, the sickly yellow of healing just around the corner. For now, they were their deepest black, the gathered blood now dead and waiting to be cleared away. Most of the bruises had lost their tenderness, and the swelling from the injuries was slowly fading throughout his entire frame.

"Alright, down to your skivvies," Kendra commanded as she helped him stand, busying herself with something from her bag as Suzaku worked off his pants. He'd stripped down to his underwear for more health inspections that he could count, but for some reason, it was different with Kendra. He wasn't so much embarrassed as… shy. Shaking his head at the silliness of it, he sat again at the doctor's command, going through the same motions as last time as she guided him along, her eyes careful and assessing. Inspecting his right calf, Kendra flashed him a grin as she settled onto the floor cross-legged.

"Good news – you're getting rid of at least one of your sets of stitches today."

Luckily, Suzaku couldn't really see as she slowly snipped away at the sixteen stitches in his calf. The measured, careful process, though relatively painless, was making his muscles twitch with each snick of the curve tipped scissors. He could only imagine that the broad rows of stitches on his shoulder and arm – around twenty and thirty, respectively, if not more – would be a bit harder to take. She patted his knee when she was done, dabbing at a drop of blood with a piece of gauze as she stood again.

"That one's looking good. I'm going to get some x-rays, then we're about done."

Suzaku nodded, surprised when he shivered a little as she turned to retrieve her beloved yellow box. He hadn't noticed a chill in the room, but then, he was sitting there in just his underwear. Looking down, he realized for the first time how prominent his ribs were. And that was after Aurora had spent a week shoving food down his throat at every opportunity. Jesus, how had he looked before?

He was distracted from his shocked, helpless thoughts as Kendra draped the lead apron over his lap and set to work. Much fewer shots were needed this time, and were mostly centered around his injured shoulder. When she took some x-rays of his back, Suzaku felt her fingers brush over his shoulder blade.

"Actually, these look ready to go, too."

As he watched Kendra meticulously pack away her x-ray equipment as the machine downloaded to her laptop and unpack her neatly stored scissors, gauze, and gloves, Suzaku wasn't surprised. It was the only stitched injury he couldn't see, his ribs too damaged to handle much twisting to see in the mirror. And honestly, he wasn't nearly as worried about the wound on his back, not when his arm ached so badly he didn't just avoid moving it to be careful – the slightest twitch of muscle was agonizing.

But above his shoulder blade, the entry wound was probably pretty minor. It made sense; the bullet made only a small injury going it. But going out, it had crashed through muscle and had been followed by a spray of shattered bone. Suzaku could only imagine how much worse the carnage had been when his arm had been blown apart.

Instead of kneeling on the bed behind him again, Kendra had him move to the chair, so she could stand as she removed the stitches. As the doctor set to work, Suzaku closed his eyes, and tried to focus on anything except the odd sensation of string being pulled through his skin. For some reason, Aurora came to mind. He hadn't known she looked like that when she laughed.

"You did not say that!" Aurora gasped, giggling helplessly at Chandler's audacity.

"You bet your skinny ass I did," he countered smugly.

"You told the Chairman of Distribution that the only person you let screw you like that was your wife," Aurora repeated incredulously. Chandler hummed in agreement, his smile wide and self-satisfied.

"What did he say?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, after about a minute of blushing and fidgeting, he said he'd take another look at the budget."

"And?" Aurora prompted. His smile turned wicked.

"He ended up increasing the shipment by forty percent."

Aurora laughed, shaking her head.

"You tricky bastard."

"What?" Chandler protested innocently. "I just told him the truth. Not my fault I'm married to a tigress."

Aurora's hearty laugh faded quickly when she heard footsteps above them, her entire frame snapping to attention when the sounds of stairs being carefully traversed trickled down to the kitchen. When she glanced back at Chandler, he had that odd look on his face again.

"What?" Aurora queried, already rising to meet Suzaku and Kendra.

"You're worried about him," Chandler stated as he too rose, tugging on Ban's tail as he trotted out of the room to the hallway. Aurora just rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"I'm looking after one of the most controversial political figures in recent history who is recovering from three gunshot wounds. Of course I'm worried."

"That's not what I mean," Chandler murmured. Before Aurora had a chance to ask him what exactly he did mean, Suzaku and Kendra entered the kitchen.

"What's the verdict?" Chandler managed around one last cookie.

"He's recovering nicely," Kendra said. Catching Aurora's eye, she silently beckoned for her behind Suzaku's back. Glancing at him quickly, she managed a small smile as she started striding out of the room.

"Be right back," she called over her shoulder, the two women disappearing quickly down the hall towards the library. For a moment, Chandler and Suzaku stood in awkward silence, left without the comfortable buffer of Aurora. Finally, Chandler cleared his throat, gesturing towards the table, taking a seat as Ban snuffled his hands before rubbing his head on Suzaku's knee. Eyeing the other man a little warily, Suzaku slowly made his way to his usual seat. Another few moments of uncomfortable quiet passed before Chandler heaved a sigh and spoke.

"So."

"What's this all about?" Aurora asked, shutting the library door behind her as Kendra set down her bag and withdrew her laptop.

"I wanted to talk to you about something. It's not bad," she hurried to clarify. "Just… odd." Waiting as her computer booted up, Kendra turned to Aurora, a hand braced against her hipshot waist.

"How old is Suzaku?"

"He's almost twenty-one," Aurora answered immediately. Kendra slowly nodded, her brows slightly drawn in consideration. "Why?" She met Aurora's eyes before she spoke.

"I think he just finished growing."

"That's a little late, isn't it?" Aurora asked as Kendra pulled up her latest round of x-rays.

"I didn't notice it last time because, frankly, his arm was too much of a mess. Suzaku's doing good, but the bone's not healing quite as quickly as I would have assumed. When you think about it, that makes sense. Adolescent bone is harder and more brittle than usual. And then there's this." Kendra zoomed in on one of the x-rays, closing in on the area at the top of Suzaku's humerus.

"You see this ghostly-looking slice of squoosh? That's the epiphyseal plate. It's the areas on the ends of the bones that are soft – this is where bones grow. If I were to x-ray you in the exact same spot, we could maybe see a residual hairline. Chandler's and mine have long since fused and disappeared. But Suzaku's has just begun hardening. That means he just finished growing."

It was odd, and Aurora was silent as she thought over the implications. Kendra had to repeat her question before Aurora heard it.

"What?"

"I asked if his height was recorded in his military file."

"Yeah, he was about 5'9"."

"For how long?"

"They keep pretty tight records. He hit 5'9" at about sixteen, and stayed that way up until Lelouch took the throne. His files pretty much taper off after that."

Kendra nodded, her brows still knitted as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"And now I'd say he's at least a solid 6 foot, maybe just over. So he had regular growth until he was sixteen, stopped growing for at least two years, and recently gained four inches? That's pretty weird."

"Can you think of any reason why that would happen?" Aurora asked, her eyes flicking to and skittering away from the computer screen documenting Suzaku's damage.

"Well, it's possible, especially considering the time period, that under extreme stress, his body went into survival mode. Growing takes a lot of work, and paired with his mental strain, I can see how his body would have halted his growth to conserve resources. What surprises me is that it restarted. That means, sometime after Lelouch's death, Suzaku relaxed enough for his body to come out of that mode and finish what it had intended to do all along."

"So…?" Aurora prompted after a moment, sensing that this wasn't the extent of Kendra's confusion.

"So where in all of that is the trigger for the heroin use?"

Aurora stiffened, frowning a little as she dropped her eyes.

"He hasn't told you," Kendra realized, her voice a little sad.

"No. He hasn't talked to me about his addiction at all. I'm guessing it's forbidden territory."

The slightly uncomfortable look on Kendra's face tipped her off.

"But he told you."

"I have a theory why," Kendra said quickly, heading off any possible response from Aurora. "I'm neutral territory, kiddo. He can't disappoint me, and my opinion of him doesn't mean anything. We discussed as much last time. But he can disappoint you, and your opinion does matter. So the consequences are a little more hefty than he can deal with right now."

"Did he talk to you about it?" Aurora said in a small voice, her tone telling Kendra she wasn't asking the doctor to betray confidences. Kendra thought over her words before she spoke.

"A little. Not very in depth, but enough to relieve the pressure. Suzaku told me what he wanted out of it, but not the distinct thing that made him search out the relief heroin could bring him. To be honest, I'm not even sure he realizes what drove him to it in the first place. He's so out of touch with his emotions, it wouldn't surprise me in the least."

"How can that happen to someone?" Aurora asked, her voice low but her word fast and desperate. The questions had been burning in her gut for a while, and she needed to get a little reassurance, if not some answers.

"Guilt. Grief left unaddressed. Rage. Individually, they have the power to completely disrupt someone's life. When a man bound by secrets and lies is dealing with all of them, it can take over and corrupt his mind. I've heard that many people suffering from this level of trauma are afraid of their own feelings – they're afraid they'll go insane or injure someone if they fully let go. And considering the pressure, power, and physical strength that Suzaku commands, I'd say he's more afraid of that than most. Paired with the pain his feelings and memories bring, he probably tried to distance himself from those emotions. The heroin was a tool to do that. Unfortunately, his attempt to self-medicate back-fired, as it does 99.99% of the time."

"Did he tell you any of that?" Aurora was eager for answers, but carefully skirted the line of confidences.

"No," Kendra said with a small smile, clearly aware of Aurora's concern. "Those are just inferences from what I've seen and from what you've told me. He's a mess, sweetheart, and he's going to be a lot of work."

Aurora tilted her head back slightly, a smile slowly moving across her lips as she thought over Kendra's word choice.

"You're not warning me away anymore."

Kendra sighed as she turned away to scroll through the x-rays, turning back with a rueful expression on her face.

"No, I'm not."

At Aurora's raised brows, she continued.

"He asked me if I was OK." After a moment of thoughtful silence, Kendra continued. "I was a little stiff from the car ride, so I stretched before checking his stitches. And he noticed. You were right. He's in there somewhere. And that guy deserves a chance to be normal, to be healthy again. So I'm in. For the long haul."

Aurora slowly hugged Kendra, surprised at the relief washing through her. She knew she could always count on her friend, but it was startling how much Kendra's uninhibited support meant. Stepping back Aurora smiled radiantly.

"You are a queen."

Kendra just rolled her eyes.

"I know," she said seriously. Glancing back out of the corner of her eyes, Kendra smile mischievously. "And you, my darling girl, are more of a saint that I ever realized."

Aurora scrunched her nose as she waved the words away.

"Please. Don't make me laugh. You're still mad at me for what I said to Mr. Kensington."

Kendra glared at her as she replaced her laptop in exactly the same spot it had been in before.

"I can't believe you called him 'a dirty, rotten old codger who had more hair than brains and more brains than teeth.'"

Aurora couldn't help the laugh.

"You have to admit, that was pretty hilarious. Especially when you consider he's bald."

"He's a regular patient, Aurora," Kendra said chidingly. She just rolled her eyes.

"He's a rude old man who's always looking for a chance to cop a feel. He's lucky I didn't punch his dentures out through the back of his head."

Kendra just shook her head as she buckled her bag closed.

"So how's that x-ray machine working out for you?" Aurora asked, distracting Kendra from her sadly lacking sense of humor.

"Lovely. It was so kind of you to get me a gift like that, Aurora," Kendra said with a small smirk.

"Did I? I always have such good taste," she said with a toothy grin, swinging the strap on her shoulder as she threw her arm over Kendra's shoulders. On occasion, when an expensive piece of equipment was needed, Aurora insisted that it came from her extensive funds instead of the clinic's stable but modest budget. She told Kendra to think of it as her version of a gift. She didn't need to know about it – she trusted the Andrews implicitly.

As they made their way back to the kitchen, Aurora was shocked to see Suzaku laughing at something Chandler said. It was quiet and maybe a little rusty, but a laugh nonetheless.

"So what did you do?" he asked.

"Well, like a total moron trying to talk to a pretty girl, I tried to save face. This, of course, meant that my big fat mouth was still flapping, and I said 'She still in the same graveyard?'"

Suzaku continued to chuckle, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head in solidarity to Chandler's pretty girl stupidity.

"How could I possibly resist such smooth charm?" Kendra joked as she strode over to her husband, tugging his hair to tip his face back for a kiss.

"You think I'm adorable," Chandler reminded her as she stroked her fingers through his hair.

"For some bizarre reason, I do. And with that, my dear friends, it's time for us to go."

"Already?" Chandler protested.

"Suzaku's tired," Kendra reasoned. He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking.

"I'm not tired."

Kendra just sighed at his wide-eyed protest.

"Fine, I'm tired. Probably because my adorable husband woke me up early this morning. Come on, dearest." She tugged on his arm, and he stood with obvious reluctance.

"You've got to work on that pout, Chandler," she told him, rising up on her toes to press a kiss to his unhappy mouth.

"I thought it was coming along rather nicely," he told her as they all slowly made their way towards the foyer. As Aurora helped Kendra shrug on her jacket and check her bag of medical supplies one last time, Chandler tugged on his brown page boy cap before turning to offer his hand to Suzaku.

"Nice meeting you, Kururugi. We'll be back soon enough."

Suzaku shook his hand in return, managing a smile and a nod. Kendra and Aurora shared a hug before the doctor turned to Suzaku with some last minute medical advice. Chandler wrapped his arms around Aurora as he pressed a smacking kiss to her cheek.

"See ya, Stretch."

"Travel safe, Senator," Aurora returned with a wave, leaning in the door jamb as the couple made their way to the car. Suzaku watched from a pace back from the door, his face softened by shadow as the Andrews climbed into their rental and headed on their merry way. Ban, who stood next to Aurora in the doorway, looked up at her, wagged his tail slowly, then trotted off to find the squooshy he'd been busy eviscerating earlier.

"I'm ready for some lunch," Aurora announced as she shut the front door. She walked back to the kitchen without waiting to see what Suzaku said in return, leaving him in the hallway feeling a little tired and overwhelmed. As he slowly made his way back, he could see the kettle already set to boil and Aurora busy at the counter, apparently creating some sort of concoction that involved chicken and celery. Since he didn't spy any green onions in the preparation, Suzaku didn't say anything. Now that he thought about it, he was a little hungry.

"How are you doing?" Aurora asked over her shoulder as she poured her tea, setting it down to steep as she quickly turned and continued chopping something. Suzaku cleared his throat, yet again feeling uncomfortable and useless as Aurora swiftly worked to take care of him.

"Fine," he managed. He could see the slight smile steal over Aurora's lips when she turned her head to grab a bottle of seasoning.

"I know they can be a lot, but the Andrews are always entertaining."

"I thought they were… charming," he managed, surprising himself when he realized that he'd spoken the truth.

"Yeah, especially when Chandler's acting like a giant fourteen year old and Kendra's got that look of resignation on her face like she's attached herself to a big pain in the ass."

Suzaku couldn't see her face, so he wasn't sure about Aurora's tone.

"I thought they got along rather well," he ventured cautiously. Aurora laughed.

"They get along famously. This may come as a surprise, but Chandler can actually be quite serious. His work day is filled with strain, lies, and consistently butting his head against a wall of greed and useless tradition. So when he's around Kendra, the woman he's completely in love with, he lets go and acts silly. It's partially for her benefit, because she can get really, really serious when he's not around. I can cheer her up a little, but no one can make the snark pour out of Kendra quite like Chandler. Weird as it may seem, all that was flirting for them. Teasing's practically part of their foreplay."

Suzaku felt his cheeks redden at the thought, and quickly steered the conversation away from the idea of Kendra and Chandler…

"What did Kendra want to talk to you about?" he asked as Aurora began whisking something in a bowl. Even a week ago, he might not have noticed it, but her shoulders slightly stiffened at his question.

"Nothing." Her voice was too quiet to be true. Suzaku was about to ask when she continued. "Kendra told me you got two sets of stitches taken out." Her voice was bright as she transferred the contents of one bowl to another, but Suzaku wasn't completely pulled off the thought.

"Yeah, my leg and the back of my shoulder. She's hoping to pull the rest of them next week."

Aurora was stirring the contents of the bowl with a vengeance, the lingering tension in her frame belying her jolly tone.

"I'm sure that's a relief. They must itch like crazy."

"They're OK," he murmured as Aurora covered the bowl and stuck it in the fridge. Pulling out a bag, she took a sip of tea before withdrawing something and setting about slicing it. Placing a cooking tray on the counter and switching on the oven, she finally turned to face him, leaning against the counter as she sipped from her mug. Suzaku could see the conflict on her face, the indecision in her eyes. Sighing, she seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

"I'm just going to ask this to get it out of the way. Do you want to talk about the heroin?"

Suzaku felt his jaw flex, his eyes flutter, and his dry throat frantically swallow all within the space of two seconds. It had been the last thing he'd thought she would bring up, and was sick at the thought of even talking about it.

"No," Suzaku managed to croak out. Aurora just sighed, a little sadly.

"OK," she said briskly, barely managing to hide the sorrow in her eyes as she turned towards the fridge to remove the bowl she'd used earlier. As she arranged things on the tray and began scooping out the mixture from the bowl, Suzaku stared at the fist balled in his lap, struggling to bring his breathing back under control. He heard the oven door open and close, the click of the timer being set, but he still couldn't look up.

"It's OK, Suzaku. We won't talk about it."

As he looked up at her, his mind raced through the possibilities. We won't talk about it today? Ever? Until he was ready to talk? Until she wanted to push for answers? His mind was chasing itself up a dizzying spiral when Ban strutted into the room, the ragged remains of a plush chew toy dangling from his jaws, the squeaker still caught in his teeth giving a dying wheeze with every step. He stopped next to his mother, and spat the cotton carcass at her feet. She dropped her hands to her hips, glaring at the dog, whose black stripes across his body were coming in as he sleeked down to his summer coat. Ban gazed back innocently, looking for all the world like an obedient son.

"That's the third one you've killed in as many days, Ban. Congratulations. You're a squooshy serial killer."

The dog didn't look at all contrite. Instead, his tail started to go in helicopter-like circles, and he was even shameless enough to flash a doggy grin.

"No remorse is a clear sign of psychopathic tendencies. You're as bad as a five year old with a hamster."

He softly barked, standing up on his back legs primly, just to show how smart he was. Dropping back down, he swiftly lowered his haunches into his awkward sit, raising one paw in request.

Sighing like the sucker she was, Aurora shook his paw, reached into Ban's cabinet of goodies, and produced a rawhide about as long as her hand. As Ban neatly nipped it from her hand and trotted from the room, she shook her head, struggling to hide the smile that wanted to bloom.

"Try not to spend it all in one place," she murmured. Cocking her head, Aurora carefully listened, and Suzaku found himself unconsciously mirroring her. He could hear the quiet pats of Ban's footsteps, softening as he stepped onto carpet. The thud of bones hitting the floor drew a bark out of Aurora, loud enough to make Suzaku jump.

"No, Ban! Bed!" She hadn't moved, but she'd known that her dog was settling down on that nice rug in the living room to chew on his messy toy. Making out the dog's grunt as he stood, then the softer thud of him laying down where he was supposed to, Suzaku couldn't help the shake of his head.

"Can you read each other's minds?"

Laughing quietly, she opened the oven door to check on her creations.

"No, he and I just spend way too much time together." Shutting the oven, she produced plates and silverware, glasses and napkins, setting the table as she sipped on her tea. When the timer dinged, she quickly produced an oven mitt, withdrawing lunch from the oven with an excited little smile on her face. The scent that drifted Suzaku's way was surprisingly delicious – he'd hardly smelled anything at all when she'd been making whatever it was.

She returned with a plate that steamed delicately, setting it on the table with the grandeur of an artist unveiling a masterpiece. Sliding a piece onto her plate before she'd even sat with delicate fingers, Aurora bit into it and sighed, a smile sliding across her mouth as she chewed.

"What is it?" Suzaku murmured, tempted by the smell but still cautious. His appetite was slowly rearing its head after all but evaporating earlier.

"Homemade chicken salad on English muffins topped with sprinkled cheddar cheese toasted to perfection," Aurora announced in between bites. Like a man handling a time bomb, Suzaku transferred one of the little mounds to his own plate, looking at it for a moment before nibbling. As soon as the food hit his tongue, he sighed.

"Good?" Aurora asked, a twinkle in her eyes as she chewed.

"Better," he said, soon all too busy to talk.

Chapter Text

On the last day of April, four days after Kendra and Chandler visited, Aurora announced during breakfast that they were going to Galway today. Suzaku just looked at her blankly, his forkful of scrambled eggs halting mid-air. Aurora leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, the sparkle of excitement in her eyes unmistakable, glinting with an edge he couldn't quite recognize.

"You need some clothes, I have a few other errands in mind, and I'm in need of a people fix. I don't get this way very often, but some city energy would do us both good, I think." When she winked, Suzaku almost dropped his fork.

"I don't…" he started, trailing off when he couldn't quite think of a way to mention his lack of funds without sounding pathetic. She just waved his worries away, standing to clear her place with a sizzle of energy that brought an answering shiver to Suzaku's muscles.

"Don't worry about it. You need some stuff, I need some stuff, and we both need a break. We'll stop by the O'Tooles on the way back, say hello, and we'll be home having dinner before the sun even sets." Since the sun didn't hit the horizon these days until about eight o'clock at night, Aurora was giving them a large margin of time.

"As soon as you're finished, get dressed. I'll meet you on the porch in half an hour," she called over her shoulder as she bounded out the kitchen door to the gardens. Suzaku still sat, shocked by what felt like a tidal wave of vitality left in Aurora's wake. He glanced over at Ban, who snoozed on his dog bed by the laundry room.

"Wow," he finally managed under his breath. "OK."

Ban flopped his tail around once before shutting his eyes again and seamlessly falling back to sleep. Apparently, he was accustomed to a sparkling, firecracker Aurora.

Suzaku did as he was told, left with no options to do otherwise, and headed upstairs. As he finished his grooming and made his way down the hall, Aurora ran up the stairs, her hands grubby and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She simply smiled luminously at Suzaku, slipped by him like a shadow, and dove into the bathroom, the crank of shower dials and the thunder of water hitting porcelain soon rumbling down the hallway. Suzaku shook his head after a moment, and continued on his way.

As he got dressed, he realized that Aurora was right. He'd been circulating through a set of clinic scrubs and some of Chandler's hand-me-downs that were either too small for the man or easily adjustable. While given in the spirit of generosity, Suzaku had to admit that borrowed clothing never failed to make him feel like an outcast. And after what felt like a lifetime spent in uniforms, it was as if he'd forgotten how to wear casual clothes, how to be comfortable and safe without his armor.

Pulling on the jeans that sagged the least around his hips, Suzaku cranked a scuffed belt to its tightest hole, only just keeping the pants from slipping down his butt. The t-shirt billowed a little on him, followed by a dark green plaid shirt too big across the shoulders. At least it gave him a little room to maneuver with his battered arm and still bandaged shoulder. Finally slipping on the worn pair of boots that were just a little too big, Suzaku set to the task of putting on his sling.

As he carefully smoothed the Velcro fixtures, he heard the faint squeak of the shower dials being turned off, then the quick patter of footsteps down the hall towards his end. Frowning slightly, Suzaku tried to estimate how long Aurora's shower had been. It couldn't have taken him very long to get dressed – he'd never met a woman who could shower in less than ten minutes.

Deciding that the mysteries of the female transformation were far beyond him, Suzaku grabbed his cane. Heading downstairs, he pausing before he pulled the front door open. He glanced to his right when something caught his eye, at the mirror that hung on the wall. It reflected back the picture of a man with shaggy brown hair, waving and a little wild, green eyes recovering from bruising and still hollow, his cheeks gaunt and his jaw still unnaturally sharp. The clothes were too big, the posture, though rigid from training, starting to bow under pain. Reflexively, he tried to straighten his spine, pull back his shoulders in a form that had been pounded into him since infancy till it had coalesced into habit. But now, the stretch of muscle almost made Suzaku gasp, and he relaxed with a wince. Even the soldier had been beaten out of him.

Sighing like an old man, frustrated and resigned, he opened the door and stepped out. The breeze was delicate as blown glass, the sun warming quickly with three hours spent revving its way into the sky. The flowers nodded their heads, as if all in agreement to the sun's idea. Suzaku lowered himself onto one of the rockers angled on the porch, pleased that the twinges and aches, though still present, weren't severe enough to make him want to double over. He felt silly at such minor progress, but Aurora had tirelessly encouraged him to celebrate each improvement. At first, Suzaku had felt ridiculous when she gushed about him being able to walk for fifteen minutes without becoming winded. But he had to admit that noticing even the most minor development kept him from wanting to tear his hair out and scream until his lungs collapsed from sheer impotence.

Ban had slipped out behind him, sniffing his way along the dirt track leading to the driveway and back again, copiously marking the path in his usual manner. Just as he was about to calmly trot back to the porch, something caught his attention to the north. Lifting his head and ears in an almost painfully attentive stance, Ban suddenly leaped over the flower beds, sprinting after something Suzaku couldn't quite see with an eerie silence. His mouth almost dropped open, astonished at Ban's effortless speed. Not a bark or howl, not even a warning bay before he suddenly unleashed immense power and shot couldn't gather his thoughts quick enough to call Bannock back, and then wasn't even sure if he needed to, or if the dog would respond. Not even a minute passed before Ban loped back, empty-handed but apparently quite pleased with himself. He hopped up and stood next to Suzaku on the porch for a moment, lightly panting as he looked out over the land of his newest kingdom. Suzaku ran a hand down his back, finally having witnessed what all that lean muscle and long bone was designed for.

"I didn't know dogs could be that fast, Bannock," he stated under his breath. Ban lightly licked his wrist before circling next to the rocker at least four times, flopping down on the boards with a contended grunt, the silence only broken by the soft tinkling of the wind had just begun to snooze when his ears twitched at the click of Aurora's steps inside as she approached the front door. Suzaku lifted his eyes, his mouth already open in an attempt to make some sort of comment on Bannock's display of speed when Aurora came through the door.

His thoughts collided with each other like train cars piling up on an engine that had suddenly stopped, flopping off the rails into silence like flailing guppies. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, Suzaku helplessly drank in the sight of her.

Aurora was wearing a dress.

White as the moon, the bodice was snug, cinched in at her natural waist where it bloomed into a charming circle skirt that fell to her knees. He caught a glimpse of a blue sheer underskirt peeking out from under the hem, drawing the eye to mile-long legs smoothly toned with muscle. The dress sported red flowers the size of medals, scattered on the fabric like poppies strewn across snow, haloed faintly in blue. The waist was tied in by a blood red belt, the dress somehow managing to skirt the line between coyly conservative and outrageously sexy. She wore a short sleeved, fitted white sweater that ended at the belt, successfully sprinkling a little sweet in the ensemble.

Aurora hooked her hands on her hips, angling slightly and smiling to herself under the open appraisal that Suzaku was incapable of stopping.

She'd done something to her face. It was mild, even subtle. Something that made her eyes seem larger, sparkling like ocean waters of the north laced with frost. Her mouth was glossy and warm, and, still slightly horrified at his complete inability to control his undoubtedly rude gaze, Suzaku almost blanched when he helplessly wondered what her lips would taste like. Hair he'd usually seen ruthlessly tamed back into a braid or a ponytail spilled over her shoulders in clouds of aged gold, looking decadent and deliciously rumpled. Luckily one hand was out of commission; Suzaku could barely control the way his fingers itched to lock themselves into those banks of rich hair.

If he didn't say something, anything, he was going to jump off the roof. Anything to mitigate the ridiculous storm of feeling Aurora, this teasing, sassy, beautiful Aurora, brought sweeping through him. Clearing his throat a few times – the first couple attempts didn't manage to dislodge the wool that seemed to wrap around his larynx – he finally found his voice.

"You look… nice," Suzaku managed, a little alarmed at how husky his voice was. Nice? Did he just say nice? She looked good enough to… well, he wasn't sure what, but she was far beyond nice into the realms of man-killer gorgeous. If she was insulted by his stunningly lackluster comment, she didn't show it. Instead, Aurora just smiled, a cat-like curve of those lips that did something to Suzaku's stomach.

"Thanks," she purred. "Here," she continued in a slightly more normal tone, bright with excitement. Managing to drag his eyes away from her, Suzaku slowly focused on the objects in her hand. His brain still firing on a half a coughing cylinder, he just looked at them. Aurora stepped closer, bringing with her the halo of scent he'd caught the edges of before – cherry blossoms and the cool air of storms.

She hooked a black ball cap on his head, tugging it low over his eyes. Sliding a pair of aviator sunglasses onto his nose, Aurora stepped back and tilted her head, taking the tantalizing whisper of her scent with her. After a moment of narrow-eyed consideration, she straightened and smiled, Suzaku still struck stupidly dumb.

"Good. No one will recognize you. I've always found that disguises, like cover ID's, are better off simple."

He had no response to that – he could hardly compute the importance of that. Finally, Suzaku realized that Aurora was taking precautions. He hardly recognized himself, and Ireland was far from a political player, but it was best that he didn't wander around a sizable city as is. Since he couldn't see what he looked like, Suzaku guessed that Aurora was satisfied with whatever the hat and glasses hid.

Slowly regaining control over his embarrassingly scattered system, he carefully stood, looking over as Aurora ushered Ban into the house, murmuring reassurances and promises for a treat upon their return as she closed the door, snagging a small, shiny purse of navy blue patent leather. The click of her footsteps caught his attention, and Suzaku's eyes dropped to her feet. She was wearing pumps with heels at least four inches tall, bringing her eye to eye with Suzaku. They were a blistering red in patent leather that matched her belt, and made him gulp. As she strode past him and started down the porch steps, his mouth flapped open before he had enough wherewithal to seal it shut.

"Those are pretty tall heels. You going to be OK in them all day?"

Aurora paused on the stairs, looking over her shoulder at him, her expression the singular, disparaging, pitying look women gave to brain-dead males who really couldn't help being that thick. She fully turned, one hand on the railing while the other holding her little bag settled on her hip. Tilting her head, she somehow managed to playfully look down her nose at him, even though she was several steps lower.

"Suzaku, I am a professional female. Not only could I hike a mountain or walk miles in these shoes, I could kill you with them." With that, she spun in a twirl of gold hair, white skirt, and silky scent, stepping off the porch and walking around the side of the house towards the shed.

Suzaku was pretty certain he should be insulted. Or embarrassed. It didn't really make sense that all he could make out through the scramble of emotions was being oddly impressed. And something that made his lips tingle and his muscle quiver and he could confuse himself any further, the elemental roar of an engine starting caught his attention. Making his way off the porch, he looked around the side of the house to see Aurora driving over in a startingly bright blue sports car. Shifting into neutral and cranking on the emergency brake, she got out like she'd been slinging out of low sports cars all her life, walking over to the passenger side, caressing the hood lightly with a loving leaned back against the curved front fender with a sexy, smug smile and relaxed, feline stance.

"Meet Natasha."

A beautiful woman with a beautiful car. Suzaku was pretty certain that the parts of his brain designed to be interested in this scenario, long left to disuse, were short-circuiting. Swallowing heavily, he made his cautious way closer, feeling the engine's thrum, purring like a jungle cat, in his bones.

"1969 Corvette Stingray. ZL1 aluminum V8 big block engine, she can put out four hundred sixty horsepower when she's feeling frisky. She's one of the rarest Corvettes ever built. Besides Tash, only one other car, a white one, was built for the street, although I heard a rumor of a black one floating around," Aurora said with the pride of a mother and the fluency of an enthusiast. "She's a beast, and looking to stretch her legs. Shall we go?" With that, she turned with a flip of her lustrous hair, striding back over to the driver side and folding her tall length into the cab. Feeling a little overpowered from the overload of sensation this morning was bringing, Suzaku made his careful way to the car, opening the door with wary fingers like it would explode at a careless touch. Instead, Natasha just continued to growl joyfully.

Once he'd finally gotten comfortable, closing the door and meticulously clicking his seatbelt, Aurora shifted the car into gear and eased Natasha down the lane to the main road. As she crept out of the drive and made her way west towards the village Gallagher, Suzaku looked around the cab. Done in white leather with accents that matched the scorching blue of the car and black paneling the same color as the steering wheel, it was one of the most vintage things Suzaku had ever seen.

The only two dials behind the steering wheel were the speedometer – which went up to one hundred sixty – and the RPM gauge. All the other gauges were in the center console, and there wasn't a digital read-out to be seen. Aurora competently rested her right hand on the white ball of the gear shift, edging upwards to fifty miles per hour as they neared Gallagher.

She slowed when they hit the town proper, coasting through the quiet streets like a shark gliding through a school of tuna. The gleaming car drew quite a few interested, or wary, looks, but Aurora just smiled sunnily and occasionally waved, a lovely woman in a gorgeous old car out for a drive. She made quite a picture.

And then there was Suzaku. Hunched down in the passenger seat with his black hat, mirrored glasses, and too-big clothes, he looked as out of place as a gray moth surrounded by blue morpho butterflies. Maybe Aurora was on to something in getting him some new clothes – a naturally neat person, Suzaku didn't care to dress like a vagrant.

As she cleared Gallagher and turned south, they drew closer to the ocean. For a moment, Suzaku forgot the beautiful woman, the beautiful car, even the beautiful day, as the water folded open to his right, the lace-crowned waves shifting and sliding in their eternal dance. Laboriously rolling down the window, he breathed in the sea air, and was struck by an incredible wave of homesickness. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the ocean, not after the capital had been moved to a secure location in the center of the continent and Suzaku had all but stopped traveling.

He missed the smell, the color, the sound. The sight of the water glimmering and pulsing like a heart. Faintly, he noticed the way Aurora had slowed, allowing him a chance to look his fill. When he finally managed to drag his eyes away, he looked over to see her wearing large, round sunglasses. From the angle of her head, Suzaku realized that when she glanced over repeatedly, she wasn't looking at him, but the sea.

"It's something, isn't it?" she said quietly. Suzaku could just nod.

"Yeah. Something." The road veered slightly east, and the ocean disappeared behind a set of hills. For a moment, Suzaku struggled with a sorrow that welled out of nowhere. Then, he realized the way the car was increasing speed.

"Aurora?" he asked, his voice embarrassingly high as he rolled up the window and gripped the handle above the door. Glancing over, he could see the speedometer rapidly approaching, then passing seventy mph. Aurora had a feral, somewhat frightening smile on her face, her hands holding the steering wheel with the smooth, competent grip of a musician on her instrument, swiftly shifting through the gears in a fluid motion.

"Trust, Suzaku. Just trust me. We know what we're doing."

As they ripped around a curve in the road, Suzaku prayed that she was right. Driver and car quickly settled into a rhythm, and he had to admit that Aurora handled the Corvette like a professional. Natasha hugged the curves like a lover, and as the needle played hide and seek with the number one hundred, sometimes swinging well wide of it, he felt his stomach swerving with the turns.

Although he'd seen and done things brave men only dream of, Suzaku was rather inexperienced when it came to cars. He'd never been anything but a passenger, and certainly never in a car this beautiful or dangerous, its driver much the same. Silly that a man who'd been locked in mortal, aerial combat with the best Knightmare pilots in the world should feel his guts sparkle with nerves as he was driven around a tight turn at a solid sixty miles per hour. The wheels didn't screech, and Aurora kept Natasha shy of a drift, but it was a near thing.

Eventually, Suzaku came to the realization that Aurora was not, in fact, trying to kill him, nor was her driving going to consign them both to a fiery death. Although he refused to let go of his grip on the handle above the door, it slackened enough to allow a bit of blood to leech back into his knuckles. Another ten minutes spent zipping through the shimmering green of Ireland's hills, and Suzaku came to a surprised realization.

He was actually enjoying himself.

The car snarled as Aurora stomped on the accelerator, sending them charging down a straightaway like a run-away horse. For a moment, Suzaku was terrified. Then, glancing at the landscape whipping past and the gleam in his driver's eyes behind the shield of her sunglasses, the sticky hold on his lungs loosened. Loosened just enough to allow a laugh to slip out into the air before he even realized it.

"I knew you had it in you," Aurora said with a grin, her eyes never leaving the road she hurled her car over.

"What if you get pulled over by a cop?" Suzaku asked. He intended for the question to be stern, but it came out trembling on a giggle, his eyes eagerly searching out the next turn in the road she was going to sling them through. Aurora just shrugged.

"Then I'd consider it a fair price to pay for a good bit of fun."

Natasha glided through the curl in the road like silk, and the smile that tipped Suzaku's mouth felt foreign and sweet, like chocolate made in the EU.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. It was only once the car slowed as they started to approach Galway that Suzaku realized the quiet hadn't been uncomfortable. He was accustomed to silence born of awkwardness or a need to intimidate – it seemed so strange to him that he could be around someone, and they could pleasantly pass the time without feeling the urge to fill the silence with words.

And this was after Suzaku's shocking reaction to a dolled-up Aurora. He hadn't had much of a chance to analyze what he'd felt, or feel guilty about it; she'd steamrolled him with the car, and they were rocketing into the hills before he'd gotten over that. He had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the day would follow in much the same pattern, and he couldn't decide whether or not the idea irritated him.

It was amazing to see Aurora in her element this way, Suzaku thought as they reached the edges of Galway, its streets crowded for a Tuesday, the eclectic mix of old and new, stone and steel lending a diverse sort of charm. As they parked on the street and exited the car, she was immediately stopped by a gentleman in his early fifties, drawing her into a discussion that opened with his compliments of Natasha and quickly swerved into the value of Britannian cars versus European cars.

She conversed knowledgeably, in good humor, and, of course, charmingly. When she winked, the man stuttered. When she laughed, he blushed. And when she pressed a kiss to his cheek by means of thanks for the compliment, Suzaku thought the man might die right there on the sidewalk. It was no wonder she'd controlled the flow of information at the heart of an empire when she was fifteen. After all, her older brother had taken over the world at eighteen. It was something about their bloodline, Suzaku decided as he straightened from where he'd been leaning his arm on the car's roof and moving around the hood. Something about who they were, beyond the similar, metallic eyes and long, lean frames, that made Aurora, Lelouch, and many of their siblings simply extraordinary.

"You made his day," Suzaku murmured as he joined her, glancing over his shoulder at the man she'd spoken to, drifting down the sidewalk with a glazed, happy expression in his eyes and a dopey grin across his face.

"Eh. Maybe his hour," she shrugged, threading her hand into the crook of his right elbow, steering him without really seeming to. He caught their shared reflection in the window of a shop, and winced. They couldn't be more poorly matched if they tried – her polished and him ragged. Several clothing stores and boutiques went by, and when Suzaku tried to suggest one of the cheap, large-brand stores, Aurora just nudged him with her hip and kept walking, forcing him to stride longer to keep up with those ice-pick heels.

He began to wonder if she was just taking him for a stroll around the town when she ducked into a sheltered, dark doorway, the gilt letters scrolled into the wood above the door proclaiming, "MacNeilan's Fine Essentials." Above it was a gray stone bearing two coats of arms split by a line. The letters carved beneath them were faded by time and illegible. Aurora trotted up the stone steps, following his gaze when she noticed Suzaku wasn't directly behind her.

"It's a marriage stone," she said. He met her gaze questioningly. "In 1749, Aisling Murphy married Trevor MacNeilan. The house was gifted to the couple by the girl's father, and a marriage stone was placed above the door, proclaiming for all to see not only the new owner of the home, but the bloodline behind the marriage. Come on," she invited, opening the door to a cheery tinkle of bells somewhere deep in the shop.

Suzaku wasn't sure what he expected. Probably not cobwebs and cold stone realistically, even if the building was centuries old, but he hadn't expected the front area to be bathed in warm light, several comfortable, slightly worn arm chairs plopped down amid racks of thick, soft sweaters in an array of colors and tough pants that looked capable of withstanding hurricanes. There were shirts and ties, coats and belts. If they were looking for clothes, apparently they'd found them.

"Jenna!" Aurora called out, running her fingers over a silky scarf of icy pale blue as she waited once she'd shoved her glasses up to the top of her head. A brief moment of silence was interrupted by a thud, a curse, the sound of something scattering over the floor, then another curse. Quiet briefly followed before the trot of footsteps heralded the woman Suzaku assumed to be Jenna.

She was hardly five feet tall, her dense mahogany hair exploding from its tail in tight, messy curls. Her bright brown eyes seemed happy, and a little mischievous. As she and Aurora eagerly hugged, exchanging the usual girl greeting scattered with Irish idioms he was mostly at a lost to translate, Suzaku was struck by the image of a squirrel. Her front teeth were even a little large, her cheeks charmingly round. As Aurora extricated herself, she gestured towards him.

"Jenna, this is Suzaku."

The little woman's eyes suddenly went serious, her fingers thoughtfully going to her lips as she circled him, measuring him up and down. Feeling like a total idiot, he stood stock still, running through all the condemning thoughts that must be going through her head about him. Miserable, Suzaku found that he could hardly blame her. He'd hooked his sunglasses on the neck of his shirt when they had stepped inside, and desperately wished he could put them back on his face to mask his expression without looking awkward. Jenna stopped her circuit right in front of him, gazing at his face with that somber expression. Tapping her finger on her cheek once, she spoke.

"Deadly."

Before he could wade his way through the confusion to say anything in response, she was talking to Aurora.

"The works?"

"The works," Aurora agreed, looking at him with an odd expression when she wasn't making eye contact with Jenna.

"Right, then. I'll get set up, then I'll have you two bobble on back." Without another word, she scurried away into the depths of the shop. A few seconds passed before Aurora spoke.

"What was that about?"

Clearing his throat and tugging at the brim of his cap, Suzaku tried to find a way to avoid the question.

"What was what about?"

She just hummed in her throat.

"Really. Answering a question with a question. OK," she murmured, straightening from where she'd been leaning against an arm chair and stepped closer. Suzaku couldn't be sure if his heart was pounding harder because of her proximity, or if he simply became more aware of it when she was closer.

"Why did you look like you were expecting Jenna to judge you and find you wanting?"

Suzaku tried to shrug it off since it hit a little too close to home.

"I'm not exactly at my best. Why wouldn't she?"

Aurora tilted her head, her eyes iridescent and solemn.

"I never have."

The silence between them hummed in the aftermath of her quiet words, only dissipating a little when Jenna called out for them. Hooking her finger on the cuff of his sleeve, Aurora tugged Suzaku after her, leading the way into the rear of the shop. He obediently followed, still struggling to accept what she'd said. It took a bit before he was able to focus on what she was saying now.

"…and Jenna's family has been in the tailor business for a few centuries now. They make high-quality work clothing worn by the fisherman and workers this side of Ireland. Basically, they make superior casual clothing."

Reaching the end of the long, paneled hallway softly lit by old-fashioned sconces, they entered a room that looked like it'd been the scene of a giant disgorgement of fabric. Bolts of cloth, in-progress projects, completed pieces, and much, much more were all packed into the room in apparent chaos, clearly the industrial heart of the charming store up front. From what little he could see and what little he knew, Suzaku could discern no obvious means of organization.

Assuming they'd hand him a pile of clothing to try on and point him towards a dressing room, or even a closet, Suzaku was a little surprised and resistant when Aurora steered him towards a block in the center of the room in front of a merciless three-way mirror. He stepped up onto it cautiously, and Aurora stayed next to him for a moment, a supporting hand on his elbow to make sure he was balanced before stepping away. She removed a stack of patterns and fabric scraps from a chair, sitting like a queen. Briefly distracted by the thought that, in another timeline, she could very well have worn the crown of Britannia, Suzaku jumped when something wrapped around his waist. Looking down, he saw it was a tape measure, wielded by agile little hands at the ends of small, chubby arms.

"Make sure to give him a little room in the waist. He's still got some weight to gain. Same goes for the shoulders."

Jenna nodded, dutifully changing what she had written down on a notepad with a pencil hardly bigger than her pinky, which she swiftly tucked behind her ear. The notepad went into the pocket of her blouse, and she shifted, measuring from the point of his hip down the outside of his leg, the bubble and spark of her expression dampened into a concentration that didn't seem to fit her cheery face.

"Shouldn't I just try on some clothes? I don't want to be a nuisance…"

Aurora opened her mouth to answer, but Jenna beat her to it.

"The last thing I want to do is make you try on a bunch of clothes when you've got a bum arm, boyo. I imagine getting in and out of that sling, let alone your shirt, is a right bitch. I'll get a shirt and some trousers ready that you can wear the rest of the day, then you can come by after your stroll about town and I'll have the rest for you ready before supper."

Suzaku didn't know how to protest, and barely swallowed a yelp when Jenna professionally measured his inseam. He was dismayed to feel a blush burn along his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. He tipped his head down to hide his expression with the bill of the hat, but both women suavely ignored his embarrassment.

As Jenna trailed the measuring tape over his right arm from shoulder to wrist, Aurora stood, poking and perusing the insanity of texture and color, clearly bored from just sitting there observing. Their eyes met in the reflection, and Aurora smiled a little reassuringly. When she glanced away and asked Jenna about her brothers, Suzaku kept looking at the straight, confident, poised form of Aurora. He'd once been that self-assured, that comfortable in his skin. Hadn't he? Looking at the shadowed, drawn face in the mirror and what was left of his eyes, it seemed likely that he'd hardly known himself at all.

Striving for something to distract himself from his own state, Suzaku listened to Jenna speak of her three older brothers, tailors the lot of them. All of them were married and had children, Jenna the last of the brood to find a spouse. Apparently, this was a matter of contention between her and her mother, who, from what Jenna said, longed for nothing more than to see her daughter married and breeding. He almost snorted at the archaic and somewhat derogatory word, stopping himself just before the sound escaped, assuming it would be rude. From Aurora's resounding laugh, it appeared that he needn't have bothered with the restraint.

"I would have thought you'd be used to this," Aurora murmured from his side where she suddenly appeared, clasping her hands behind her back as Jenna dragged over a small step stool and climbed aboard to measure the breadth of his shoulders. He winced from the firm pressure of her fingers as she marked the length along the points of his shoulders, brushing against bruises that were still exquisitely sore. Aurora must have noticed, her expression tightening with worry, but before either of them could say anything, Jenna was descending from her stool and flipping open her little notebook, muttering under her breath as she examined the numbers she'd noted.

"It's… been a long time," Suzaku finally said once he got his breath back. She was right; many of his more notable outfits over the past few years – his Lancelot pilot suit, the formal white uniform as Euphie's knight, his garb as a Knight of the Round, both Seven and Zero, and finally, the costume he wore as Zero – had all been carefully tailored to exactly fit him. But that all seemed like it had happened to another person, maybe another Suzaku. And with his nerve endings highly sensitized from injury and healing, contact was that much more intense, and often painful.

She just nodded, accepting his statement before moving away to run her fingers over a bolt of royal blue velvet as she was updated about Jenna's nieces and nephews. The seamstress absently told Aurora that she had a quare bit of talent there before disappearing through a door Suzaku hadn't even noticed. As he frowned at the doorway, then at Aurora, it took her a moment to realize that he had no idea what Jenna meant. She giggled, and failed to beat back the teasing grin that lit her eyes.

"She said that you're a very good looking young man."

He stared at her open-mouthed for a moment before turning his eyes to the door Jenna had disappeared through, shocked by the woman's easy, and odd, way of complimenting him. Aurora just chuckled as she helped him step back down to the floor, his cane long ago forgotten in Natasha.

Hardly minutes had passed before Jenna returned, handing a pile of clothing to a still shell-shocked Suzaku and pointing him towards a door tucked in the corner behind three mannequins. He wove his way through somewhat precariously, tugging on the dangling string above his head to light the bare bulb once he squeezed into the narrow space and shut the door behind him. He'd been right – it was a closet.

Going through the ponderous process of removing his sling and clothing with a resigned sigh, Suzaku then held up Jenna's offerings to the dim light, peering at them with interest. She'd given him a sleeveless black undershirt, thick charcoal gray jeans, and a dark red button-down shirt. He appreciated the simple fare, taken by surprise by the quality of cloth as he carefully rubbed it between his fingers.

The clothing seemed deceptively humble, but the excellence was subtle. The undershirt was soft enough to induce a sigh. The pants actually fit him, both at the waist and the length, sturdy dark denim that could almost stop a bullet. They were a little loose as per Aurora's orders, but as he tightened the black belt provided, he only had to notch the third hole to secure the pants to his hips. As Suzaku carefully shrugged on the shirt and slowly buttoned it up, the smooth slide of good cotton against his skin managed to extract a little of the tension that never seemed to leave the muscles of his shoulders and back.

After tucking in the shirt with some creative twisting and a few winces, he re-applied his sling, the black ball-cap tucked in one of his back pockets and the glasses hooked on the v of his shirt. As he opened the door and reached up to shut off the light, Suzaku realized that the sleeves were actually long enough for him – a challenging combination of long limbs and thin lines that had become more prevalent of late.

Winding his way back into the center of the room, he halted awkwardly when Aurora's eyes looked over from Jenna to meet his. She took in his appearance slowly, her eyes tracing him up and down, and Suzaku told himself that it was stupid to think his skin tingled under the brush of her eyes. When her gaze met his again, Suzaku was at a loss to translate what he saw there, what she unknowingly showed him. Approval, appreciation… sorrow? And something else, something deep and wrenching that made his heart lurch and his breath quicken.

The weight faded when Jenna stepped around Aurora like she was just a tree, tugging him to the center of the room with warm, firm hands. She chattered her praise of his appearance with a happy, lilting brogue, and he felt himself start to blush a little, oddly embarrassed and pleased by this stranger's approval. But something under Suzaku's sternum bloomed and curled when he could make out Aurora's soft words as she slowly – clumsily? – stepped forward.

"Well, look at you."

He glanced over, their eyelines level as she closed the distance between them. But she wasn't looking at him; not at his new clothes, at least. She was looking at his eyes, which was odd. The only part of him that had changed in that closet had been what he was wearing. The power of her gaze made his stomach twist, so Suzaku looked away, his eyes landing on his reflection in the mirror. He tilted his head in puzzlement, almost surprised when the man looking back at him in the mirror did the same.

Yes, that was his shaggy brown hair, curling on the ends in utter defiance of taming. That was his gaunt face, still a little skeletal around the cheekbones and eye sockets. And his eyes, green as grass and haunted by dense purple shadows. All of it exactly the same as when Suzaku had stood in the hallway that morning. Yet Aurora looked at him like he was something different. Something more.

As he allowed his eyes to travel fully along his frame in the mirror, Suzaku began to notice the subtle changes Aurora's sharp gaze had probably picked up on as soon as she'd seen him. Not much was immediate beyond the flattering cut of his new clothes, but after mourning his broken posture this morning, Suzaku noticed that he held himself a little straighter, his shoulders a little squarer, without the scream of pain from his muscles that normally accompanied the better alignment. Maybe he wasn't exactly soldier-straight, the bearing he'd carried all through his life, but at least he didn't look like a slumped-over prisoner-of-war. After all, he reminded himself with a weary sort of resignation, the war was over, and he was the only one left prisoner.

Jenna distracted Suzaku from his tired, bitter thoughts by tugging and plucking at his sleeve cuffs, slipping a finger into his waistband as she muttered her satisfaction at the fit without seeming to notice his jolt of shock at her nonchalant action, one side of her mouth quirking with approval.

"Sure, and you look fine, lad. Rora, let me scribble out your bill before I send you on your way."

That casual mention of money incinerated his blossoming relaxation, and as Suzaku slowly turned to face Aurora, he could feel his mouth hardening, his eyes turning flinty without his conscious command. He knew he had no money, but he wasn't a charity case, dammit. But before he even had the chance to open his mouth to demand that she allow him to pay for the things purchased for him, somehow, Aurora just stroked her hand down his uninjured arm, from shoulder to wrist. Unwillingly, his muscles fractionally unlocked at the contact.

"Suzaku…" she began softly. He rallied before she could lull him into accepting.

"No, Aurora. I've already accepted too much from you. I can't take this too. I-"

"I'm not Euphemia, Suzaku."

He actually heard his teeth click together at her quiet but firm words, mostly because his throat was suddenly locked so tight, he could hardly breathe. Aurora sighed, her stance and voice softening as she lightly gripped his bicep. It was odd, how she somehow lessened the overwhelming surge of brutal emotion coursing through him with a simple touch.

"I'm not taking you under my wing and raising you up as the face of a cause. I'm doing this because you need clothes, and because I want to. I want to see you as comfortable and happy as you can be. And if I can help you achieve even a fraction of that by footing the bill, I am more than game."

It made a sort of sense, but Suzaku could still feel his pride and pain battling acceptance. He balked, his fingers slowly curling into a fist as the familiar, sickening sensation of being beholden made his chest tight, his ribs stiff.

"Aurora, I can't," he murmured, rubbing his left thumb almost mournfully against the fabric of his shirt. "It's… too much," he finally managed.

"It's not school tuition, Suzaku. Just some necessities."

"This is too nice to be considered a necessity," he argued, gesturing towards his new attire. Aurora just rolled her eyes, the expression softened by a small, convincing smile.

"Just because it's nice doesn't mean you shouldn't have it. Necessity doesn't need to be a chore." She brushed the tips of her fingers over his shoulder, and Suzaku felt himself losing momentum.

"But, the expense."

Aurora sighed, clapping her palm on his sound shoulder as she stood square with him, her mouth straight and her eyes a little jovial.

"Suzaku, for heaven's sake, don't worry about the cost. You've got enough on your mind." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes warming to wicked cobalt. "Besides, I've got more money than God. A couple hundred is hardly a drop in the lake."

Suzaku looked at her askance, his brows slightly lifted, somewhat taken aback. He couldn't decide if she was exaggerating or being perfectly serious. Both, he decided were well within the realms of possibility when it came to Aurora Sterling. If she really was that wealthy, he had seriously underestimated her. Suzaku rolled his lips together, his innards still twisted at the thought of such an extravagant gift, but he was swiftly losing reasons to deny what was an extremely generous, completely unwarranted gesture.

"Are you sure?"

Aurora shocked him nearly boneless by leaning forward with a grin and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin seemed to sizzle at the simple brush of her lips, his cheeks instantly flaming with color. All he could think to himself was how impossible it was for something, someone, to be that soft, that beautifully warm.

"Absolutely. Come on," she commanded, leading the way to the front boutique, Suzaku trailing behind, still speechless. He took the opportunity to tug the hat back onto his head, grateful that the bill hid his face as he scraped together his exploded composure. They were shortly joined by Jenna, who spouted off pick-up times, kisses on the cheeks for both of them, and parting endearments Suzaku assumed were in Gaelic since he couldn't understand a syllable of them, only the tone, with her usual brisk enthusiasm.

A slip of paper made its way covertly from Jenna's hands to Aurora's, and Suzaku tried – he really did – not to worry about how heinous the numbers scrawled there could be. Aurora hardly gave him a chance to fret over it before she was hustling him out of the shop with a final wave to Jenna and turning him to the left, heading away from where Natasha was parked. Suzaku slipped on his glasses, his eyes watering at the powerful sun. His sight may have been unaccustomed to the light, but his skin enjoyed the brush of warmth.

Aurora chattered at him about colors, a press of heat at his side that was as much support as direction, explaining how he was an autumn, whatever that was, and that he should stick to rich, deep colors, more warm than cool, like his claret red shirt. She was apparently a spring, which made sense for her, but not what she'd said about him, since his birthday was in summer, not fall. She continued on, oblivious to his confusion, explaining how she stuck to warm colors too, but bright and bold to bring out her eyes. Totally at a loss and struggling not to say something ignorant or rude, Suzaku just murmured that first positive thing that came to mind.

"That makes sense – it matches your personality."

She glanced over at him with a warm smile before bursting into laughter, hanging onto his arm as she almost bent double. People glanced their way as they passed, Aurora's gales of laughter dragging the pair of them to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. Practically stuttering with embarrassment at the display the two of them had become and trying to subtly straighten Aurora so they could keep walking, it took Suzaku a moment to realize that no one was looking at them with derision, or irritation. In fact, almost every glance was indulgent and slightly smug, as if they were behaving as expected.

How that made any sort of sense, Suzaku had no idea, but he relaxed enough to softly chuckle with Aurora, her arm wrapped around her ribs while the other hand grasped Suzaku's forearm. He returned the grip instinctively, offering the support she so often gave him as her mirth subsided. She finally straightened, wiping at any tears or smudged make-up that dared trickle below her eyes. Fluffing her hair and straightening her skirt with a swish, she was back at his side, composed and smiling and, damn her, glowing like the sun.

They continued on their way, and eventually, Suzaku spoke.

"Are you all right?"

"Fantastic," she murmured with a grin, turning her head to meet his eyes, the silver dancing like snowflakes across the blue. She was stunningly close, and Suzaku licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Even with the barrier of the lenses of his glasses, she felt too close, her mouth too pretty. Turning his gaze forward in a move of self-preservation, he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Mind if I ask what was so funny?"

She patted his arm as they turned at the corner of the street, following the line of quaint shops and noisy pubs, even the modern establishments maintaining a faintly medieval air.

"You. Trying so hard not to be such a male when I was talking about palettes. Don't worry, Suzaku, I didn't expect you to have any idea what I was blathering on about. And you were such a good sport."

He tilted his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, finding the indirect eye contact less… intimidating.

"Then why bother?"

"To distract you," she said with a clever little grin. "We're here." With a sweep of her arm, she gestured to a small shop. The sign was so faded, he could barely read it. Gentlemen's something. Feeling like a crippled shadow, Suzaku followed Aurora into the establishment. Unlike MacNeilan's, there were no items displayed in the lobby – it was instead populated by a grand, antique desk that acted as a counter, several chairs and couches surrounding a sturdy coffee table, the walls splayed with masculine, tasteful artwork. If he hadn't assumed it was a store, Suzaku would have thought this was simply some sort of lounge or someone's house.

An elderly man, seventy if he was a day, stood from behind the desk, neatly dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and a dark green vest paired with a black bow tie. His head of white hair was thinning, his face softened with age and animated with thin gray brows. Gentle hazel eyes peered out from behind half moon glasses, smiling before his mouth did as he took in the pair of them. If Suzaku had to imagine a dapper elderly teacher, this man would have fit the image exactly.

He murmured something in Gaelic that Suzaku couldn't quite catch, but gathered it was some sort of greeting by his tone. Glancing at Aurora in hopes that she somehow knew the appropriate way to respond, he wasn't disappointed. She returned the soft greeting with one that was only slightly different, bobbing her head respectfully before gesturing to Suzaku.

"He'll be needing all that a man on a long journey might want, Master Owens. Suzaku here will try to tell you he won't need much. But I'm sure you know exactly what he needs."

They exchanged a long look, and Suzaku couldn't help the disgruntled huff at being herded about like an ignorant child. Although, he had to admit that if he had it his way, they wouldn't spend more than a hundred pounds today. He had a feeling they'd long past blown that limit just at MacNeilan's.

Master Owens eyed Suzaku closely, the wrinkles on his face slowly rearranging themselves into a grin as he shifted and gestured to a doorway that led to a long hallway.

"This way, sir."

Stiffening at the address that had once carried so much weight in his life, Suzaku glanced at Aurora, suddenly at a loss how to appropriately respond, cemented by his own past. She nodded slightly, her eyes encouraging and her face soft. His instincts were torn to shreds, but hers were still sharp. He had to content himself to trust them.

As Suzaku followed Master Owens into the back of the shop, Aurora smoothed her skirt against her legs and sat, smiling at Owens' grandson – Liam, she believed – who scurried out to smile and serve. He was slim and short like his grandfather with the same gold-green eyes, soft and just beginning to earn that assessing glint. His hair was closer to mahogany than the stark black his grandfather had once sported, his smile jovial compared to Master Owens' more restrained expression.

Sipping the sweet peppermint tea he'd provided and chatting with the teenager, Aurora tried to manage the amount of times she glanced to the hallway Suzaku had disappeared through. She didn't think he'd appreciate her edging over his shoulder while shopping for underwear and shaving soap, and Master Owens was a kind and, more importantly, discreet man. Of course, that didn't mean her nerves collapsed into an easily swallowed ball, but it was something.

What she'd said that morning was true – she was itching for human contact, for that city sizzle. But she could tell by Suzaku's restlessness that he'd needed it more. Although he would never admit to what he wanted, what he needed, until he was pushed long past the point of control. Bloody martyr, Aurora though to herself as she sipped the cooling tea, smiling both at Liam's slightly fumbled but very earnest joke and her own thoughts.

So she'd put on a show. She hadn't felt quite so flattered by a man's reaction since Durai, and while it was utterly inappropriate, seeing Suzaku speechless and shocked was a good bit of fun. She'd brought Natasha out of hibernation, deciding that all of them could use a day in the sun and air. The Corvette was a relic from her past career, one of the few material things she hadn't been able to leave behind. Tash had spent a few dangerous months in London before a close call had almost destroyed the priceless car. In the aftermath, Chandler had offered to store her in Ireland, and Aurora, still settling into her life in London and with the Andrews', had reluctantly agreed. Now, whenever they were in Ireland, either Aurora or Chandler would bring her out and unleash the beast. Kendra, for all her brilliance, was a complete failure at driving a stick shift, and so had never been cleared to get behind the wheel of the muscle car.

Aurora was rather surprised by how intimidated Suzaku had been of Natasha. The man had been one of the premier Knightmare pilots in the world, after all. And zipping along in a coupe made him nervous? It had puzzled her, but she'd decided to let it go when he'd finally gotten into the drive. She'd suspected that seed, that spark of fun, still lived in him, and was exceptionally gratified to see if manifest.

She'd known where she was taking Suzaku before they'd even left the house this morning. Not only did she intend to take him to quality stores, but stores owned by people she could trust, people who were part of her vast network of contacts. Precautions had been taken, but Aurora wouldn't risk Suzaku's safety, not for one moment. Not while he still allowed her the power to protect him.

And hadn't Jenna's place been a surprise? It had all gone along rather predictably until he'd emerged from that closet. Looking at him had been amazing, and as painful as a broken rib. Dammit, this was what he should be, what life should have granted him. He still had a long way to go, but seeing Suzaku in those clothes, seeing the way he unconsciously held himself when given the chance and respect he deserved, had made Aurora want to grin like a fool, and cry like an idiot. Handsome, healthy, and happy. Was that really too much for him to ask?

Apparently, Suzaku thought so. She should have expected his resistance to her funding this little excursion, but it had been hard to temper the surprise and irritation. Why couldn't he just be happy? Smiling as Liam shyly told her about a girl named Meara who was apparently the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, Aurora gave that stupid question the simple answer it demanded.

Because he couldn't.

It was so frustrating, seeing parts of Suzaku carefully, cautiously, unfurling awake, seeing the man he'd once been shine through, and knowing, deep in her bones where it hurt the worst, that he still had such a long way to go. Her own experience told Aurora that so much of his soul, left to scab and sting with infection, had to be flushed clean, had to be given the chance to breathe and heal. And it would hurt, more than words could possible describe, more than Aurora or Suzaku had ever physically suffered in their lives. It was a terrifying prospect, but a necessary one. She wished he trusted her enough to believe it.

For now, she hoped today would help. Help make him feel normal and human, when she knew, as she'd once known about herself, that he felt like anything but. That he was deserving of simple gifts, and that denying himself of unpretentious enjoyment was neither necessary nor warranted.

When Suzaku returned to the lobby and Aurora got a good look at his face, she knew they were in for the long haul. He looked confused, anxious, and a little angry. Angry at what, she wasn't sure. Certainly not Master Owens – the man negated hostility like a base negated acid. As she stood and approached the antique Burl pedestal desk, polished mahogany topped by black leather, she saw the way Suzaku's lips tightened, his brow furrowing as he turned away to slip on his glasses when she produced her card.

Ah.

It was her. It was the money.

Squaring her shoulders and letting the irritation slide off like water on greased feathers, she smiled brightly at Master Owens as she paid and accepted the tasteful bag full of wares. She should have known he'd still be twisted up over it, but she could bloody well handle it, and him. Winking at Liam as she turned, she snagged Suzaku's elbow, calling a goodbye in Gaelic over her shoulder, and steered him out of the store with a grip that brooked absolutely no argument. As they made their way back to Natasha, she gave it about thirty seconds before speaking.

"I'm not going to change my mind, you know."

"About what?" he returned, that tight, husky tone of his voice communicating his uncertainty and discomfort more clearly than any words he could muster.

"I'm footing today's bill. Every bloody step of the way, and you're not going to get me to change my mind. I don't care, and it makes me happy. So you shouldn't care, and let it make you happy."

He stiffened, a human stone of distress at Aurora's side. Finally, his shoulders slumped, his breath puffing past his lips in an explosive sigh. He glanced over at her, and his brows disappeared beneath the rim of his glasses in what she knew to be a worried frown.

"I really can't persuade you otherwise?" he asked tentatively. She smiled at him sunnily.

"Nope. Not an inch." She let him think that over in silence as they closed the distance to the car. As she popped forward her seat and stowed the bag in the surprisingly spacious trunk, Aurora glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at Suzaku. He stood awkwardly by the car, his free hand buried in his jean's pocket with his head tipped down as he stared at the concrete. It was almost a stance of rejection, but as she paused with her chore, she saw the tips his left fingers slowly rubbing over each other, a slow, graceful tic that she'd noticed over the past few weeks.

He was thinking. Thinking was good.

With everything stowed, she straightened, waiting for him to come back from whatever subspace of thought he'd drifted off to. When he did, she regretted giving him those damn glasses. They hid his stunningly green eyes from everyone, including Aurora. She'd gotten accustomed to reading him by those eyes, and didn't like the taste of flying blind when it came to a minefield like Suzaku.

He sighed again, and managed a short, painful shrug.

"I apologize for my behavior. It's just…"

"It's a sore point," she supplied for him when he drifted off into a silent awkwardness he couldn't seem to recover from in a tone gentler than her words. "I get it. We've all got them. But life has a way of poking at your sore points with a sharp stick. Best to pick your battles. Everything can't be a sore point – it's impossible to live that way." She expected he would argue, or get that hard, bitter look on his face that slid on like a mask whenever talk or mention of the concept of actually living came up. But he just sighed again before minutely nodding.

"I know."

It wasn't much, but Aurora would take it. He glanced over the top of his glasses, and sparks shot through Aurora's blood at the self-deprecating smile that stole over his eyes before tilting his mouth in a tiny curl.

"Sorry for being a jackass."

So not the time or place, but, hell. She cleared her throat and reached for a saucy grin.

"No worries. You've got a ways to go before you reach 'jackass' status. If you ever want lessons, ask Chandler. He is the king of jackasses."

They both laughed softly, and Aurora sensed the truce solidified. She gestured for him to get in, sliding into the car that had saved her life on multiple occasions.

"Are we heading home?" Suzaku asked as they buckled their seatbelts. It was faint, but she heard the note of hopefulness of a man ready to be done shopping. Physically, though, he was still in good shape, and Aurora was far from done with him.

"Oh, my dear Suzaku. We've only just begun."

Chapter Text

Turning the key and starting the engine with a roar, Aurora zipped away from the curb before Suzaku had a chance to blink. She navigated her way to Father Griffin Street, crossing Wolfe Tone Bridge at a fairly sedate pace.

"Say hello to the River Corrib."

Suzaku turned his head dutifully, and stilled when he caught sight of the river they passed over that bisected Galway. Corrib was in fine form today, glittering and shivering, a trail of blue-gray velvet crowned with diamonds, framed by dense green shores and sturdy stone. He was still studying the ponderously moving river even as they touched down on the other side of the bridge.

Turning along Flood Street, Aurora wiggled her way through the crowded, tight lanes until she cruised along Middle Street, the spires of St. Nicholas' Church gleaming in the distance to the northwest. Swinging into a just abandoned parking space, Aurora finagled her car into the spot with an almost brazen disregard for competitors. As she got out of the car, she was pleased to see that Suzaku was still moving well enough to forgo the cane. She wouldn't have minded hoofing it across the bridge to get to Shop Street from the Claddagh, but Suzaku was far from full power, and she had to be careful how much she pushed him today.

Their next stop wasn't even half a block away – dodging through the hustle of downtown Galway, the pair eventually came upon Busted Boots. Suzaku lifted his brow at the odd, colorful sign above the shop's door, glancing over at Aurora hesitantly, dogging her like an anxious shadow as she led the way in. Aurora was a little worried at how uneasy he had become at the pressure of social cues, but reminded herself that his interaction with others had been anything but normal over the past few years.

"Doesn't exactly lend confidence, does it?" Suzaku murmured in her ear as they patiently waited in the lobby, Aurora waving away an employee with a smile. She was cashing in on Connor's brother's debt, and for that, she needed the man himself. Quirking a smile at Suzaku, leaving the surprise of the meaning of the establishment's name until he met the owner, Aurora silently waited, eyeing the goods with vague interest. Connor sold accessories on the side, socks, gloves, hats, and the like. But the man's passion was shoes.

When he flounced around the corner, Aurora was almost a little disappointed. He was dressed surprisingly conservative today. A tight – very tight – forest green button down shirt strained against Connor's lean chest, tucked into black checkered slacks that were just shy of being painted on. A gray vest was streamlined against his ribs, and instead of a tie, a black and white striped scarf was wound around his neck. Connor's pretty chestnut hair, which he was wise enough not to tinker with the color, was meticulously, almost viciously, styled. Striding over in wingtips that probably cost more than her first ball gown, Connor flashed a devilish grin that covered the burst of alarm in his eyes before sweeping her up in a hug. Returning his enthusiastic, yet automatic, kiss of the cheek, Aurora mirrored his firm grip on her wrists, noticing the anxiety that lurked behind the gold-shot brown of his eyes.

"Rory. What can I do for you, dear?"

Although her dealings had been with his wayward brother, Aurora shouldn't have been surprised that Connor was worried about her intentions. Fynn may be an idiot, but he was Connor's accepting, loving idiot. She smiled soothingly, nodding her head in Suzaku's direction.

"Just here to get some shoes, love. All I'm asking for is your discretion."

He gazed at her for a moment, his well-plucked brows slightly raised. Then his eyes drifted over her shoulder, and she knew the moment his gaze landed on Suzaku. His brows undulated in a way that shifted his expression from wariness to appreciation. And just like that, Connor's charm switch was flipped into overdrive.

Sweeping past her like she was a statue, he herded Suzaku deeper into the store, Aurora drifting after them, struggling not to shake with laughter. Connor was flirting so quickly in such a heavy brogue that she doubted Suzaku caught even half of what the man was saying. When Connor fluttered his enviously long lashes at him, Suzaku just frowned at him and asked him if he was alright. Connor laughed heartily after a shocked, wide-eyed pause, patting Suzaku's cheek and telling Aurora that he was adorable before seating Suzaku on a comfortable chair and kneeling to slip off his boots.

The rest of the appointment passed mostly as would be expected. Connor was relentless, juggling fitting Suzaku for two new pairs of boots and a pair of black and red runners and flirting with him mercilessly with a frightening sort of ease. As for Suzaku, he oscillated between looking embarrassed and confused, and didn't manage more than twenty words the entire time. Aurora more often than not filled in the blanks from where she sat nearby, her voice tight from restraining the laughter.

She'd known that Connor had a penchant for lean, pretty men, but she hadn't expected he'd be so persistent. As for Suzaku, well… honestly, she wasn't all that surprised. Leaving him to lace into one of his new pairs of boots in peace, Connor hefted the three shoe boxes back to the front to ring them up. When he glanced over at her from the corner of his eye as they rounded a stack of women's sandals, Aurora knew that Connor's charm switch was pushed firmly off again now that Suzaku was out of hearing range.

"He in some kind of trouble?" Connor asked casually as he wielded the scan gun like he was a cowboy with a Colt .45 – with confidence, swagger, and deadly aim. Aurora eyed him for a moment as the machine beeped. He was a good guy, and had dealt with some serious flak to get where he was now.

But he obviously didn't trust her, and was clearly a little frightened of her. Aurora wasn't surprised, and it only made her a little sad. However, that in no way made her likely to divulge anything beyond what was necessary in order to gain his trust. She'd never be able to no matter what she did, and that was simply the price she paid for the life she'd once led.

"A bit. But he'll be alright. Thanks for this, Connor," she said sweetly as she handed over her card, linked to one of tens of bank accounts that held her money. She knew better than to leave her wealth like a lump sum in some obvious account with her name scrawled across it, just begging for attention. In the eyes of the money watchdogs, her average accounts belonged to very different people all over the globe. But in the end, the money could only be accessed by her and the Andrews. It was a veil of protection that was part of her inheritance from George.

"I hope so," he murmured kindly, his eyes drifting to the part of the store where Suzaku sat. Looking back at Aurora, his pretty mouth firmed. "Look, Rory…"

"It's OK, Connor," she said quickly, cutting off the words she knew were inevitable, but desperately didn't want to hear. He looked pained, but determined.

"It's just-"

"Connor," Aurora said firmly, risking touching his forearm. "It's OK."

It wasn't, not really. Fynn had gotten mixed up in some nonsense with the EU, and Aurora had tried to do her best for him when he contracted her, but unlike most other jobs, her hands had been firmly tied. Connor's brother was alive – that was really the only success she could claim from that job. It had either been in Britannia and alive, or back home and dead or in jail. Either way, it was beyond hard for Connor, whose parents had exiled him at the tender age of seventeen. For the longest time, Fynn had been his only family. Aurora may have saved his life, but Connor would be lucky if he ever saw his brother again.

So she understood. Because it wasn't OK.

He looked miserable but relieved as he ran her card. Asking her not to come back to his store again was probably painfully similar to how his parents had barred him from the home he'd grown up in. If she could give him anything, at least she could spare him from that.

Suzaku joined them in a pair of sturdy yet stylish boots that actually fit him, pulling on the baseball cap onto his head and fiddling with his sunglasses while he waited for her to finish the transaction. Aurora nodded and smiled at Connor – understandingly, she hoped – and almost laughed when Connor winked saucily at Suzaku, nearly back at full charm. Suzaku just looked stunned, then color stole across his cheeks as he shoved on the glasses and nearly ran Aurora over in desperation to get out of the store.

They broke out into the sunshine and turned back where Natasha was parked, Aurora easily hefting the bag of shoes. Suzaku made a move to carry the bag, but she just narrowed her eyes at him before dropping her sunglasses on her nose, satisfied when he subsided with a sigh. Just when she'd nearly recovered from the depressing episode in Busted Boots and opened her mouth to say something, Suzaku spoke.

"Well, that was weird."

She glanced over at him. Surely he knew.

"That's just how Connor is. He was only having a bit of fun."

Suzaku stuffed his free hand in his pocket, slouching his shoulders as his brows ducked down in confusion.

"But it was odd. Almost like he…"

Aurora carefully dragged him to a stop, swallowing frantically against the laughter that welled.

"Suzaku. Connor's bent as a nine bob note."

He just gazed at her uncomprehendingly.

"Suzaku, Connor is as gay as they come. He was flirting with you." She couldn't see his eyes fly wide with shock, but she could see his brows shooting up to his hairline. His mouth worked silently for a few seconds before he clamped his jaw shut.

Fighting valiantly to breathe regularly and not let her laughter escape, especially in an unattractive snort, Aurora dropped a consoling hand on Suzaku's shoulder, speaking in a slightly strangled voice.

"Don't worry about it. Just take it as a compliment." She quickly turned away and strode for the car before she did something that would embarrass him even further. Such as cackling like a loon.

By the time Suzaku joined her at the car, the shoes and her laughter were tucked away. When he spoke, however, Aurora finally lost it.

"Well, that was still weird." His tone wasn't derogatory, just… bewildered. Clapping her hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the noise, Aurora chuckled as quietly as she could manage. Suzaku just glared at her.

"Easy for you to laugh at. I've never…" he trailed off awkwardly, dragging off his hat to scrub at his hair before roughly tugging it back into place. Finally, Aurora managed to get herself under control.

"Connor has an eye for handsome men. Like I said, don't worry about it. He just thought you were a hell of a fine fella." Breathing extravagantly through her nose to dissipate the pressure to giggle, Aurora returned her hand to the crook of his elbow, trying and failing to dim her smile.

"Come on now, you heart breaker. A couple more stops, then we'll grab lunch." For a moment, she thought he'd argue, maybe defend his manly honor or clarify that in no way, shape, or form did he find Connor attractive. But instead, his mouth twisted slightly before nodding in acquiescence and moving along with her, her thoughts quietly percolating through the soft sunlight as they crossed over to the next block.

Aurora had yet to meet a man who reacted in any way less than definitively when faced with advancements from a sex he was not attracted to. The morons were violent, but even the most accepting and relaxed of straight men were usually very firm in clarifying their orientation. Yet Suzaku had just been awkwardly vague and confused.

Did that mean he was gay?

Boggling over this possibility, Aurora walked arm and arm with him in silence, a part of her brain still able to guide the way while the rest of her mind tumbled over the implications.

He couldn't be gay, not completely. After all, the love of his life had been a woman. So was Suzaku bisexual? Was he open to attraction to a man? Lelouch immediately came to mind, and Aurora struggled to keep her face from screwing up at the sheer weirdness of the thought. God, how unhealthy could that pairing had possibly been? Aurora loved her brother, but she'd known, even before his death, how far Lelouch had fallen, and how completely he'd destroyed himself. Suzaku may have once been his best friend, but their faults were entirely too similar for an intimate association between them to be anything but , maybe, but destructive as all hell.

As they trotted across the road and Aurora steered them towards High Street, she glanced covertly at Suzaku, noticing the way his jaw hardened, then forcefully relaxed as his shoulders rippled at the sight of the milling crowd of pedestrians they were swiftly absorbed into. She could feel his muscles tense under her fingers, and quickly adjusted their direction so that he was safe against the front of the stores, his battered arm protected from the random bump that could undo all their hard work and leave Suzaku writhing in agony.

And then she got it.

She couldn't say whether or not Suzaku was attracted to men, but she realized, or reaffirmed what she'd suspected, had thrown him during his exchange with Connor. It wasn't that he was gay or not – he was completely sexually inexperienced.

Considering how much difficultly he had around people in a neutral setting, it wasn't much of a stretch to realize that he had no idea how to relate to someone in an even more intense fashion. He could hardly associate with people at all, let alone with hormones and attraction scrambling his brain. Knowing how tightly controlled a royal's life was and how little time Suzaku and Euphemia would have had for even an inkling of intimacy, if he wasn't a virgin, then Aurora was the King of the bloody Fairies.

For some reason, the thought made Aurora sad. Christ, he wasn't even twenty one years old, and he'd become some sort of penitent monk. It stirred a fury in her that she immediately squashed – she knew better than most just how dangerous her temper was, and it had no business here today. Today was for him.

Suzaku didn't know what Aurora was thinking about, but it was serious enough to carve the small line that appeared between her brows when she was worried or puzzled. He'd noticed it before, and it always seemed to be when she was looking at him. He hoped he wasn't the cause of her worry now. Then, with a suddenness that still took him off guard, her face smoothed and her mouth softened, her shielded gaze flicking to his before she smiled, just coyly enough to have something wriggle in his stomach. He was pretty sure it was nerves.

"Since you've been such a champ, how about a little fun?"

He had no idea what that meant, and he was already protesting when she tugged him into a shop that smelled like turpentine and chalk. Slowly pulling off his sunglasses, Suzaku struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open as he took in the store.

Aurora disengaged from his arm, but only stepped a little away, part of Suzaku's shocked brain catching her slim waist and straight back as she turned. But he was equally distracted by Proper Task, a quaint art supplies shop situated on the very busy High Street.

He'd never before considered if he'd enjoy going into such a store– it wasn't like he'd ever had the time or opportunity. But now, his brain raced with possibilities, cataloguing and wondering and guessing. It was overwhelming, imaging the colors that he could produce, the lines he could wield with the equipment around him. Suzaku drifted towards one of the aisles, and found himself in a veritable cornucopia of pencils, the sheer array of colors dazzling. He sensed Aurora behind him, and was barely able to drag his gaze over to her

"This is great," he managed to croak, his words stuttering under the weight of overload. Apparently, it was his day for massive understatement. Aurora laughed warmly, rubbing her hand affectionately over his right arm as she passed him, continuing down the aisle. The shiver that raced through him had nothing to do with the pencils – he'd forget how tactile Aurora could be, and it was a pleasant, if unnerving, surprise every time.

"Alright, Suzaku," she said from down the aisle, perusing the cooler section of colors, "time to stock up."

He blinked at her, wondering if he'd heard her right. She just raised her brows a little, in that challenging, determined way of hers that made it hard to argue. If he'd been jerked between want and propriety with the clothes before, he was hammered back and forth with the force of a trebuchet now.

"But-"

"Nope," Aurora said firmly with a toss of her head, cutting off his protest before it could even begin. He wasn't trying very hard, but Suzaku had to give it one more go before his conscience allowed such an offering to be accepted.

"I can't just-"

"These are provisions, Suzaku." Her voice gentled before continuing. "Don't think I don't see how much you love it, how much you need it. You're almost through that old sketchbook at home. We've been buying you physical necessities all day. But this is about your mental necessities. God knows I have mine. It's time we addressed yours."

It was a sound argument – Aurora seemed chock full of them. And Suzaku yearned for the supplies too deeply to argue any further. He nodded, and was surprised when Aurora bobbed her head in response before turning on her knife point of a heel and striding away.

He hadn't quite worked through the implications of that before she returned, but not alone. Following her was a stout woman about sixty years old, her sleek, beautifully silvered hair piled on her head and anchored by two pencils, both smudged with dark fingerprints. She eyed Suzaku was muted interest, her eyes silver like her hair.

"Moira, this is Suzaku, a talented beginner who is looking for a little help getting started. Suzaku, any questions you have, ask her." Another sharp nod, and she disappeared before Suzaku could muster any words. Hesitant now that he was on his own, he returned Moira's gaze as respectfully and carefully as he could.

"Ma'am," he murmured, struggling to resist the urge to duck his chin, resting his knuckles in the curve of his spine in a habitual gesture when he couldn't decide what to do with his free hand. Moira returned his gaze stonily for another moment before her eyes warmed like quicksilver and her mouth tilted in a smile.

"I like a boy with manners. So, pencils then?"

Aurora didn't think of it as spying. She ghosted around the shop, poking at the displays and fingering the tools that she thought seemed too complicated for their simple tasks. But then, what the heck did she know? That was why she was staying far away from Suzaku, who conversed brightly, if a little shyly, with Moira Green, the proprietor of Proper Task. This was something that he didn't need to share with her, a private joy that she could facilitate, but had to skirt on his terms. At the height of her career, she'd felt the same way about dancing. When you dedicated yourself to something so fiercely, it exposed your soul. That's what made the art real, but it made you vulnerable, as well. The wise artist was careful about who, if any, they drew into their inner circle.

So she gave him time, watching Suzaku carefully from a distance, although she sincerely doubted he'd come to any harm. She flirted lightly with the young chap working register just enough to see him blush, and eyed the impressive artwork that lined the walls, much of it signed with a flourished MG. When Suzaku and Moira joined her at the counter, a basket in both their hands and his face bright with excitement and tinged with a little embarrassment, if she wasn't mistaken, Aurora just grinned brightly, handed her card to Ian, and waved to start the show. Honestly, it was less than she'd expected.

Suzaku couldn't believe he'd gotten this much. Moira had urged the woodless graphite pencils on him, and apparently one could never have too many sketchbooks, all of which were acid-free and of varying weight and tooth. She'd also dumped the books on sketching she'd caught him flipping through into their baskets as well. Along with charcoal pencils, artist grade colored pencils, copic markers that Moira had included a book of instruction for, India ink pens, and kneaded erasers, Suzaku could feel the protest that it was too much riding the tip of his tongue like a lemon tart.

But Moira's eyes glittered with the righteousness of fueling the passion she lived by in another, and Aurora looked on with the eagerness and curiosity that came from talentless interest. He knew he shouldn't accept this, but how could he possibly say no, especially to these two women?

Before he knew it, his selections had been neatly bagged and the transaction was completed. Aurora was arranging something with the cashier as Moira pulled him slightly to the side.

"I'd like to see what you come up with, if you don't mind," she murmured softly, pressing a business card into his hand. It was much more artistic than the usual run of the mill square of cardstock, and Suzaku carefully slipped it into his pocket with a nod.

"Thank you, so much, for your help," he said, genuine and a little overcome. Moira just smiled as he cleared his throat, her eyes straying over his shoulder to Aurora, who laughed affectionately at the dazzled cashier, beautiful in white and crimson.

"That's a right lovely girl you've got there, Suzaku. Take care of each other, you hear?"

He could only nod as Moira bussed his cheek and escorted him back over to Aurora. They gave their farewells and walked out of the shop to pick up their purchases later than afternoon, and it wasn't until they were on the sidewalk that Suzaku realized he hadn't even thought to protest that Aurora wasn't "his" girl.

The breeze coming off the river they'd crossed lifted the warmth of the day and the crowds, the scent of the ocean the strongest he'd smelled in years. Completely foreign and slightly uncomfortable, a sense of peace settled over Suzaku as he walked along the busy street, arm in arm with Aurora, music from surprisingly talented buskers floating over the chords of incredibly lyrical speech, the smell of warm bread and cool beer wafting through the air. This felt… normal. This felt…

Right. The panic sizzled and snapped as it burst into Suzaku's blood like firecrackers, and his hand clamped into a fist as he wrestled with the emotion scorching along his nerves. Was that acceptable? Was it OK for him to feel right and normal, happy and relaxed? God, he didn't even know anymore. His breath was starting to quicken when he felt a soft touch. With her other hand, Aurora stroked from his shoulder to his elbow, eventually resting her palm high on his forearm. She never looked at him, her guarded eyes trained on the crowds around them, tipping up slightly to look at the aged brick building and busy storefronts. He could faintly hear her humming under her breath, in time with a bright and brutal piece done by a man practically dancing with his fiddle. The anxiety slowly ebbed, and as Suzaku drew a deep breath, Aurora gently patted his arm.

"Well done," she murmured, still without looking at him. He didn't know what to make of her quiet support when Aurora suddenly brightened, tugging him after her as she made a beeline for a small establishment. He barely caught the name as they darted inside: Besprinkled.

It was a cozy antique shop, selling everything from furniture to jewelry to fountain pens. It smelled of cedar and polish, and reminded Suzaku of his maternal grandmother's house.

"This would be a perfect place to get a little something for Kendra and Chandler. See what you can find for the big guy, alright?" Aurora lightly commanded before dancing away, already perusing the stand of necklaces and bracelets that glinted in the light. Suzaku wanted to protest, but the hush of the store would hardly allow him to shout after Aurora. He didn't know where to begin; after all, he hardly knew the man.

Then again, at least she hadn't asked him to find something for Kendra. Trying to find a gift for the female doctor who'd saved his life and yet he hardly knew would have been all but impossible. But perhaps he could manage for another man.

It only took about five minutes of searching before Suzaku admitted that he was equally out of his depth when it came to finding Chandler a gift. He had no idea what the politician preferred – Suzaku himself could care less about a set of silver cufflinks, but maybe that would delight Chandler. About to admit defeat and search for Aurora, Suzaku spied a twinkle in one of the glass cases that littered the store. As he approached, a zing approaching pain shot down his spine.

It was a collection of pocket watches.

Most were hunting watches, their lids sprung open to expose the faces. All of the hands busily, industriously, pointlessly ticked away, marking time for no one. All of them were in carefully restored condition, and some were truly glamorous. But Suzaku's eye was drawn to one near the back. It was an open face watch, the brass casing slightly weathered but thoroughly polished. There was a small scratch on the glass face, just next to the Roman numeral marking seven. A tiny amethyst was embedded in the twelve, faint engraving of feathers around the rim. It was a beautiful but sturdy piece, masculine with an air of refinement.

Suzaku jumped from his pointed study when he sensed Aurora next to him, straightening like he was guilty of spying on something sacred. But her eyes just roved over the watches, and if he wasn't mistaken, landed on the one he'd been looking at.

"It's a gorgeous piece," she murmured, her voice lowered in what he suspected was reverence. Forcefully, Suzaku relaxed his shoulders.

"It is. I thought Chandler might like it."

Aurora straightened, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Suzaku felt his face mirroring her confusion.

"Chandler? Suzaku, this watch should be yours."

For a moment, Suzaku allowed himself to agree. Yes, he wanted that watch. It was exquisite, and had caught his eye with a firmness he'd once believed meant it was fated. But the last watch he'd owned… Suzaku's stomach lurched like it had been shot off a cliff, and his vision went gray for a terrifying, fleeting moment. As it faded back to normal, he felt his head throbbing in time with the ache in his shoulder and arm, and quite suddenly, he was exhausted.

"No," he whispered, his knuckles whitening on the edge of the table he'd gripped. Aurora had that mulish, cajoling expression on her face that had already worked more than once today. But not this time.

"But Suzaku, it's-"

"Aurora. No," he said firmly, just barely avoiding saying it through his teeth. She looked ready to argue her point, but then her eyes narrowed as she looked at him closer. The consideration made him feel queasy, and he tried to bear up under the weight of her gaze. Finally, Aurora sighed.

"Fine." But she raised her hand, catching the attention of an employee and nodding towards the case before Suzaku could be too shocked by his victory. The thirty something man, average except for the shocks of white at the temples in his otherwise brown hair, scurried over, sorting through an enormous ring of keys until he produced the one that unlocked the case. Following Aurora's directions, he retrieved the watch in question, murmuring knowledgeable details Suzaku couldn't hear over the buzzing of static in his ears before nodding and returning to the depths of the store.

"Aurora, what are you-"

"I understand, Suzaku. But whenever you're ready, the watch is yours. Until then, I'll take care of it." With the lovely watch clasped carefully against her palm, she turned and walked away. It took a moment for Suzaku to decide if he was angry with her. He didn't want the watch, dammit, but after all she'd done today, how could he possibly hold a grudge against her over something so small? In her own way, he was sure Aurora thought she was being kind. Well, the watch wasn't his, and as long as she remembered that, there shouldn't be a problem.

He joined her at the counter just as the watch, nestled in a black leather case, was slipped into a bag. Eyeing the items left to be rung up, Suzaku couldn't help the huff of approval. The cabochon was small for its kind, a rich, dark emerald nestled in carefully wrought gold. Hanging on a sturdily woven chain, Suzaku assumed it was for Kendra, and easily envisioned her wearing the necklace. The small brass monkey, a maniacally silly expression on its face as it cavorted along, was the ideal gift for Chandler.

She hadn't really needed his help at all, and Suzaku wondered how often Aurora bought those kind of gifts. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest to find out it was something of a habit of hers. As they made their way out of the shop and back onto the street, Aurora moved to a bench, setting down her purse and small bag of gifts next to her as she braced her hands on the seat, leaning back as she stretched out her legs. Slowly, his joints creaking like poorly oiled hinges, Suzaku joined her. They sat like that in silence for a while before Aurora inevitably broke it.

"Are you mad about the watch?" She didn't sound worried or afraid. Just calm, as if she were asking about the weather. Suzaku sighed through his nose, trying to ignore the conflict raging in him. Part of him ached for the watch; another part clenched at the mere thought of holding it.

"No. It's alright, really," he added when Aurora looked over at him, her brow slightly lifted. Finally, she nodded.

"Alright then. Come on," she said. Suzaku found a tired smile quirking across his lips at her eager words. It was as if today had been one merry chase after another, Aurora dragging him from one strange adventure to the next, finally showing him first-hand that indomitable energy she'd mentioned. He'd have thought it would exhaust him, terrify him, or enrage him. But strangely enough, all Suzaku felt was a weary sort of triumph. He was real, and he was here, and these were memories that would remain unscathed for the rest of his life. It was a small but necessary comfort in a cold time.

He stood to join her, and like a hawk homing in on her target, Aurora led him to a tall, old brick building tucked away from the main thoroughfare. She'd slipped the small bag of gifts into her purse, threading the thin loop over her wrist as they approached their goal. There was no sign, so he assumed it wasn't a shop. With utter confidence, Aurora trotted up the steps to the door, her skirt whirling and dancing as she moved. Suzaku watched in complete confusion as she opened the door just enough to get her hand in, then reached through the top of the door, going to her toes to get the height. When she pushed the door further open, her hand remained above the jamb, and she jerked her head as a sign for Suzaku to enter. She raised her brows when he didn't move.

"Come on," she said in a stage whisper, still stretched in her strange position. Finally giving up on trying to make sense as to what the hell was going on and glancing around to make sure no one else saw this bizarre episode, Suzaku slowly made his way up the steps, his instincts tingling. Not like in the presence of danger. But like in the presence of mischief. No one since Lelouch had ever elicited that response from him, and those were old, slightly tainted memories, both from a time before the revolution and his first stint at Ashford Academy.

Stepping through the door, he realized that Aurora had snagged the string that rang the bell upon the door opening, silencing it while she maneuvered herself in after Suzaku. Carefully shutting the door quietly behind them, she finally released the string, searching the lobby for anyone else. However, it was deserted.

Well, not completely.

Through a slightly cracked door marked "Office," triumphant, trumpeting snores could be heard. Suzaku saw a small plaque that read "O'Donnell Estate Museum" on a counter that ran in front of the office door. The rest of the space was a parlor, furnished how he assumed it would have been in the early 1800's. Thoroughly bemused, he turned to see Aurora sneaking down a corridor, somehow silent despite her heels. She gestured for him to follow, and, caught up in a strange sense of fun, Suzaku hesitantly followed with the modicum of stealth he could achieve in his waited until they headed up a steep, narrow staircase to speak, trying to pay attention to the antique surroundings instead of the sway of Aurora's hips right in front of him.

"What are we doing here, Aurora?"

She shushed him quickly, pressing her finger to her lips that did nothing to hide her impish smile.

"It's a surprise. You'll see."

Suddenly envisioning Aurora at five years old leading Lelouch and their siblings on spirited adventures through Aries Plaza, Suzaku couldn't help the sad smile. He tried to dispel the melancholy by asking another question, careful to lower his voice to Aurora's standards.

"Why did we have to sneak in?"

As they reached the second landing, Aurora led the way down the corridor. They passed beautifully decorated rooms boasting furniture that probably cost a fortune. Small plaques were scattered everywhere, explaining items and giving brief histories.

"Because-" Suddenly she stopped, her index finger again pressed to her lips as she froze. Suzaku did too, and it only took him a moment to realize what she'd heard – the snoring had stopped. They stood like that for a moment, awkwardly paused mid-step in a museum they weren't supposed to be in for some reason, waiting for the snoring to start again. When it did, Aurora relaxed with a sigh before making a face at Suzaku.

"Because old Tom Grady down there and I don't get along, and this is my favorite spot in the whole city. He's not exactly a Level 4 Styx security system, but he can be a real arse once he gets going. Come on, this way," she urged, continuing on. As they reached the end of the corridor, Aurora turned right, heading straight for another set of stairs that were roped off.

"Um, Aurora, maybe we shouldn't," he murmured with trepidation, but she just rolled her eyes at his reluctance and tugged up her skirt, revealing a dizzying amount of leg as she stepped over the rope. He thought to look away, but was too dumbstruck by the expanses of soft skin to quite manage it in time.

"Don't be a party pooper, Suzaku. Some rules are simply begging to be broken. Just trust me."

And he did. Strangest thing ever, really, considering he didn't trust anyone anymore. So he finagled his broken limbs over the rope, Aurora helping him as she kept a careful eye on the hallway and a sharp ear out for Tom's snoring.

They headed up the second staircase, Aurora relaxing enough to allow the faint click to her heels. It led to some sort of attic, Suzaku realized, used for storage, he assumed. Aurora plowed through the dusty piles like a beam of light, heading for an angled wooden step ladder that seemed to lead straight into the ceiling. He followed closely behind her, then immediately stepped back as she started to climb. Then stepped back again as she got higher. Suzaku told himself he was being chivalrous, even as his throat seemed to close.

He was offered a merciful distraction when Aurora pushed open a trap door in the ceiling, lithely climbing through until she disappeared. For a moment, standing in the silence of the attic, Suzaku felt utterly foolish. Then, Aurora's head popped over the edge, her long hair falling forward in a curtain of old gold silk, her eyes glittering and a huge, unrestrained grin spreading across her face.

"Come on, Suzaku. I'm telling you, it's worth it."

Sighing as he eyed the obviously disused stairs, Suzaku made his careful way up, grasping Aurora's hand when she stretched to offer it after a moment of being irritated that she'd offered it at all and becoming distracted enough to wobble. Their palms slapped together, and she just looked at him archly in a way that said she'd known exactly what he had been thinking, and thought he was a goofball.

As he clambered up the last few steps, time seemed to slow. His gaze swung up just in time to see Aurora straighten and look away, her hair brushed back over her shoulders by a breeze as the afternoon sun blossomed over her skin, sweeping gold over warm cream. Her eyes caught the light, liquid silver glazed with bronze. Her skirt rippled in the air, warm fabric against soft flesh. For just a moment, she was a goddess. Then, as he stepped up onto the tiny balcony, Aurora glanced over at him with a cheeky grin, and somehow, she was even more beautiful when simply a woman.

"Suzaku. May I present the city of Gaillimh."

Vaguely, he noticed that she pronounced it like "Gahlyuh" as she swept out her arm in a dramatic, graceful gesture to indicate the view. But that was just a fleeting thought as he stepped forward, grasping the rail with his good hand as he took in the city spread before him. How this view existed, he had no idea. The museum wasn't that tall, and here, in the heart of the city, he should have been surrounded by walls.

But instead, Galway was spread before him, a trick of slight elevation and the perfect place to peak out over the city with a view shared only by the birds and storms. Glittering glass flashed in the sun, the deep green of the ubiquitous grass a soft counterpoint to the cool gray of stone and steel. The Corrib gleamed to his left, slicing through the city like a knife. It was stunning, and almost sacred.

Aurora proceeded to point out landmarks – the cross of St. Nicholas's spire, the Spanish Arch of times long past, the university across the river erected during Ireland's famine centuries ago. To the distant north, he could barely make out a blue haze on the horizon, which Aurora informed him was Lough Corrib, the birthplace of the river.

But his favorite view was the ocean.

They circled around the building, little better than a small gazebo tacked onto the top of the museum, and suddenly, there was the Atlantic, lapping at one the last shores until it bumped against New Cador in Britannia. Today, the water was crystalline blue, calm and quiet and just waiting to be whipped up into a frenzy. For now, the clouds were soft and white where they flowed in the sky counterpoint to the waves below, tame and unaggressive. Suzaku didn't know Ireland's weather very well, but he knew the sea. And no matter where you went, it was a generous, capricious, incredibly cruel creature. They stood for a while in silence until Suzaku's curiosity proved too much.

"How did you find this place?"

Aurora glanced at him quickly before returning her eyes to the view, crossing her arms as she leaned back against one of the pillars. Her mouth twisted slightly, and Suzaku couldn't quite read her expression.

"I didn't. Chandler showed it to me."

Not sure what to say to get her to explain further, he just remained silent. With a sigh, Aurora leaned forward, propping her elbow on the rail and cupping her chin in her palm. Faintly, around the curve of her fingers, Suzaku thought he could see a tiny, self-deprecating smile on her face.

"When I first came to England, I was a mess. I'd lost my family, my home, my career. I didn't have to worry about money too, thank God, but I was beginning to doubt the validity of the path I'd always followed. I wasn't grieving right, and I'd hardly grieved at all when I'd first lost George, the closest thing to a father I ever had. Needless to say, I was a pissy wreck, and I don't know how Kendra and Chandler put up with me." She laughed huskily – it didn't seem very funny to Suzaku. In fact, it sounded disturbingly familiar.

"So what happened?"

"Well, London was still intact at the time, and the biggest thing on the pairs' minds, besides my angsty antics, was whether or not Kendra would say yes to Chandler's proposal of marriage. So Chandler got it into his head that we should all go to Ireland. Give the girls a change of scenery. He hoped it would jog a decision out of Kendra, and give me the gigantic fucking attitude adjustment I needed."

As he listened, Suzaku watched the bay. A fishing boat was scooting back to the docks – considering the time, it was either in need of repairs, or had pulled in a spectacular haul. It struck him how much harder Aurora was on herself than him, even when her past mistakes were so minor in comparison to his.

"Well, it turned out the guy's a lot cleverer than I gave him credit for. Three romantic moonlit Irish nights and a few cynical, sarcastic comments from me later, Kendra was hefting around this honking engagement ring that was apparently Chandler's great-grandmother's. She doesn't wear it now – London is not the place to sport that kind of ice. But whenever she gets a chance, on goes the mini sun." Despite her slightly scathing tone and relaxed language, Aurora's eyes were achingly soft, her smile that of a romantic's.

"And what about you?" Suzaku prompted when she seemed lost in remembering the amorous beginning of her friends' marriage.

"Still mopey, angry, and rude, unfortunately."

He shifted, embarrassed at how closely that described him much too often these days, but Aurora didn't look his way.

"Kendra kicked us out of the house one day, so Chandler dragged me to Galway. Took me for a day around the city, and it helped a little. But I was stubbornly refusing the opportunity to get better, because I truly believed that I never could. And honestly, I was so goddamn mad at the entire world, dynamite couldn't have knocked me loose. I had done nothing to warrant being screwed over that completely, so what was the point of even playing the game if the universe itself wouldn't follow the rules? Finally, after flashing that politician's grin to get us in and sneaking away from the rest of the tour group, Chandler brought me here." Aurora straightened somewhat, her hands lightly resting on the railing, her face tipped up to the sun as her hair moved on the breath of air. Her spine now a sinuous curve of bone and muscle, Suzaku worked to keep his eyes from tracing it, determinedly returning his attention to her face.

"And, well… I don't know. I wasn't suddenly better in a flash, and happiness didn't come rushing in like a flood. It wasn't a sudden snap of the fingers. More like the unclenching of a fist, just a little. But there was something about this view that made a difference. Shifted my position just enough for me to realize something." Her long fingers speared through her hair, her voice dropping to an intensity that pressed against Suzaku's skin.

"Yes, I'd lost the things that had once defined my life. Due to circumstance, and my pride. But the amazing thing was, if I tried, I could have them again. Families aren't always bound by blood, and homes can be made anywhere. It's not the location that really matters, anyway. Not at the heart of the matter. And my career? Well, I still had my training, my drive. I'd liked being able to help people when I could before; maybe I could do it again. For practically my whole life, I'd done what was expected of me, what I had to do to survive." Aurora's gaze met his, and Suzaku's mouth went dry at the way she looked at him, the way her eyes seemed to reach inside him.

"But this time, I'd do what was right for me. What made me happy, what made me healthy. It was my inalienable right and solemn duty as a human to at least take the chance to try, because damn if I hadn't paid my dues. My anguish didn't gain anyone anything, and my happiness would hurt no one. So there was no reason to keep punishing myself and the world when it solved nothing, and every reason to fight for myself, for once. And it would have been all but impossible to do alone. Luckily enough for me, I wasn't alone." Finally, she broke eye contact with him, glancing over her shoulder at the traffic on the bridge, and Suzaku felt a little limp, like he'd been chained to a comet. Aurora just had to have those Britannian royal eyes, that seemed to cut through the bones and nerves with just a glance.

"What happened after?" he managed to murmur. Aurora shrugged, an elegant ripple of muscle under her quaint sweater.

"Like I said, nothing overnight. But I had made the conscious decision to be less angry, less sad. Now that I had a reason not to be, it was easier than just wishing for an alleviation of emotion without a goal. But eventually, it worked. Kendra and Chandler, two people who'd been all but strangers not six months before, were there every step of the way, making every ounce of difference. Kendra started training me as a nurse, and I began volunteering at a homeless clinic. It was going rather amazing, and I was considering getting my own place, although the lovebirds practically lived at Chandler's townhouse anyway. Then, London fell into the river."

Suzaku stilled, distinctly remembering the battle at the Sword of Akasha. He'd known there'd been aftereffects around the world, but hadn't put much thought to it.

"Something happened in one of the caverns in the thousands of underground rivers that riddle London. Considering what you've said, I'd say it's a pretty good bet that it had something to do with what happened on Kamine Island right before Lelouch took the throne – after all, it happened the same day. It was really only luck that kept the three of us alive. Kendra was at the clinic where she worked. It survived the initial collapse, but eventually came down about a week later. Chandler would have died if he'd been at Parliament like normal, which tumbled into the river like a bunch of bricks. Instead, he was south, in Sutton on business. As for me, the shelter I normally worked folded like a deck of cards. I'd been running late, so I watched London fall from the driver's seat of my Jeep. It was a bit dodgy for a while, but we all finally got to Kendra's clinic."

Suzaku remembered the terror that day had brought, but for an entirely different reason. He'd never quite considered how badly the world had been affected by Charles' plan, thwarted though it may have been.

"It took time, but eventually, we crawled out of the rubble and shook off the dust. With the clinic she'd been working at gone, Kendra decided it was high time to open her own, with me as her main employee. There were others more qualified, but none that she trusted as much, which made up for my general lack of experience. Almost the entirety of the English government had ended up in the river, so Chandler was suddenly one of the most senior members of Parliament. There wasn't exactly an outpouring of global support, especially considering a certain Emperor had just taken the throne. So, we were on our own, and it was going to be up to us to pick up the pieces. It proved to be the final kick in the ass I needed. I had my friends, I was alive, and I could help. It was time to pay back the universe for all the near misses it had granted me over the years." Fully straightening, her face composed as she faced the horizon, Suzaku allowed himself to marvel at Aurora and her journey.

In the distance, bells began to toll, the numerous churches in the city marking the hour. Aurora looked startled when the bells stopped after only two chimes.

"It's already two o' clock?" she murmured incredulously. As if on cue, Suzaku's stomach rumbled plaintively. They looked at each other for a long moment, then easy smiles stole over their faces in unison.

"Food it is, then." As Aurora began to descend the stairs, she paused about a third of the way down, her face tilted up as she looked at him. She was sculpted by shadows, the light glittering in her eyes.

"I know you don't believe it, Suzaku, but you're not alone either."

Before he could say anything in denial, her eyes dropped, and she continued down the ladder. Suzaku tilted his head in thought as he waited to hear the click of her heels on the floor. For so long, he had been alone. In his secrets, lies, and shame. And he'd been so certain, so determined, that the weight of being that alone would do what he actively could not – it would end him.

But as Aurora stood glowing like a pearl in the dim light of the attic waiting for him to join her, Suzaku had to wonder. How many times would she extend her hand before the temptation to take it would be too great to resist? How long until he actually accepted the amazing faith she so easily placed in him? It was getting difficult to remember why he couldn't justify it, why allowing her to make him feel human was not only more than he deserved, but he feared it had be more than he could handle.

As he carefully descended into the attic, Suzaku foolishly allowed his mind to wander, and wonder. Could he do as Aurora believed, and strive for something more, be something other than a hollow legend, a faceless shadow? The mere thought made every muscle throughout his entire body clench, and Suzaku almost whimpered from the pain, coming to an awkward, swaying halt midway down the ladder. His brain fried in the roar of blood, his eyes clenched shut as his jaw worked frantically. It felt like a concrete band had tightened around his chest, his blood sapping the oxygen in his system shockingly fast.

Why, why couldn't he just be OK? Dammit, he'd all but forgotten what that was even like. Faintly, he could feel the soft press of Aurora's hand against his lower spine. With enormous effort, he managed to focus on what she was saying, his eyes still locked shut against the dizziness that crawled through his brain from lack of oxygen.

"Breathe, Suzaku. Come on, hon, suck one in for me. Just give me one. That's it," she encouraged warmly when a sip of air managed to trickle its way into his lungs.

"Alright, I'm going to count out loud, and I want you to try to breathe along with me."

For some reason, Aurora making the decision about his air intake made the whole process manageable. Eventually, air leaked into his lungs at something resembling a steady rate, his heart slowed, and his muscles loosened. It felt almost like the cessation of an electrical shock. As she helped him down the rest of the ladder back to the floor, Aurora gazed at him with assessing, sad eyes. Carefully, almost cautiously, she cupped Suzaku's face in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know that I'm here, and I'm on your side."

Quite suddenly, Suzaku was seized by the urge to drop his forehead to her shoulder, and just believe. To shed his shame, his pride, and his hate like a heavy cloak in summer. Because nothing dragged at his soul more than the searing loathing he had for himself.

But he restrained himself, and instead dredged up a reassuring smile he did not feel. His face felt like old, cold leather being stretched and twisted, and by the look on Aurora's face, she agreed.

"Nothing to apologize for. I'm just a little tired."

She didn't believe him – they both knew it. But she just nodded and took his arm.

"I bet. It's been a long day, and you need some food."

The way his stomach was folding itself like a paper crane, Suzaku didn't think that was a good idea. But Aurora was locked onto him like a barnacle, and he needed all his attention to attempt the stealth necessary to get them out of the museum undetected.

Aurora worked to restrain herself from looking over at Suzaku every few seconds. He'd scared the ever-living shit out of her when he'd gone still as stone on the ladder, every inch of him painted with tension. Like a serious bout of temper, Aurora was doing everything she could to head off a full-blown panic attack – she sincerely doubted Suzaku could handle the physical demands of a ten minute meltdown. It was an extremely common aspect of PTSD, but she had yet to figure out what his triggers were. She knew it was inevitable, but Aurora prayed she could delay it until his bones could handle the tension without snapping like twigs.

She'd apologized for what she'd said, but didn't really regret it. Suzaku needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was in his corner, no questions asked. It had been way too long since someone had granted him that kind of absolute support. By the time they reached the ground floor, Suzaku seemed at least somewhat recovered. Deciding that he needed a good laugh and they could both use some cheering up, Aurora carefully repeated her method to open the door without ringing the bell.

At the jerk of her head, Suzaku slipped past her, limping slightly as he made his way down the steps. Once he hit the sidewalk, he turned back, waiting for her. But Aurora flapped her hand, and after furrowing his brow and tilting his head in confusion, Suzaku understood, and crossed the street, now on the other side of the narrow cobblestone path. Deciding he was close enough to the alley, Aurora slowly shut the door.

Taking a deep breath and burying the last whispers of fear that had saturated her system not ten minutes ago, Aurora yanked open the door, the bell jangling madly. A startled snort and grunt told her old Tom had been jolted from his pleasant dreams of large Guinesses and busty women.

"Hey Tom, thanks for the view! I'll let you get back to sexy little Cathy now!" Aurora bellowed at the top of her lungs, an impressively loud volume considering her slim frame. Tagging on a shouted, snotty insult in Gaelic that compared Tom's lack of sexual prowess to that of a goat, Aurora slammed the door behind her as hard as she could and raced down the steps, sprinting across the cobblestones and grabbing Suzaku's arm on the fly. Pulling him into the shadows of the alley, they waited a few seconds before carefully leaning over just enough to peek around the corner of the building to see the steps leading up to the museum. There stood Tom Grady, every kid's nightmare of an evil headmaster.

Tall, flabby, and imposing, Tom had a steel gray comb-over and mean, narrow eyes the color of mud. The museum had been in his family for years, and he ruled over it with an inordinate amount of pride. And Aurora held a special place of honor amongst the expansive list of people he thoroughly despised. Scowling out across the small street with narrowed eyes, since he'd forgotten his glasses in his rush to catch the intruder, Tom crossed his arms across his chest.

"Rory Seven, so help me God, if you come near my establishment again, I'll beat you within an inch of your sorry life!" As the echoes of his roar faded away, they could make out the heaving hiss of his infuriated breathing. Finally, deciding that Aurora was already long gone, Tom turned and banged the door shut behind him.

Aurora clapped her hand over her mouth, muffling her laughter as she scoffed. "As if! That man couldn't catch me if I was in a full-body straight jacket." She glanced over at Suzaku, who seemed to be struggling to hide the smile tilted across his lips as he furrowed his brows at her, shaking his head.

"What in the world is wrong with you?"

Instead of answering, Aurora began to howl with laughter, leaning against the wall behind her as Suzaku unwillingly chuckled. When they quieted enough to stand, Aurora led the way back down to Shop Street, heading for a pub she preferred.

"He really doesn't like you," Suzaku murmured, his voice almost lost by the increasing volume of the crowd as they emerged onto Shop Street again. Aurora just shrugged, a wicked smile curling her lips.

"Well, Tom used to be married. He was about as faithful as a stray tomcat, a fact his well-bred, wealthy wife was unaware of. I just relieved her of her ignorance," she said lightly with a shrug. "And, I may or may not have set his hair on fire."

Suzaku stared at her for a moment, and Aurora just glanced over out of the corner of her eye, regal and mischievous.

"That explains his current unfortunate hairstyle."

"If you're saying that he looks like a mangy cantaloupe with a rim of mold, you're spot on."

Suzaku laughed, and as they walked past shop fronts and milling crowds, something caught his eye. Earlier that morning, he'd noticed their reflections in the windows, and had felt ridiculous. He'd looked drab next to Aurora's brilliance. But now, with a smile that felt more real than it looked and clothes that actually fit him, Suzaku almost wondered that maybe…

No, that was ridiculous. Even if he was only slightly more physically on par with Aurora, he still had eons to go until he could possibly earn someone like her. The gulf between them may appear shorter, but it still yawned between them mercilessly.

Before Suzaku could depress himself any further, Aurora ducked around a large crowd that had gathered around a trio performing on guitars and an energetic tambourine. She descended down a very old set of stone stairs. They were steep and smooth with age, the gray rock torn from Ireland's very heart. After nearly tripping, Suzaku clamped his good hand on the railing, old oak dark and polished with age and the countless passing slide of hands. Aurora watched him like a hawk from the foot of the stairs, her hand resting on the broad door's knob patiently. Above the lintel, the pub's name was carved into the wood, and Suzaku had to squint his eyes to read it. Darkened by time and smoke, the establishment was called "Morgan's Stag." Smiling a little at the name, wondering who Morgan was and why he'd wanted a stag, Suzaku followed Aurora into the pub, the smell of hops, yeast, smoke, and sweat instant and ubiquitous. Despite encroaching summer, a fire burned in a hearth massive enough to house a pony, no doubt to combat the chill of the stone walls.

Combined with the crowd, it was rather toasty. Despite the off hour, the pub was pleasantly busy, at least a third of the booths occupied and half a dozen men – one of whom revealed herself to be a stunningly beautiful, if sturdily built, woman when she turned her head to soundly punch her neighbor's shoulder – were arrayed along the bar. Nodding at the sharp-eyed waitress and flicking up two fingers, Aurora led the way to a cozy booth situated under of the few, high windows the pub boasted. It was a small but beautiful collection of stained glass panes, pulling a bit sunshine into the smoky pub. The rest of the place was lit by old-fashioned lamps hung along the walls and a heavy-boned iron chandelier that was barely related to the frothy creations of crystal, gold, and light that lit the Imperial Palace.

As Suzaku sat down opposite from Aurora, he noticed that almost every patron's attention was locked onto the TV screen behind the bar. Since they sat across the pub from it, Suzaku couldn't quite make out the sport. Something that involved striped shirts and lots of physical contact. The crowd collectively groaned, and Aurora chuckled.

"Ireland has a shot to make it to the Nationals this year. Britain's been in the toilet since the collapse, and Germany's team is lucky if they can find the ball. I guess we'll just have to see," she said with a shrug and careless smile. Aurora glanced over her shoulder, and when Suzaku followed her gaze he realized that the waitress had been waylaid by a harried-looking family of tourists with two small children who looked millimeters away from a melt-down of magnificent proportions. Shaking her head kindly, Aurora stood, her skirt shifting around her knees.

"Be right back," she murmured. But before she could disappear through the crowd, Aurora shrugged out of the sweater she'd worn all day. As the fabric slid down her arms, it revealed white straps and lean, strong shoulders, and once she'd tossed it onto the bench, Aurora reached back and twisted her hair forward over her shoulder. But what made Suzaku's jaw drop a little was when she turned away, and Suzaku realized that Aurora's back, almost all the way down to the small of her spine, was bare.

His mouth dried a little at the acres of warm, pale skin gilded by the brassy lamplight, her shoulder blades sharp edges against delicate skin. His guts, which had just finally loosened, tightened again with a sweet sort of pain that made his blood thunder frantically. If he'd been standing, his knees would have wobbled. And when Suzaku pressed his fingers to his mouth, he found his cheeks to be warm. Dammit, how could she do this to him so easily, fry his control like a circuit charged with too much power? Was there something wrong with him, a heart condition, perhaps? However, before Suzaku could marvel much more about Aurora's beautifully bare back or scare himself any more thoroughly about his trampled health, a pair of blokes draped themselves over the backs of the booth. They were much too similar in appearance to simply be brothers, and they had the mischievous, if slightly drunken twinkle of identical twins on the prowl.

"That's a bloody gorgeous bird, mate. She your mot?" They smelled of lager, a day's work, and eager pursuit, blinking at him in unison. Suzaku was somewhat surprised by how little he felt threatened by them. Just vaguely confused and indulgent.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked quietly, at a loss for what they actually asked of him. The pair, in their late twenties with the hefty build honed by physical labor, exchanged glances.

"That bitta fluff. The girl you strolled in with, she yours?" they clarified when Suzaku continued to look at them blankly.

"Oh, no, she's not my…" Why the denial, while true, felt bitter on his tongue, he wasn't sure. "She's my… friend," he finally managed to choke out lamely. Could he call Aurora that? It seemed like their relationship was much more complicated than a simple friendship. While Suzaku felt odd and confused, the men brightened almost childishly

"Right then. So you don't mind if we give it a go, yeah?"

Before Suzaku could say anything, be it yay, nay, or otherwise, the brawny pair swaggered, stumbling only slightly, across the pub to where Aurora stood leaning against the massive polished mahogany bar. She was chatting with the bartender, her warm smile flickering like a flame. The two men, who had obviously employed the dual-pronged assault their whole life with success, flanked Aurora. Suzaku had to give them credit despite the fact that his teeth had started to grind – they were pretty smooth. When the first flash of the men's' flirtatious smiles sparked something vicious and cutting inside him, he was a little shocked by his instinctive, aggressive reaction.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Suzaku reminded himself that Aurora was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Against two brutish thugs, who had lost their initial harmlessness in an eruption of hot, sticky emotion Suzaku couldn't identify. Probably.

Rhythmically tapping his fingers against the table harder than strictly necessary, Suzaku watched the exchange unfold by the bar. When the men had first started their pitch, Aurora hadn't even looked particularly surprised. She had a calculating, cunning look in her eyes, and after saying two sentences that left the men gaping at her like she'd just kicked them in the nuts were her wicked heels, Aurora strolled across the pub back to their table. Her slightly smug expression made Suzaku want to laugh. He'd been right that morning. Man-killer.

As she sat down across from him, sinking down like a beleaguered victor after an unnecessary battle, Aurora rolled her eyes with a grin once she caught his gaze. Now that her lovely back was safely tucked away, Suzaku's synapses were actually firing.

"Coupla bloody gits. Right arses, the pair of them. And didn't they look gobsmacked, like I'd belted them in the bollocks. Least the pair of those plonkers deserve."

Since he was getting used to her cadence of voice, Suzaku was able to follow at least most of what Aurora said. But her easy use of the slang and sudden, flawless Irish accent threw him a bit. Nodding in agreement to whatever it was that she said, he gazed at her a moment before giving in.

"Do you usually do that?"

Aurora tilted her head, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"What? Deal with horn dogs in a swift, efficient manner?" she asked, her voice back to her normal inflection, her Britannian, with the slightest whiff of English, accent.

"No," Suzaku said with a shaky laugh because, God, that's exactly what she'd done, "affect an accent that easily. You've been doing it on and off all day, but that was quite a mouthful just now."

Aurora blinked at him twice before looking slightly embarrassed and contrite, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked away.

"Sorry. Honestly, I didn't even notice."

"Is it habit or training?" Suzaku asked, puzzled why she seemed ashamed of it. He found it rather fascinating, personally.

"Both," she admitted with a sigh. "My linguistics tutor was delighted that I had an ear for accents; however, I drove him nuts by my compulsion to copy the ones I hear. In a way, it made my job much easier."

Curious, Suzaku leaned forward slightly.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged eloquently.

"It's the same reason I was trained in classical subjects and dance and music – people are more likely to share their secrets with you when they think you're one of them. Proving yourself one of the herd, tearing down as many "outsider" walls as possible, makes people that much more inclined to tell you secrets, confide in you. Sometimes it's easier to simply wait for the truth instead of working to steal it."

"So what's bad about it?"

Aurora's mouth twisted, her eyes taking on that look of resignation and disappointment when she talked about one of her flaws. But he couldn't fault her in the slightest for being so honest about them.

"Whenever I took a cover, I had to be exceptionally careful when I came across anyone accented. If I started mimicking them unconsciously, it could blow everything, and it was a good way to get myself killed. That, and sometimes people would just think I'm making fun of them, or were exceptionally confused since my language manipulation is pretty sharp."

"I've heard you speak Gaelic today. Are there any other languages you know?" As for himself, Suzaku only knew Japanese and Britannian Standard. It was really all he'd needed to get by. Aurora tapped a finger against her lips, and Suzaku told himself that he was absolutely in no way allowing his eyes to be drawn to her perfect mouth – it was rude. He was pretty sure he failed.

"Well, obviously besides Standard, I'm conversational in English, French, Spanish, and fair Chinese, although English is more a dialect of Standard. Gaelic is actually one of my weaker languages – I barely know enough touristy stuff to get by. The same goes for Swahili, Hindi, Russian, and Japanese."

Suzaku stared at her a moment.

"You… can speak Japanese?" he managed, his voice faltering. Aurora looked at him kindly. Of course she understood how much knowledge of the dying language meant to him.

"Not nearly enough," she said apologetically. Before he could say anything, the waitress appeared next to their table. Despite the apprehensive looks she tossed over her shoulder at the tourists and their children like they were a bomb set to detonate, she carried numerous plates and drinks with enviable ease. Trying to swallow back the sorrow that soured his throat, Suzaku sat back, demanding that he devote his attention to the food. That, at least, was probably safe.

"A pair of doorsteps and chips," she announced, placing two plates of sandwiches, nearly four inches thick in a cozy bed of thick-cut fries,in front of each of them. "A mineral," she added, setting a glass full of some sort of clear soda in front of him, "and a mug of Rosie," she finished, setting a mug of steaming dark tea in front of Aurora. "Anything else I can get for you folks?"

"No, this looks grand, Molly. You need anything, Suzaku?"

At the shake of his head, she smiled over at the waitress.

"Thank you, dear."

Molly smiled at Aurora's warm words, ran her fingers over a loose lock of Aurora's hair and winked over at Suzaku. Then, her wavy raven hair bound back in a low, loose braid, Molly turned, her cobalt eyes slightly narrowed as she approached the family of tourists like they were a grenade about to go off. In the way of those in her profession, Molly got the children laughing at least a little, easing the tension on the parents' faces.

A young man, broad of shoulder and clever of face, stepped up to a small stage by the fire and rosined his bow, sliding it across the strings of a polished fiddle and eliciting a sweet trill that immediately grabbed the children's, and most of the patrons', attention. As the music filtered through the chatter and tugged at the heart, Suzaku took his first slightly awkward bite of the sandwich, holding it one-handed.

Aurora had clearly known what she was ordering. The bread was thick and warm, slightly loamy in texture. Layered with thickly cut beef and lined with seasoned, obviously home-made mayonnaise, it was garnished with lettuce and tomatoes and pickles, all fresh and crisp. It was a hell of a sandwich.

Aurora was always a fairly determined eater, but watching her attack the sandwich like a starving wolf was… funny. Suzaku chuckled around his more modest mouthful of food, trying his best to hide his smile with the sandwich. She furrowed her brow at him, and after swallowing, she put her sandwich down.

"What?"

"Nothing," he assured her, unsuccessfully swallowing the chuckle. She frowned at him severely, but there was a gentleness, a sparkle in her eyes that softened the expression.

"What? I'm hungry."

Suzaku sniggered through his nose, and Aurora threw a tiny fry at his head. He dodged it, almost regretting it when his muscles twinged, then dropped his head when he saw the fry bounce off an unsuspecting man's head nearby. The man, pole-thin with eyes like a fox, whipped around, searching for the perpetrators with an accusing glare. Suzaku and Aurora stared down at their plates, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter. When they dared look up at each other again, Aurora mock-glared.

"Shut up and eat your food," she commanded, but the corner of her mouth twitched, and Suzaku decided to obey instead of making a very public idiot of himself by laughing like a crazy person. As he took another bite of the hearty sandwich, he tried another attempt at conversation without getting them into trouble.

"This is delicious." Suzaku almost winced at himself. That was about as pathetic a conversation starter as they came. But Aurora just smiled in agreement.

"Morgan does know his way around a fine sambo."

Suzaku paused in raising his sandwich to his mouth.

"Morgan? As in Morgan's Stag?"

Aurora nodded as she chewed.

"Kind of. The current Morgan was named after that Morgan. No one knows the story of the stag. Ask anyone in the family, and they'll tell you it's a secret of their bloodline. Which is a total load of crap. That particular story's been lost to time."

Quiet idle chatter followed as the young man plied his fiddle, and Aurora and Suzaku worked their ways through the remainder of their meal. With his stomach full, Suzaku leaned back slightly, working to relax his muscles one by one as he sipped the lemon-lime soda. Aurora rested her elbows on the table, nursing her tea, managing to talk to him with her usual wit and humor and observe the room without seeming to simultaneously. Not the mention, the way she held herself exposed the curve of her collar bone, her shoulders drawn forward and accentuating the subtle muscling along her arms and shoulders.

Suzaku found himself marking exits without the usual tension and apprehension; it was more by rote than anything else. Aurora had just begun telling him a story about Bannock's puppy years when she suddenly stopped, her eyes going to the small stage, slightly narrowed. Hesitantly, Suzaku followed her gaze, and saw that a young woman, only a few years older than himself at most, was settling on the stage, chatting with the man who was giving his fiddle a break. Her hair was a stunning red, startling crimson in large loops. Her eyes were very sharp, and the color of the sky, delicate blue. Suzaku wasn't sure what had caught Aurora's eye about her, but when he looked back, she'd deposited her tea cup on the table, leaning back and crossing her legs with a feline, anticipatory expression. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and faintly smirked.

The young woman on the stage settled an acoustic guitar across her knees and the man sat on a stool next to her. They chatted and nodded at each other, then the woman slowly began picking chords on the guitar. The melody, slow and deliberate, was faintly haunting, and conversation in the pub immediately died. Then the woman opened her mouth, and began to sing.

Goosebumps raced over Suzaku's skin as her voice filled the air. It was the faintest bit husky, but powerful and smooth. He knew without hearing that this was a voice of power. She sang of a woman's fidelity to her newly married husband, how seriously she took the symbolism of her white dress. She let out a sigh, and the soft, quite tone changed.

Not only did the man on the fiddle join her much more aggressive guitar, but almost every woman in the bar, every female who knew the song, raised their voices and joined her in the next stanza. Including Aurora.

She was relaxed, almost sprawled across the bench where she sat. Since he was sitting so close, her voice was the one easiest for Suzaku to hear. And it was impressive. Her tenor was flexible and bright, and she sang along with the rest of the women, of how the woman of the song warned that should she and her new husband ever part, the ties that bound them would hang them, that she'd die before she ever let him go.

Odd subject, but not the first angry female song he'd ever heard. If that was simply it. Aurora's eyes slowly slid to his as she sang, and a shiver ran down his spine. It was another facet to her, like a finely carved sapphire slowly revealing all its faces. Across from Suzaku sat a performer, a storyteller. She shed much of her warmth in favor of a cool charm that captivated. She was tantalizing, but Suzaku could admit to himself that this Aurora was extremely intimidating. The women, almost all of them Irish occupants, including the waitress, continued on, warning how, once buried, they wished for the world to know that they'd simply loved their man just a little too much, how they refused to live on without the man they loved.

How the man would be the last thing she thought of before death, how it would be heartbreak that killed her. The lyrics spoke of a woman dangerously attached to the man she loved. It he just went by that, it sounded like she'd take her life if she ever lost him. But as he looked at the singers' faces, watching Aurora's most closely of all, Suzaku realized that there was a subtext, a faint viciousness, in their expressions. Perhaps the wife wasn't just begging him to stay; it was a warning that if he ever strayed, she'd send him to the grave first, then follow him. The song was both a threat and a plea, and the ambiguity was seductively macabre. Suzaku wondered about the story; did she commit suicide, or murder?

The song was nearing its climax, and as the women hummed, a throaty note that seemed to quiver in the air, the young man furiously worked his fiddle, his earlier performances a mere warm-up to this much more complicated piece. The notes dipped and trembled, and lent a sort of frantic fragility to the song. They sang their way through the chorus, and everything slowed, voices that had been raised with such power suddenly growing soft and gentle. But the message was still the same – the vows were concrete to her, and if she lost him, there was simply no life for her. A drawn-out moment of silence built the tension, when every singer suddenly stomped their foot against the ground three times in unison, Aurora included. Suzaku jerked at the primal thrumming, the voices immediately ramping up to their previous aggression in demanding certain funeral arrangements. It was quite overwhelming, being stuck in the midst of all this power and determination that had nothing to do with combat and everything to do with tradition and familial balance. It was no contest as to which was more important here in Ireland.

The music again quieted, and only the red-haired singer on stage sang now, reminding the man of her vow on their wedding day to love him until her death, gently strumming on her guitar. As the final notes faded away, there was a pregnant silence, and Suzaku felt himself, strangely, a member of a brotherhood who was suddenly unsettled by their females, properly warned and vaguely, spookily, put in their place.

Aurora turned her head to face him, and smiled as applause roared through the pub like a wave. But it wasn't the smile she'd given him most of today – it was sharp as a blade, and, perhaps for the first time, Suzaku really acknowledged that Aurora could be a serious threat, and could do serious harm if called upon to do so. He was glad he hadn't seen such a transformation, yet a small part of him was oddly disappointed, too. Suzaku felt his brows rise, and reaffirmed something to himself.

Spirited women were not to be trifled with.

Why he felt drawn to those kind of women, he wasn't really sure. Instead of answering his own question, he took a sip of soda and cleared his throat.

"You're a terrifying woman, you know that?" he asked in a low tone. Aurora just winked at him, and Suzaku felt the twin jabs of apprehension and something that felt like bubbles in his blood. Was there something wrong with his red blood count?

"Glad to see you're catching on. I was hoping Brenna would sing today – we were lucky. She's going to be famous one day, mark my words. Not that Jake doesn't play a mean fiddle. If their marriage can survive fame, they'll make a hell of a duo."

A little surprised, Suzaku glanced back at the stage just in time to see Jake the fiddler lean down and give his wife a soft kiss. When he looked back, the regular Aurora had slid into place once more, the performance over and the story told. Suzaku found himself relieved. It had been fascinating, but he was glad to have the woman he knew back, the silly one who pulled pranks on mean old museum curators.

"You ready to go home?" Her voice was gentle again, and Suzaku almost sighed.

"Sure, if you're ready."

Aurora smiled at him like she knew he was really exhausted, but let him be polite for the sake of his pride, standing from the booth and shrugging on her sweater. That brief glimpse of her spine almost knocked Suzaku back into the pub as he stood, but he managed a white grip on the table, hauling himself just in time to straighten when she turned around.

"Be right back," she murmured, striding to the bar on her fierce heels. In her usual brisk, warm fashion, Aurora waved to the bartender, bussed cheeks with Molly the waitress, and flicked a sentence and slightly terrifying look the twins' way. They paled, then blushed, then almost buried their faces in their Guinesses. Brenna and Jake caught her attention as she passed the stage to head back, exchanging brief niceties before gesturing towards Suzaku and walking away.

It was official. Aurora knew everybody in the world.

Snagging her purse, dropping a tip on the table, then sliding onto his arm, Aurora was towing him out of Morgan's Stag before Suzaku could blink. He didn't know if it was the good food or the strange, impressive performance, but suddenly Suzaku was so worn out, he could hardly keep his spine even mildly straight. He stood by during their brief visit to Proper Task in an exhaustion induced haze, watching blearily as Aurora hefted the numerous bags. They were told that Moira was busy painting, but was looking forward to hearing Suzaku. Embarrassed by his lackluster return visit, he tried to at least look sincere before trailing after Aurora out of the shop.

Natasha still scared the crap out of him, but as he awkwardly slid onto the leather seats, Suzaku found himself very grateful for the car's comfort. As Aurora stowed the bags, she passed him a water bottle that she'd suddenly produced like a genie, murmuring quietly to make sure he stayed hydrated. Suzaku had always thought of himself as steady and straightforward, but this rollercoaster ride of his condition was unnatural and difficult to tolerate. He was amazed that Aurora adjusted to him so quickly and easily. But then, that seemed to be a specialty of hers; molding and changing and bending. Like a sapling, she was supple enough to absorb any blow, and turn it to her favor.

When they stopped at MacNeilan's, Aurora told him to stay in the car. Suzaku very briefly entertained the idea of arguing, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. He was almost dozing when Aurora returned, carrying more clothes than he would have ever deemed necessary, but the deed was done. As she packed the bags away, humming lightly, he closed his eyes, his hat resting on the dash and the sunglasses drooping down the bridge of his nose. Suzaku almost jerked in surprise when Aurora ran her fingertips through the hair flopping over his brow, nudging down his glasses to get a good look at his eyes. She was very close, and Suzaku was shocked into stillness. He gazed at her with wide eyes, her expression considering as she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

"Is anything outstandingly sore?"

Suzaku shook his head.

"You're sure?"

He nodded.

"So you're just tired?"

Again, he nodded. Her face was entirely too close to think of wrestling about his pride's need to lie.

"Alright. I think we'll skip tea with the O'Tooles. I'll call in a rain check – we need to get you home for some shut eye. You've way exceeded my expectations today, Suzaku," she said kindly when his brow furrowed at the change in plans. He didn't particularly want to have tea with strangers, but the idea of breaking plans on his behalf did not sit well. "So well that I forgot how precarious your condition is. You're a rock star, but you're not invincible."

How terribly true that was.

"Alright," Suzaku murmured before he realized what he was saying. But before he could take the word back, Aurora took the win, and straightened away from him. The tension bled out of him, and his head thunked against the car frame once she'd shut the door. As she started the car and headed out of Galway, Suzaku tried to keep his eyes open, to grab what final memories he could of the city. But before they'd even hit the northern borders, he was asleep.

Aurora drove much more sedately on the way home, taking into consideration her slumbering passenger. Suzaku was tired, alright, and she'd finally pushed him too far. Honestly, the day had been fun enough to forget that under that sling, he was stitched together at the seams, both physically and mentally. She was mad at herself, but not enough to cause any undue grumbling. Other than some faint shadows under his eyes, Suzaku was no worse for wear.

She tried to prepare herself for the inevitable low to pair with today's high – with Suzaku and his recovery, it would always be two steps forward, one step back. And when that step back hit, it was going to sting like lemon in a cut. But for now, Aurora glowed over the triumphs with the eagerness they deserved. Any improvement was worth praise. She'd pounded that into his thick skull enough over the last few days.

Stopped at a light, Aurora glanced over at a sleeping Suzaku. Loosening the leash just a little on the emotions that refused to wither away, she looked at him, and saw something that truly scared her. Something she wasn't sure she could live without.

Shaking her head at her foolishness, Aurora pulled away when the light turned green. This was a sanctuary, a safe place for Suzaku to heal enough to leap back into the fray. In no way, shape, or form could any of this ever be permanent. And developing feelings for one of the most complicated, dangerous, broken men she'd ever known – and that was saying something – was one of the stupidest things she'd ever done. Even more so than her last job, and that had almost gotten her killed.

Nothing could ever happen. Neither of them would ever survive it. But as she caught the way Suzaku's mouth softened in sleep, the way his brow finally truly smoothed as his hair fell forward, making him look terribly young, Aurora couldn't help but wish, just a little.

Suzaku was groggy when the steady thrum of Natasha's engines suddenly silenced, and as he blinked sleepily, the house swam into view. So this is what it felt like to come home. Aurora was already out of the car, sliding her seat forward to start unpacking. When she noticed that his eyes were open, she grinned.

"Good. You're awake. Since there was no way I'd be carrying you inside, I figured I'd wait until you finished your beauty sleep for now." The teasing melted away, leaving a calm kindness in its place. "Ban will take you upstairs. I know sleeping in a car isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, so why don't you get in a solid nap. Then we'll see about dinner."

Suzaku glanced towards today's purchases, and Aurora made a face at him.

"Don't even think about it."

The air that huffed through his nose may have been laughter. A little startled, and still bone weary, Suzaku gripped his cane as he levered himself out of the car, bracing an appreciative hand on Bannock's long back when he magically materialized at his side.

Somehow, the big dog got him inside and up the stairs, despite the fact that half of his brain had yet to function. Once in his room, Suzaku stripped, refusing to sleep in his new clothes. He had new pajamas, but Aurora hadn't unloaded them yet. Feeling guilty for relegating her to pack mule service simply because he was a gimpy idiot, Suzaku tugged on one of his hand-me-down sets, frowning as his arm stung and ached.

He all but fell into bed, and as he curled slightly on his good side, he felt the mattress bounce as Bannock joined him, circling in an ungainly shuffle before flopping down against his back with a contended groan. Smiling a little, Suzaku let his eyes drift shut.

Just as he was about to be truly claimed by sleep, a thought floated through Suzaku's head.

He hadn't thought about heroin, yearned for it, or even wished for it in passing, all day.

What had Aurora said about the ocean? It was something, alright.

Chapter Text

Neither of them were quite sure why, but in the days following the Galway visit, Suzaku turned into something of a ghost around the house. He barely had the energy for his walks, let alone responding to any attempts by Aurora to draw him out. He wasn't angry, just… exhausted.

The day after, both of them chalked it up to the physical exertion of the trip. But he found it impossible to shake the sense of bone-deep fatigue, and Suzaku just couldn't bring himself to care about the worry that seemed to live in Aurora's eyes, the way her brows furrowed in that way of hers almost all the time. Slipping through the house with mussed hair and enormous shadows under his eyes, Suzaku ate even less than usual – he couldn't find the energy to be hungry. Sometimes he lazily sketched in his old notebook, reluctant to mar his new ones with anything less than his best. Occasionally, he'd idly read a book, but that rarely held his attention long enough to keep a nap at bay. So more often than not, he'd settle into a couch or his bed, snuggle in, and shut the world out. Suzaku reasoned that he was making up for years of two hours of sleep a night. And those had been nights he was lucky.

Aurora didn't like it. Not one bit.

She couldn't decide if she was angry or scared. She wanted to be mad that he wasn't trying, but whenever she tried to broach anything beyond their basic course of the day, Suzaku would just blink at her sleepily, shrug his shoulders, and shuffle away. It would be like kicking a puppy to get snarly with someone so impassive.

So that left scared. And boy, was she scared. She'd hoped that the day in Galway would instill a sense of drive and hope in Suzaku, but instead, it seemed to have wiped away every emotion instead. If she couldn't be angry with him, she could damn well be angry with herself. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the trip, which had been fraught with challenges, certainly, but still entertaining and meaningful, would back-fire so terribly. She didn't know what to do. His body certainly needed sleep to heal, and it was easy to guess that his sleeping patterns in the past had been far from healthy. But it felt as if any fragments of him Aurora had earned were slipping through her fingers like sand, being engulfed in that void of sleep.

Finally, after four days, she'd had enough. It was already ten in the morning, and Suzaku had yet to emerge from his room. Reassuring herself that this wasn't an invasion of privacy, that he'd forgive her, and that it was for his own good, Aurora nudged open his door to find him where she usually found him these days – in bed. Suzaku's oaken hair was wild, a matted, tangled mess that coiled away from his skull like he'd been electrocuted. Next to the white sheets, his skin was almost translucently pale. And after he'd finally gotten some color, Aurora thought with a sigh. His brow was smooth, but not in peace. He seemed… devoid.

Gritting her teeth, she stomped into the room and yanked back the lace curtains softening the sunlight. A strong beam of sun cutting through today's scattered clouds landed right on his face. He winced, furrowing his brow before groaning, flopping over onto his right side away from the window and burrowing his face into his pillow. If Suzaku thought that was sufficient to deflect Aurora from her war path, he hadn't been paying very close attention the last month.

She marched over to the bed, and digging her fingers into the white quilt with blue and red rings, whipped it off of him with a satisfactory crack. Suzaku jerked, pulling his knees closer to his chest, grunting with disapproval. But he still remained determinedly asleep. Growling in her throat, she stalked over to the side of the bed and yanked back the sheet.

"Come on, Suzaku. Up and at 'em, slugger, rise and shine, and any other morning greeting clichés you can think of."

Suzaku just hummed into the pillow in a mildly protesting tone, the sound muffled by cloth and fluff and sleep. Tilting her head to calculate how she could heave him physically out of bed without hurting him, Aurora took hold of Suzaku's ankles, slowly straightening his legs out over the edge of the bed. She wanted to tug and pull, literally wrenching him out of sleep, but it would be stupid to genuinely hurt him because she was scared and petty.

Finally, she got his feet on the floor, and worked to extricate his face from its home in the pillow. When his squinting eyes appeared, crowned by a frizz of hair that stood straight up like a frill from his forehead, Aurora managed to choke back the laugh. Barely. Suzaku murmured in a questioning manner, and she decided she could translate. Speech would come later.

"It's past ten, lazy butt. Shower, breakfast, then we're going for a walk. It would be easier to agree with me than argue," she warned when he opened his mouth to protest. His grooming had been a little weak recently, and she fought to keep from wrinkling her nose.

Finally, it seemed Suzaku got with the program, although even conscious, he wasn't much help. Sincerely perturbed that such a titan of a man could be reduced to a hazy blob, Aurora dumped Suzaku in the bathroom, grateful for the first time in days that he'd take forever to shower. Rushing to her room, repeatedly reminding herself not to freak out, Aurora dialed Kendra, something she'd been putting off since his behavior had started to unnerve her. She may be coming tomorrow, but they needed help. Now.

"Kendra, something's wrong with Suzaku. He's been a slug since Galway, I knew he was going to be a little tired out but it's like he's not even there and it's freaking me out, it's like he just evaporated and I'll never forgive myself if this is my fault and I don't know what to do and-"

"Aurora!" Shocked by her avalanche of worry that had flooded through once the click of connection sounded, Kendra finally managed to stop the tirade. "Jesus, girl, calm down. Did you have caffeine?" she asked suspiciously

"No! You know I never stock caffeine in the house."

Kendra just grunted in disbelief.

"Now, let me see if I managed to pick out the salient points from your little verbal vomit. Suzaku's been lethargic since your day out in Galway, correct?"

Clamping her jaw against the urge to repeat said vomit, Aurora just nodded.

Remembering that Kendra couldn't see her, she replied with a terse, "Yes."

"OK. And I'm assuming you guys discussed some tough topics?" Not a difficult guess, since a hard topic came up practically every time they talked.

"Yes. But he was fine afterwards. Thinking, and maybe a little confused, but it's not like he went blank with shock or started screaming. In fact, I thought he was maybe considering what we talked about in a more positive light."

"Alright. Well, here's the thing, Aurora. Suzaku has severe PTSD, which has never been diagnosed or treated. Under that umbrella are a lot of the symptoms you've already seen: panic attacks, difficulty sleeping, hyper-response, addiction, and depression. Now, his depression usually manifests as very active and angry, mostly against himself."

Aurora murmured confirmation.

"If he's taken what you said seriously, then maybe that intense self-hate has started to dissipate. But that doesn't mean his depression is fading along with that cruelty he usually reserves for himself. One of the more common patterns of depression is torpor and apathy. It's less violent than his usual precedent, but it takes a little more cleverness and patience to jolt him out of it. You can't just snarl and lock horns – you're going to have to get him to engage, but without alienating him. You know what that means, right?"

"Ummm…"

"You're going to have to share, Aurora. Reciprocity will help ease him back into actually giving a damn. Bring up something you've been dancing around, and see if the both of you can unearth some of the guilt sludge you carry around."

Aurora groaned and buried her face in her hand. The things she hadn't yet told Suzaku were parts of her life that she was uncomfortable exposing. He wasn't the only one ashamed of his past.

"Dammit. Alright. Thanks for the help, Kendra. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"OK. Let me know if things get worse, or if I need to get there ASAP. Your instincts when it comes to Suzaku are unusually sharp – just trust them and keep your temper in check, and it should be fine."

Aurora didn't respond, and set the phone back on the bedside table once Kendra hung up. Ban looked at her with wide eyes, his head inquiringly tilted. She blew out a breath, fluttering the hair freeing itself from her hurried ponytail as she smiled weakly at the worried dog.

"It's fine. It's going to be fine. We'll get him back. Just gotta rattle his cage a little, and then he'll be back to normal, full of piss and vinegar and grumpy as usual."

Bannock padded closer, laying his head in her lap, looking up at her with his soft eyes. She cuddled him close, pressing her cheek against the top of his head.

"I know. I miss Butthead Suzaku, too." Pulling back, she squooshed Ban's cheeks forward, the only way the dog would ever appear even slightly chubby. "What's wrong with us?"

Ban just wagged his tail. Taking that for agreement, Aurora released him and stood, heading downstairs to save the egg and sausage casserole she'd been warming for him.

By the time he finally joined her in the kitchen, oddly frumpy with his hair still somehow a disaster, Aurora just pointed towards his seat and slid the plate in front of him. As Suzaku poked at the mixture of eggs, sausage, cheese, and potatoes, Aurora hid her frown behind her mug of tea, leaning against the counter as she watched him eat. She knew for a fact that the casserole was good – she'd had some that morning herself. So it wasn't the food.

Over the past few days, she'd tried to keep her obvious worry to a minimum, to avoid making Suzaku feel like he was a bug under a microscope. No such consideration now. She all but willed him to eat with her eyeballs, but he hardly ever looked at her, so it didn't seem to matter. When he'd eaten half of the small slice and mangled the rest, Aurora sighed through her nose and set down her mug. He nudged the plate away with a languid poke of his finger, and she worked valiantly to swallow the scream the curled through her lungs. It was difficult, but she had to remind herself that he wasn't like this to irritate her – he was coping, as best as he could.

Briskly, she cleared his plate, retrieved a light jacket and her sunglasses from the foyer, and marched back to the kitchen, where he still sat, gazing dreamily through the window that afforded a view of the garden. Thrusting the jacket out to him as she slipped the glasses onto her nose, she merely lifted her brows when he looked at the jacket, then at her with a slightly bemused expression.

"We're going for a walk. Kendra will kill me if I don't get you out of the house, at least a little bit." That might be stretching the truth a little, but Aurora was going to strangle both Suzaku and herself if she didn't get them out of the house, now. He just shrugged and accepted the jacket. It was irritating her nearly senseless. She didn't like fighting with Suzaku, not really. But Aurora was always game for a challenge, and she'd grown accustomed to their regular heated philosophical debates. Because if he could still argue, then it still mattered to him. But now, it seemed nothing mattered to him.

As they headed out of the house, Ban bounding after them in a panic that they were leaving him behind again, Aurora scented the wind, and guessed that they'd have a few hours until the rain hit. Taking the long way since Suzaku still had a bit to go before he should be vaulting the wall, they wiggled through the gap of broken stone, heading for the hillocks that curtained the house from most of its neighbors.

Aurora steadily led the way up a hill, her hands buried in her pockets and her shaded eyes tipped up towards the sky. As the land slightly leveled, she stopped and turned, waiting for Suzaku to join her as she looked out over the house and land spread before them. He was panting lightly, so she hitched herself up onto a rock, splaying out her limbs to snag a little sun. It would also give him time to catch his breath before she started her campaign.

"No matter how much I love the cottage, I always need a little time outside, rain or shine. Bannock does too, huh, buddy?" she said, raising her voice to address her hound. The dog, already twenty feet away, lifted his head from his studious inspection of the grass, his ears popping up as he panted before trotting away to ascertain the nearby sessile oak's intentions. As obvious a 'yes' as he could manage without the human tongue.

"Although, if it were me, I'd want it a little different. Bigger, for one. Bigger kitchen, bigger studio, obviously. More to the library. More stone, less wood. What about you, Suzaku? What does your dream house look like?" She tipped her head towards him, her smile engaging, and weirdly clever. He just peered at her for a moment before a frown curled over his face, the hurt at the thought blooming like color in quiet water, making its way through the fog that had been blanketing him recently.

"I don't have one."

Aurora snorted.

"Of course you do. Everybody's got a dream house. So? What do yours look like?"

"I've never thought about it, because I can't allow myself one. I don't-"

"Deserve it. Right," Aurora interrupted with a sigh. She ran impatient fingers through her ponytail before straightening. Suzaku fought the instinct to recoil. It had been nice, the soft cocoon of numbness that had been wrapped around him. He didn't want Aurora tearing it to tatters, but she was too vibrant to play at that sort of peace for any length of time.

"Look, Suzaku. This seems to be a concept that you're pretty stuck on, and, to be perfectly frank, it's driving me nuts."

He lifted his brows in surprise. She didn't really sound annoyed, just determined.

"Aurora, considering what I've done-"

"Fuck what you've done."

Suzaku lapsed into a shocked silence as Aurora quietly gazed at him, the ricochet of her stony, matter-of-fact words still vibrating against his skin. He'd tried to patiently explain something that was still extremely painful, and she'd coolly interrupted him. Again. Fighting against the urge to clamp his teeth together as the last of his placid shield cracked and scattered, Suzaku clenched his hand around the head of his cane.

"It's not that easy. I can't just erase my mistakes because they're too heavy to bear. I don't think you can understand," he tried to say diplomatically, despite the fizzle at the back of his throat that hinted at temper. Aurora just grunted, shoving her glasses up to the top of her head so she could pin her disapproving silvered eyes on him.

"I can't understand? I don't think you understand. You don't understand me, or the fact that you're not the only one still carrying chains of guilt."

Shocked by her outburst, the tone of the words both angry and injured, Suzaku blinked, a realization welling underneath the instinctive defense in the face of conflict.

This was what Aurora was constantly holding back, and it was barely the weakest edge of the blade. A thought occurred to him, simultaneously warning and wondering: Temper, temper. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly reining herself back, and Suzaku could barely make out her grumbling to herself. "Although my silence on the matter certainly hasn't helped. Damn Kendra, the know-it-all." Sighing hugely, Aurora pushed to her feet, her shoulders hunched and her hands shoved violently back into her pockets. Glancing at him one more time, she began to pace.

"I've made mistakes too, you know. Mistakes that cost peoples' lives," she hastened to add, no doubt seeing the skeptical glint in his eyes. If possible, her shoulders dropped even lower, like her shame was somehow making her fold in on herself. "I wasn't a very nice person back in the day. I had only one person to defend – myself. And I was damn good at it. Too good." She sighed, and her face screwed up like she was being slowly gutted.

"Sometimes, it was collateral damage. But for people like us, that counts too."

Suzaku didn't nod – he didn't need to. She was still pacing furiously, the grass already flattening along her path.

"Sometimes, it was honest combat or defense. And sometimes…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Suzaku could see that Ban had flopped down in the shade of the oak, his eyes carefully tracking his mistress's agitated movements.

"Well, sometimes I had to make a choice, and looking back, saving my life wasn't the right choice to make. But there's nothing I can do about it now. They're dead, and I'm still here." Her face was resigned and humbled, and Suzaku had to wonder why she was sharing something she clearly didn't want to. Was it just that she wanted to assure him that she really understood? The guilt at the thought of inadvertently pushing her to this painful revelation made Suzaku shift his weight awkwardly.

"It took me a while, but I figured out that it's not about what I do or don't deserve, when weighing what I've done. If it were, I would have put a bullet in my brain a long time ago."

Suzaku felt himself cringe in shock at the cool, callous way she mentioned her own death, even as a part of him curled in envy that she'd at least had the choice.

"It's about what I can amend." She slowed her long strides, and looked over at him intently, her expression shifting from regret to resolve.

"Because maybe, just maybe, I can atone for what I've done, not with suffering, but with maybe I don't have to worry about what I deserve. Because I'm living it at that very moment. I have a responsibility to the lives that were lost because of me. A responsibility to live as they would see fit, to be certain that the life that made it out is one worth the loss."

"It's not that easy," Suzaku whispered as his throat tightened, resisting the eloquence of her argument mostly out of sheer habit. To cope with his life, his brain had carved certain paths of thought, certain lines of reasoning into the stone of his existence. To break them now? It was petrifying, even more so than the hope Aurora offered.

"I know it's not. But regret can be lethal, Suzaku. And I hate to see you swimming in it. Drowning in it," she added quietly, her voice a little fragile. Moved and pained, Suzaku turned away – he had to. He couldn't look at her anymore, couldn't look at this promise of a person who already meant so much to him. She knew more than most, but the sheer amount of lives he'd taken wasn't something so easily dismissed. He had to make her comprehend the depth of his crimes, actions that had taken a loved one from her.

Suzaku bowed his head, leaning heavily on the cane.

"It seems like regret is all I have. I wept when I killed your brother, you know. As if that mattered. Tears rolled down my cheeks when I drove a piece of ornamented steel through Lelouch's ribcage. His bones crunched more than snapped – I could feel it, in my hands. This life, my hell? This is what I deserve. Because of the millions I hurt, I hurt even you. And as desperately as I wish to escape it, I have no right to."

Behind him, Aurora rolled her lips together, the only sound the soft wind that rippled through the grass. With a magnificent effort, she choked it back – her anger and sorrow and frustration. Instead, she just stepped forward, summoning the worry he'd caused over the last couple of days, and flicked Suzaku on the head, just above his left ear. He flinched before spinning to face her, rubbing the spot with the back of the hand holding his cane as he looked at her with huge, confused eyes. Aurora simply turned towards the house.

"O-ow! What was that for?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, and Suzaku was even more confused by her expression. Still a little angry, a little worried. But there was also challenge, and a cool certainty that that seemed to have bled into her very bones.

"That's the punishment you deserve. And now you've suffered it. You'll never convince me that any hardship in your life, past or present or future, is warranted. Not after what you've survived."

He limped after her as quickly as he could, furious for reasons he couldn't name. Someone disagreeing with him had never made Suzaku so agonized before. His benevolent calm had completely evaporated, and the edge of emotions nearly cut him off at the knees. It felt like the desperate anger was the only thing keeping him going.

He caught her shoulder, and dragged her to a stop. Objectively, Suzaku knew he never would have been able to stop her if she hadn't allowed it, not in his current condition, not against her understated strength. But all he could think was that he needed to see her face, see her eyes, when he made her realize the terrible truth about him. It would be horrible, and necessary.

"How can you say that? I have the blood of millions on my hands!" His cry echoed along the hills, fading away until the soil seemed to absorb it. She kept steadily looking at him, and slowly reached up to rest a hand on the one he'd wrapped around her arm.

"I would no more blame you for what happened with the FLEIJA than I would blame a prisoner of war for actions taken after he'd been repeatedly tortured and brainwashed."

He was stunned speechless. Without another word and only a sad look, she squeezed his hand and stepped back out of his grip, heading towards the house, calling for Ban with a whistle.

Had she just defended him… against himself?

After Aurora returned to the house, Suzaku still stood on the hillside, trying to order his tumbling emotions. The dangerous, if energizing, anger had drained away at the flood of stunned uncertainty, leaving him with a frightening bedlam of feeling. The odd passivity that had dominated him was all but gone; Suzaku wasn't sure why it had infected him in the first place, but he could admit to himself that the reprieve from feeling everything so intensely had been a relief. But now, he was left with the harsh truth of the chaos in his own head, and that was no picnic to reacquaint himself with. Damn if this wasn't why he'd started using heroin in the first place.

Ban had dutifully escorted his mother to the door before returning to where Suzaku sat on the same rock Aurora had reclined on earlier. He didn't know if Aurora had sent him or if he'd come back of his own accord, but he found himself glad for the dog's silent, kind company. As he ran his hand down Ban's spine, Suzaku tried to breathe deeply, tried to reach for the peace that had blanketed him. But it slipped through his fingers like mist, leaving Suzaku feeling bemused and frustrated.

What in the world was going on with him?

Deciding that there was simply no answer for that question, Suzaku got to his feet, bracing his hand on his knee before straightening with his cane. The repose had been pleasant, but there was no doubt he'd slid back a few notches in his recovery. He'd traipsed all over Galway less than a week ago; yet now, it was a challenge to stand.

Disgruntled and disappointed, Suzaku started the ponderous way down the hill, Ban a quiet shadow at his side. Aurora was nowhere to be seen when he let himself back into the kitchen, so he shucked his jacket in silence, listening for her location in the house. A faint rustle upstairs warned him less than a second before her voice rang out.

"Suzaku? Up here!"

"Uh, OK," Suzaku acquiesced under his breath, confused by her odd command. As he laboriously climbed the stairs, Ban waited for him at the top long after racing past him on the side with the smaller opening. Looking up, only slightly panting, Suzaku glared at the dog with a crooked smile.

"Why do I get the feeling you're laughing at me?" he asked Bannock, who just wagged his tail and patiently waited. Reaching the landing, Suzaku leaned against the hound's warm weight, his eyes scanning the hallway. He wasn't sure where Aurora was, or why she wanted him to come to her, especially when, at the moment, some time spent alone seemed much more attractive. Sighing with resignation, Suzaku started towards his room, assuming that's where Aurora was. However, Ban blazed past him, loping towards the bathroom instead of wiggling into one of their bedrooms. Behind the ajar door, Suzaku could hear Ban's low, happy barks, and the soft murmur of Aurora's reply

Bemused and wary, Suzaku slowly pushed the bathroom door fully open, staring with an angled head and furrowed brow at the scene before him. Aurora had apparently dragged a chair – it was one he recognized from the study – into the bathroom. Along with a towel and slightly ratty pink blanket, a broom leaned against the sink, the soft breeze easing through the open window ruffling the shower curtain. But what sent a lance of primal masculine fear leaching through his gut was the gleaming pair of scissors balanced on the lip of the sink.

Suzaku felt himself balk, felt the muscles along his back and neck tense with a very male apprehension. But Aurora just smiled with oblivious cheer, gesturing to the chair like it was some sort of grand prize. She acted like she hadn't just reluctantly shared difficult details of her previous life, and Suzaku couldn't decide if it was because she regretted it, or if this was her way of coming to terms with it – being determinedly normal in the face of her not-normal past.

"Ah…" Suzaku quietly hedged, leaning back towards the door frame in a weak attempt to escape. Aurora just rolled her eyes and gestured more emphatically towards the chair. Apparently, the awkwardness that was partially responsible for his paralysis wasn't affecting her.

"Take a seat, hot shot. Time to tame that crazy hair of yours."

Approaching the chair like it was waiting to eat him, Suzaku reluctantly sat down. It was facing the mirror over the sink, and he frowned at Aurora's reflection, his stomach tightening as she whirled the blanket around him and reached around for the scissors once it was loosely secured around his throat.

"If it's so bad, why did you let me go to Galway looking like this?"

She returned his look through the mirror with an arch tilt to her head, her expression simultaneously challenging and teasing. Suzaku tried to imagine Aurora killing someone; it was possible, considering what he knew about her. But the woman in the mirror didn't seem like that kind of person. Maybe that was the point. Maybe instead of a mask of dark like the one he wore, Aurora had chosen a mask of light, instead. The reality was, though, that they both carried masks.

"It's amazing what four days of bed head can do to your look."

Suzaku ducked his head as her sly statement shoved him from his musings, still perplexed over his recent, pathetic display of weakness. Without warning, her wet fingers speared through his hair, almost roughly dragging Suzaku's head back as she dampened the strands. When his eyes met Aurora's again in the mirror, she smiled softly.

"Nothing a little trim can't fix, though."

Suzaku read in her countenance what her words didn't fully say – that it was OK, and nothing to be ashamed of. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but the fact that she held the opinion at all eased something in him, especially since she was still mad at him for worrying her. It wasn't obvious, but Suzaku could almost smell it in the air, the faintest hint of smoke from the burn of temper. As she wet his hair, somehow stroking his scalp and easing the worry and ache inside, Aurora faintly winked at his reflection. Yeah, she was still pissed, but she didn't hate him. The fact that those two emotions weren't instantly paired in someone's mind when it came to him was not something Suzaku was accustomed to.

Their emotionally-charged disagreement on the hill seemed worlds away, like the sky had sucked up the words and left only an echo behind. Deciding that if she was game to move beyond her harsher emotions, then he was too, Suzaku reached for something he hadn't accessed in years: his ability to tease. Finding his spine relaxing as she continued to manually wet his hair to avoid bending him backwards over the sink, Suzaku lifted an eyebrow at her, the urge unfamiliar but strangely enjoyable.

"You sure you know what you're doing with those things?" he murmured with a half-smile, still somewhat serious in his concern for his hair's fate.

"Not really," she said with insouciant cheer and a jaunty tip of her hip. At Suzaku's wide-eyed, apprehensive expression, she relented. "Just kidding. I've cut my hair before, and you don't see me walking around with a hack job. Although I've never done anyone else's, so this should be fun."

The way Aurora said "fun" was a little evil, and he realized that this was a very mild form of punishment for worrying her, for callously assuming something that he couldn't begin to understand.

What he didn't know was that this was also a form of atonement for her flash of temper, a breach of control that had made Aurora sit at the table and bang her head down against her folded arms in disgrace when she'd first returned to the house. It wasn't much of a surprise, not when she'd slept terribly the last few nights, and all the emotional weight she'd weathered with Suzaku was starting to catch up to her. But when combined with helpless worry and frustration, she hadn't realized how compromised her control had been. Snapping at him like a five year old like now.

So she vowed to be better, to be stronger. She had no way of knowing that such ruthless expectations of herself had once similarly guided her charge, with equally disastrous results.

Now, she decided to do something for him, to give Suzaku back a piece of himself that had been lost in the neglect that he'd suffered for far too long. Aurora was slowly beginning to realize just how abandoned Suzaku had been, left to writhe in his own suffering and guilt practically all his life. She wanted to demand who had made that decision, who had allowed such incredible pain to occur without check or concern. Who had handed a grieving teenager the keys to the universe, then sat back in shock as the broken-hearted boy made terrible mistakes and wrenching decisions, and had the audacity to judge and condemn? But she knew it was pointless. Because that wasn't the problem anymore; that crime was long past its statute of limitations. The problem was how Suzaku believed that such a pitiless audience still existed, that everyone only cared about the actions of the mask, and couldn't give less of a damn about the young man inside.

He may irritate the shit out of her occasionally with his noble stubbornness, but Aurora was determined to prove that the only thing about Suzaku that mattered to her was who he was inside his skin, not under the mask of Zero. And since the mask didn't carry an ounce of weight with her, she wanted him to be comfortable with how he looked without it. And the shaggy, crazed look was definitely not flattering to his pretty face.

Combing his hair into some semblance of order, Aurora began carefully snipping away at the ends, cautiously edging her way up the strands. For all her bravado, she really didn't want to have him end up with an embarrassingly bad haircut, and so slowly made her way through his hair. To distract him from her deliberate process, Aurora attempted again to draw Suzaku into what would be considered normal conversation.

"So. What music do you like, Suzaku?"

Since he'd been watching her progress with precise eyes and intense concentration, it took a few seconds of blinking to have him engage in what she was saying.

"What?"

Moving to the nape of his neck, Aurora met his eyes in the mirror with a crooked smile before returning to his hair, repeating her question. He shrugged, and even as Aurora rationalized that the reason for his lack of an answer was similar to his lack of opinion on house styles, she couldn't quite swallow her disbelief.

"Favorite band?"

"Uh… I don't really know any. Bach was my preferred classical composer," he added, no doubt in an attempt to not sound like an alien. Aurora was more of a Mozart fan herself, and while not surprised that a political figure's child would have at least some exposure to classical music, his complete lack of knowledge about modern offerings was almost beyond her comprehension.

"Seriously? Last song you listened to that you liked. Anything," she prompted at the perplexed look on Suzaku's face. But he just shrugged under her hands, and Aurora tried to keep the astonishment from showing on her face.

"Oh, we've got to fix that," she murmured with determination. Suzaku tried a mollifying smile, but as Aurora snipped at his hair, she was already making plans.

"It's no big deal, Aurora. It's just music."

Aurora froze, the scissors poised to trim a chunk of hair she was carefully layering. Looking up slowly from the soft russet strands, she pinned Suzaku with a look that even she knew was tinged with an edge of scary, evangelical dedication.

"There is no such thing as just music, Suzaku. Music," she said with emphasis, carefully moving the scissors away from his hair as she felt the righteous burst of energy filling her chest, just to avoid any unfortunate accidents, "is spirit made manifest. It is the most articulate representation of the human soul, and one of the purest ways we satisfy the demand to feel. It is a part of every one of us, a uniting factor that belies its own vast differences. Music is our moral law."

In the hush that followed her ardent speech, Suzaku looked a little dazed. As for Aurora, she worked to quell the wave of fervor, knowing already that if she didn't get in a work-out set this afternoon, she'd be a basket case. That, and talking about music make her miss dancing at a visceral level she'd once believed herself too hardened to feel.

With precision, she returned to cutting Suzaku's hair. Finally, he managed to speak.

"Wow. You're… passionate."

Her skin may still be humming, but Aurora was pleased to see that her expression was appropriately equable.

"Yeah, well. You just surprised me. Even had me quoting Plato, there."

He just shook his head lightly, Aurora carefully waiting out the movement before cutting again, the small smile back on his face.

"I think music must mean more to you. Since you're a dancer."

Impressed that he recalled her mention of it during that long ago lunch, Aurora shrugged.

"Maybe. But music matters to everyone, somewhere in us nothing else can quite touch."

They chatted about the subject for a few more minutes as Aurora finished the final touches on his hair. When she tugged the blanket covering him away and shook it out, Suzaku leaned forward slightly, tilting his head side to side as he inspected her work. As for herself, Aurora was actually a bit impressed.

His hair, freed from some weight, curled like it used to, his eyes unfettered by the fringe that usually veiled them. The neater cut appealed to the strong bones of his face, and it was almost like seeing a sword sanded free of rust. Suddenly bright and sharp and beautiful.

Suzaku frowned slightly at her in the mirror.

"I look like I'm twelve."

Aurora just rolled her eyes. He didn't sound disappointed, just startled, like he'd forgotten his face was in there somewhere. She settled her hands on his shoulders and leaned down slightly, their faces drawing closer in the mirror. He did look younger, but not like a child. He looked… right, as if the weight of grief no longer shadowed his face so heavily. Like he once had, before his world had disintegrated around him in the flames of war.

"You look like you're almost twenty-one, which is exactly what you are."

Leaning back in a move of self-preservation when the scent of his skin and soap started to make her heart clench, Aurora ruffled Suzaku's soft, newly shorn hair, rather pleased with herself and indulging in the contact neither of them were usually sure enough to allow.

"And if I do say so myself, you look fucking great. Now off with you while I clean up. You could thank me by getting out the sandwich fixings. I'm feeling roast beef today."

Suzaku smirked as he left, and Aurora almost dropped the blanket, so shocked by his teasing expression.

Ban trundled after Suzaku, no doubt waiting to ambush the unsuspecting sucker for a noon-day snack, knowing his mama was impervious to his goo-goo eyes. As she swept up, Aurora found herself musing over what Suzaku had revealed during the strange events of the day. Most importantly, he was once again a member of the land of the living. The sheer relief made her a little weak-kneed and Aurora allowed herself to brace her weight against the broom, no one but a chair to bear witness as she pressed her forehead to the staff of wood.

Once that chore was complete, Aurora stopped by her room to grab something before galloping downstairs. When she joined the boys in the kitchen, the neat array along the counters drew her to a halt, helplessly impressed. Ban's tall nose was almost too close to the food for comfort, the temptation nearly driving him to distraction. Suzaku had taken her at her word and had emptied the fridge and cabinets of everything to put on a sandwich, even the pickles he wrinkled his nose at and the cooked onion Aurora could only tolerate with a heavy red sauce over pasta. He'd not only pulled out the thicker brown bread he favored, but also the sourdough Aurora usually chose.

His careful observation made Aurora want to hug him, resisting the urge at the wary look on his face that reminded her of a soldier trying to exceed standards during an inspection. Instead, she stepped closer, smiled with a warmth she reserved for few before diving into the construction. Since he'd pulled so much out, Aurora made a few interesting additions to her roast beef sandwich, such as avocadoes and fresh spinach. Suzaku's definition of adventure was barbeque sauce and sautéed mushrooms.

He was a little surprised how easily he fell into rhythm with Aurora again. Following days of drifting on the edges and then being jolted back into their shared orbit, after a few minutes of occasional bumps and minor collisions, they settled into the cadence they'd be developing over the weeks. Repeatedly running his fingers through his hair, acclimating to the shorter cut, Suzaku wondered how he could disagree with her and trust her simultaneously. He couldn't even be sure their exchange on the hill was a fight; what exactly it was, he didn't know. But it was proving pointless to try and summon anger at someone on his side.

Their creative sandwiches were enjoyed in relative silence, Ban joining them with a knuckle bone the size of a grapefruit Chandler had snuck into his goodies cabinet during his visit. It had been the first thing Suzaku had seen in the cabinet, finding the begging intensity of Ban's eyes intolerable after less than thirty seconds. After, Suzaku leisurely sipped water and Aurora threw bits of roast beef at Ban where he lay on his bed, watching him eagerly snap at the meat and miss, every single time.

"Not terribly coordinated, is he?" Suzaku murmured kindly with the bemusement of the physically gifted.

"No, but he has other talents."

This time, Aurora held a piece away and asked for Ban to say "please." After a few unsuccessful, ear-splitting barks, wound up by the promise of beef bits, Ban settled down and proceeded to sing, wagging his jaw as he softly howled to somehow emulate syllables. Aurora mimicked him, and soon the pair were engaged in a bizarre, oddly harmonious symphony.

"Way too much time together," Suzaku agreed, rubbing Ban's ears as he leapt up to greedily chew his reward. Aurora hitched up her hip and produced what she'd grabbed from her room earlier from the pocket of her jeans. She slid her mp3 player, crowned with it wreath of headphones, over next to his plate smeared with sauce and speckled with crumbs, the final leaf to her olive branch.

He didn't even have to say anything – Aurora could read his expression like a book, and hurried to relieve his worries.

"Oh, no, this isn't a gift. That's a decade worth of collecting, right there," she said with a level of pride and warning as she poked the device with her finger. "I'm going to want it back. It's more like… a loan with visiting rights. I just…"

For the first time since the idea had occurred to her, she felt a little unsure, sharing another part of herself with Suzaku that felt a little raw and fragile. Swallowing, Aurora rallied.

"I wanted to give you a chance to at least establish some sort of preference. Whenever you want to use it, it's yours. My collection pretty much runs the gamut. Even a little Bach."

Hesitantly, Suzaku's long-boned hands carefully gripped the device, the expression in his eyes unreadable.

"Thanks. Seriously, Aurora, thanks."

"No prob," she said, waving away his seriousness. Probably as a way to make up for his lethargy, Suzaku helped Aurora clean up, even though Aurora ordered him to take a break when she noticed the way his hand was shaking faintly. Once that was seen to and Aurora started brewing tea, Suzaku stood from the table, carefully depositing her music in the pocket of his shirt. He said something about grabbing a book to read, and, for a moment, Aurora's knuckles vised brutally on the mug she'd just pulled out of the cupboard. Visions of Suzaku leeched of color and energy flashed through her head, and her pulse hammered against her skin. She stiffly looked over her shoulder when Suzaku said her name.

"Thanks," he said quietly, running his fingers through his hair before walking away. It was a broad acknowledgment for the whole day, including his hair cut, his eyes expressing something Aurora couldn't quite discern. She nodded in return, her voice sapped as relief swept searingly fast through her system. He was still there, fighting and living and, thank God, trying. She braced her wrists against the counter as her head dropped, breathing quickly through her nose.

Holy shit.

When she managed to stand without supporting her weight on her hands, Aurora lifted the cup to fill it with the waiting tea. The faint grate of ceramic drew her attention. Dammit, she'd cracked the mug.

Later than night, after dinner and a superb work-out that had been part dance set, part flexibility competition with herself, Aurora indulged in a long shower, almost boneless from the settling weight of the day's physical and mental exertions. Suzaku had been pretty quiet throughout the afternoon, but that was well within his norm.

When he'd finally cracked open one of his new sketchbooks, Aurora had turned away and lifted her eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer of thanks. With her encouragement, Suzaku had claimed a very small corner of a desk in the upstairs study for his art supplies, the natural light in the room exquisite and an excuse for him to hibernate somewhere besides his own room. When he'd made his way downstairs for dinner, Aurora had almost done a double take when she'd caught sight of him.

He'd stripped down to a gray t-shirt and it looked as if he'd been scooping up fists of gunpowder by the hand full. There'd also been faint traces of black on his forehead and chin, and some along his temples and in his hair. Aurora shook her head as she rinsed her hair of shampoo, remembering the way Suzaku had looked so perplexed at her shocked stare, then oddly impressed with himself, explaining that he'd been working in charcoal today.

She'd noticed how Suzaku kept running his fingers through his hair during dinner, as if he kept forgetting that it was short, and the tiniest shift of his head would suddenly remind him. There was no doubt he looked more like the young soldier back before the Rebellion, rather than the hard-hearted knight who'd toppled an empire or the broken shadow who stood guard over legacies.

As Aurora dried off and changed into yoga pants and a teal tank top, she heard the first chords of guitar filtering down from the hallway. For a moment, she was bewildered. Normally, she was the source of music, either playing it or controlling it. But she'd relinquished control to Suzaku, she remembered, along with a dock to connect the player to. Scrubbing at her hair, giving it time to dry, she silently padded down the hallway to where the music was emanating from.

As she drew closer, she recognized the song, and her sternum felt like it was pressing down on her lungs. But what made Aurora press her fingers against her lips and slowly lean against the door frame, barely peeking around the jamb, unwilling to interrupt, was the soft voice of Suzaku singing along.

He'd been wrong. He did know some modern music, because he sang along with the lyrics with the heartfelt intensity that came from knowing the words, and relating to them on a deeply personal level. Sitting in a soft gold nimbus of light thrown by the lamp on the armoire, Suzaku leisurely sketched, the light gilding his hair and softening the strong edges of his cheekbones.

Hearing Suzaku sing of being lost, of being barred from heaven, being destroyed by it, was much more difficult than Aurora could have guessed. The millions of things seen, and the burden of countless shattered dreams, all of it so painfully applicable to his life. And the faces of those who'd been lost, never again finding his way home from the fog of grief.

He wasn't singing very loud, his smooth voice low and rough with inexperience being used this way, but pleasant. Briefly closing his eyes, Suzaku tipped his head back against the wall, and Aurora watched as he surrendered himself to the music as he never could to her, to a heartbreak expressed that matched his own. It occurred to her to be worried that this would simply exacerbate the wounds within him, but when Suzaku opened his eyes and turned them back to the notebook, Aurora realized that she should have trusted the music, trusted her own belief in it.

There was a catharsis visible in the soft set of his eyes, the lids low with emotion felt and released. Carefully, Aurora drew back from the doorway, leaving Suzaku to the privacy of the moment while she crept to her room.

Once there, she turned back the covers, then simply sat on the bed, smiling to herself. She'd seen him bleeding and broken, but never before had Suzaku seemed so… real. Eventually, Ban nosed his way into her room, no doubt after gleaning a goodnight from Suzaku. For the first night in a while, Aurora went to bed without a book. She didn't need to. Settling down under the covers next to the warm lump of Ban, she slept better than she had in weeks.

Chapter Text

As promised, Kendra arrived early the next day, catching Aurora and Suzaku in the kitchen as they finished breakfast. She immediately deposited her equipment in the doorway and strode over to Suzaku, who felt a little pinned by her narrow-eyed intent. Leaning over and taking his face in her hands, Kendra inspected him; for what, he had no idea as he stilled instinctively with alarm. He wanted to shrink away under her pitiless gaze, but he could sense that she wasn't going to let him go until she was satisfied, so Suzaku held still and quiet, gazing back with a strength he'd thought he'd forgotten. Finally, Kendra nodded, her warm, capable hands still braced against his cheekbones.

"You're back."

Of course. Aurora would have certainly turned to her doctor friend for help when he'd so completely withdrawn. He considered being irritated with her, but remembered her concern in being qualified enough to help him. Suzaku was the one to blame for his frailty, not Aurora.

So instead, he just nodded solemnly. "I am. Sorry for worrying you."

When Kendra withdrew her hands, he swept his eyes to Aurora.

"Both of you." In the strange yo-yo-ing of yesterday's events, he'd forgotten to make that particular apology. She just tilted her chin in acknowledgement, winking faintly at him before smiling over at Kendra.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Darling," Kendra replied, her voice straightforward despite the affectionate term of endearment. There was a soft glow to her skin under her usual frank demeanor and, snagging a piece of bacon, she munched while economically plopping down in a chair, managing to simultaneously greet and ward off Ban. Aurora furrowed her brows at the doctor as she tugged on Ban's tail, who was hopefully gazing at Kendra, trying to convince her to share her treat.

"I thought you didn't like bacon."

Kendra just shrugged, taking another bite of fried pork. Aurora frowned at her slightly for a moment before her expression smoothed in dismissal. Kendra looked at Suzaku with assessing eyes.

"Your hair is shorter."

He nodded slowly, running his fingers instinctively through his hair at her attention, pointing his chin towards Aurora.

"Yeah, she wrangled me into it yesterday."

The doctor nodded, and like most of her expressions, the approval was slightly clinical.

"I like it. How did you use to cut your hair?"

He shrugged, vaguely remembering hacking at it when it started to catch in his mask.

"I got around to it occasionally with a standard pair of scissors. I didn't have much of a hand at it, though," Suzaku added with a smile, glancing over at Aurora. Her answering grin was interrupted by Kendra's next, coyly mordant words.

"At least you never used a buck knife."

Aurora swiveled in her seat, pinning Kendra with wide, defensive eyes.

"One time! One time," she repeated, holding up her index finger. "And you've never let me live it down. At least I didn't punch a guy in the face for dicking with my cataloguing."

Not sure what she meant by that accusation, Suzaku instead tried to puzzle out Kendra's statement.

"Why in the world would you cut your hair with a buck knife?" His question successfully dragged Aurora's irritated attention away from Kendra, who ignored her friend's irritation in favor of scratching Ban's chin. Aurora just shrugged in response.

"I'd almost gotten it ripped off one day by some crazy assholes trying to steal my car like a couple of bitchy cowards right after the collapse. It was too much of a risk, and it pissed me off like nobody's business, so I hacked it off with the only thing on hand."

"She looked like someone from an insane asylum," Kendra added, blinking owlishly at Aurora's glare.

"I did not. Only mildly deranged. I've been growing it out ever since. It's finally as long as it used to be. Anyway!" Aurora said with emphasis. "So? What's the plan for today?"

Kendra eyed Suzaku at Aurora's question.

"Well, the last of the stitches should be coming out. And, if we're lucky, we can get you into a functional brace today."

Suzaku had only the vaguest sense of what that meant, but seeing the way Aurora's eyes lit like opals, subtle but luminescent, he assumed it was something positive.

"Fantastic! Let's get this done!" she gleamed, her excitement infectious enough to draw a full grin out of Kendra and Suzaku. But when the doctor's eyes met his, Kendra had that expression she sometimes took – the serious physician focusing her attention on her patient with the unerring accuracy and potent strength of a ballistic missile.

"Do you mind company, Suzaku?"

He realized with a start that Aurora had never sat in with him and Kendra during one of his… appointments, he supposed seemed the most appropriate word. He saw no reason for her not to come, and she might provide some distraction from the dozens of stitches he was about to get extracted.

"No, not at all," he confirmed, strangely rewarded at the flicker of relief in Aurora's eyes. So the entire gang, including Ban, trooped upstairs to his bedroom, which apparently doubled as a procedure room. As Suzaku got out of his shirt and sling, he lightly flicked his thumb over the bristly rows of stitches, finally finished in their purpose of holding his torn flesh together. Aurora helped Kendra with her equipment, which as usual, appeared much too heavy for the smaller woman to be hefting around. They moved together with the fluidity and familiarity of routine. He could see that this obviously mirrored what how they normally worked; Kendra, with the experience and knowledge, directed and made decisions, while Aurora, quick-witted and extraordinarily nimble, worked in the support capacity so Kendra could concentrate.

It was like watching some strange, medical sort of dance. Once Kendra was gloved and they deemed themselves ready, they directed Suzaku to the chair the doctor normally used during her visits. Once he sat, Aurora lightly dabbed his sutures with a clear liquid that stung just enough for him to have to work to keep a straight face, likely rubbing alcohol. With a steady, gentle hand, she dried his skin, the wounds sensitive to the touch. Disinfected and ready, Kendra stepped closer, inspecting the injuries with eyes slightly narrowed behind her glasses. In her white-gloved hands was a tiny pair of scissors and delicate looking tweezers. With a genteel calm, Kendra explained as she set to work.

"Because we'll be pulling so many stitches, I'm going to apply a very mild anesthetic. It's just a topical cream."

Suzaku wondered at the odd, unnecessary clarification as she smeared cold goo over his wounds before he realized – they were keeping needles away from the junky. He didn't have long to be bitter, however, before Kendra was cutting through the first set and the ponderous progression began. It only took about three stitches along his collarbone before Suzaku was insanely grateful for the anesthetic. His muscles would be twitching for days if he had to tolerate removing the full amount of stitches without a buffer. Once Kendra settled into her slow, painstaking work, Aurora plopped down on the floor next to Suzaku, her legs crossed into the lotus position.

"So remember how Kendra never lets me forget about cutting my hair with a buck knife?"

Eager to be distracted from the relatively painless but sincerely odd procedure, Suzaku aimed all of his attention towards Aurora and nodded. He had no way of knowing that Kendra glared in a quelling manner over her shoulder at her friend, but just as Kendra was impervious to Aurora's irritation, so too was Aurora unaffected by Kendra's.

"Well, at least I never loosened a guy's teeth for messing up the color order of my vet wrap rolls." This was said with a lot of dancing brows and gleaming eyes.

"You know I'm particular about my medical equipment," Kendra reasoned primly. "Stop laughing, Suzaku," she chided softly. "I can feel it, you little butt," she continued, lightly nudging his chest, her voice amused. This only made Suzaku's shoulders shake harder as he silently sniggered, and Kendra paused in her work with an enormous sigh. As she resumed, Suzaku glanced down to see Aurora with a mischievous, slightly vengeful expression, tapping her fingers rhythmically against her thighs.

"Particular? More like anally obsessive to the point of frightening. Probably the side effect of being a child prodigy. She nearly put me in a vat of oil when I misplaced her favorite size of gauze pads during restock."

"Are you implying that I'm a witch, Aurora?" Kendra asked mildly.

"Not at all." Her expression said "Maybe…" As Kendra worked towards the end of the row along his collarbone, she carefully tested each exposed stretch of his seams to be certain they could hold. The small nips of pain, deeper in muscle and skin than the mild pain-killer could reach, were almost reassuring. No nerve damage, and no wrenching sensation of being torn open. It was also the only way Suzaku could track the progress, since Kendra had gently nudged his chin away multiple times, reminding him that she couldn't see around his head and hair. And honestly, he didn't even really want to look. The few glimpses he caught of black string being pulled through pale skin had made his stomach shrivel.

"I guess the only thing you can be accused of is being brilliant, huh, smarty pants?" Aurora nudged. "I forget, how old were you when you graduated high school?" Since Aurora didn't forget personal details, especially about someone with whom she was close, Suzaku could only assume that she had a point. Kendra sighed, finishing the first of three sections of stitches.

She lightly stroked a finger over the incision, minutely nodding in satisfaction. Carefully, Kendra maneuvered Suzaku's arm so she could apply the anesthetic to the oddly angled two inch line of stitches on the inside of his bicep. There was a matching set on the outside, and Suzaku's eyes only flicked over twice as she started on the first stitch before landing permanently on Aurora. That was probably why he jumped a little when Kendra finally answered Aurora's question.

"I was thirteen when I graduated high school. But it took me seven years to earn my doctorate."

Suzaku blinked several times, stunned beyond reply. Through the shocked flutter of his eyelashes, he managed to make out Aurora's warm, faint smile. It occurred to him that Aurora was proud of Kendra, proud in a way beyond simple friendship. It was the way siblings looked at each other, the way his brothers had never looked at him. She'd been so right that day in Galway. He hadn't really understood then, but realized now, looking at the way Aurora indirectly bragged about Kendra's intelligence, that family truly wasn't always bound by blood, and blood was no guarantee for that kind of love.

"Seven years? Jeez, Kendra, that long?" Aurora teased, now bouncing out a rhythm on her knees with her fingertips in a manner reminiscent of playing the piano. Suzaku didn't even have to turn his head to see the rolling eyes and quirked smile on the doctor's face.

"Remind me again of your graduation date, Aurora?" Kendra pointed out drily. Instead of stiffening, as he would have assumed, Aurora just grinned wickedly.

"High school? Never. But I graduated from the school of the seven bells when I was a wee lass at ten years old. So there."

"What?" Suzaku asked, thoroughly confused by her answer.

"The school of the seven bells is a vest on a mannequin with seven bells sown into it. When you can pull something out of the vest without ringing the bells, you graduate," Kendra patiently explained, almost finished with the inside of his arm.

"It's how a pickpocket is trained," Aurora added, brushing her hand over her pocket and producing something that she twirled between her long fingers. It was a silver antique pen. At first, Suzaku didn't realize the significance of it, but remembered seeing it poking out of the breast pocket of Kendra's blouse when she'd been prepping. "And I'm something of a natural." She smirked, tossing the pen in the air and deftly catching it.

"Yes, yes, you're impressively sticky fingered. Now would you put my pen back, please? I thought you were over that phase," Kendra said wryly as she finished the second set. Rotating his arm slightly and applying the anesthetic, she settled into the third, pausing only to hold her left arm out so Aurora could return the pen back where it belonged. Settling back on the floor, Aurora stuck out her tongue at the doctor, her eyes still dancing with mirth.

"You think it's cool when I nick peoples' stuff," she insisted.

"Occasionally. Just not my stuff," Kendra candidly clarified. She looked up under her brow just as Suzaku glanced over, and winked before turning her attention back to his stitches. It was good to see, and lessened his confusion. The line between seriousness and humor was razor-thin with Kendra, thick with sarcasm and deadpan rebuttals. He remembered Aurora saying how Chandler was the only one who could make Kendra truly laugh. It wasn't that she didn't have a sense of humor – it was just so dry, it didn't seem to exist at all.

As Kendra neared the end of the final set of stitches, Aurora seemed to react to an invisible cue from the doctor – unfolding herself from the floor, she withdrew Kendra's beloved yellow x-ray machine from its case, and something else he couldn't quite see. Finally, Kendra extracted the last piece of black silk from his broken skin. Very carefully, she ran the pad of her thumb along the newly freed incision, a sensation Suzaku couldn't feel but could make out from the corner of his eye.

"You have some internal stitching deeper in the muscles of your arm as well, but that's absorbable, and if it hasn't gone away by now, it will in the next month. I won't know until I take another look at your x-rays, but as it stands, I'm still leaning towards leaving your plates in. If that is indeed the case, you should be done with stitches."

A bizarre wave of knee-numbing relief swept through Suzaku, making him grateful he was already sitting. Glancing over, he saw Aurora holding a contoured piece of black plastic in her hands, standing with the still anticipation of someone waiting to be called into action.

Kendra taped squares of gauze on the two injuries on his arm, then gestured Aurora over. Together, the pair strapped a brace onto his upper arm. Lined with a thin layer of foam, Kendra adjusted the two half-moon shaped pieces to snuggly press against his skin. He assumed that the pressure would hurt. But the mild, squeezing weight actually relieved a great deal of the pain, and Suzaku released a long, windy sigh. The two women smiled quietly at his obvious acceptance of the newest medical accessory.

"I still want you to wear the sling for another week, just to make sure your collarbone heals. After that, Aurora will start you on some shoulder exercises that should start loosening up the joint. It's going to be stiff, and it's going to hurt. From here on out, pain won't necessarily mean a relapse. You're going to have work through it."

Suzaku nodded as he shrugged on his shirt.

"I'm not afraid of pain," he assured her. Kendra quickly looked up, searching first Suzaku's expression, then Aurora's. His face was quiet, certain, and resigned. But Aurora's eyes dimmed, heartbreak and regret glimmering along with tears. Kendra nodded in response, giving Aurora time to collect herself before Suzaku turned around and retrieved his sling from her.

"Good. Now let me get a look at these x-rays, then I'll join you two down in the kitchen."

Dismissed, the pair left Kendra to her pictures, and made their way downstairs. Aurora had by now controlled her expression, leaving only her usual bright half smile.

Suzaku took a seat at the kitchen table, watching as Aurora started her tea, puzzled by the agitated energy that faintly vibrated from her skin. When she sat across from him, her brow was wrinkled with thought, her eyes slowly tracing the ceiling.

"Something wrong?" he quietly hazarded. Aurora's eyes landed on him, narrowed and appraising.

"No. But something's up."

Suzaku tilted his head in question, and Aurora looked back up at the ceiling.

"Kendra's hiding something. She's… different. I'm not sure how specifically, but… I don't know, something's off. And she's not a sharer, so it'll be like pulling teeth." The arch look she leveled at him initially made Suzaku assume she was alluding to him. It was true, but another look at her face revealed she was referring to herself as well.

"Seems to be something we all have in common," he quietly murmured. Aurora's mouth crooked, and she was about to respond when Kendra's light steps pattered down the stairs. Ban met her at the newel post, his tail wagging hard enough to crack against the door frame of the kitchen. The dog didn't make a sound, but Aurora winced.

As Kendra entered, she immediately zeroed in on Suzaku as she drew closer to the table.

"Your x-rays look good. Stick with the sling with another week, then we should be taking it off the next time I come to visit. Any other questions?"

Suzaku shook his head, and Aurora did the same when the doctor looked to her. Finally, she sat next to Aurora with a heavy sigh, rubbing the area just above her left temple. A little nonplussed, he watched the tension and rigid discipline bleed from Kendra's body as she scrunched down in the chair. Abruptly, she looked tired and… human.

But when she opened her eyes and met Aurora's, a small, secretive smile tipped her mouth. Before she could say anything, though, Aurora angled towards her.

"Everything OK, Kendra? Seems like you've got something on your mind."

Kendra growled in irritation, and Suzaku stood to get himself a glass of water, eager to get himself out of the line of fire should the doctor lose her temper. She usually wasn't the type, but, as Aurora had said, something was off about her today.

"Do you always have to steal my thunder? Just once, once, I'd like to take you by surprise, Rora."

Suzaku filled the glass, leaning back against the counter to watch the exchange. Aurora looked sheepish, but determinedly worried. Kendra just sighed, scooting farther down in the chair until she was resting her head against the back, her feet propped on the seat Suzaku had abandoned. Lacing her fingers together over her stomach, she glanced over at Aurora, and that secret smiled widened and warmed. Suzaku thought she looked beautiful, like a goddess of the old religions, even slumped down in a chair and brushes of exhaustion under her eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

In the silence that followed Kendra's matter-of-fact announcement, the rustling leaves outside were clearly audible. Then Aurora gasped, squealed, and launched herself into Kendra's arms. Babbling sweet, happy nonsense as she knelt next to her friend, neither saw the way Suzaku had paled, barely managing to deposit the glass on the counter with a clunk before he dropped it, allowing it to shatter against the tile and interrupt the feminine celebrations across the room.

Pregnancy.

Jesus, Suzaku had all but forgotten the human capacity to create and nurture life. It was so beyond his realm of existence, seeing actual living proof of that gift was… wrenching. He couldn't help but stare at Kendra, fatigued but somehow radiant with the life she bore. It was completely irrational, but she suddenly seemed infinitely more fragile to him.

A thought occurred to Suzaku, and he immediately cordoned it off so deeply inside, it barely had a chance to leave a ripple across his consciousness.

What must it be like, to be with the woman who carried your child? He'd never envied Chandler until that very moment. The instantaneous image of Euphemia round with their child almost made Suzaku drop to his knees. But he clenched his hand against the counter, gritting his jaw as he splashed black paint against the picture, until nothing but a gray smudge remained on the inside of his eyelids. After a few moments, he was again able to hear Aurora's excited questions.

"How far along are you?"

"I just started the second trimester."

He looked up in time to see Aurora roll her eyes.

"Oh, my God, it's true. Doctors are the worst patients."

"What? In case you've forgotten, I've been a little busy."

But nothing Kendra could say would dim Aurora's glowing smile. Clearing his throat, Suzaku straightened and angled for the doorway.

"I'll give you ladies a little privacy," he managed to murmur. But as he started walking away, he heard the grunt of a chair being pushed back. Kendra carefully caught his good arm, halting his exit.

"Suzaku, if I didn't want you to know, I wouldn't have said it in front of you." She lightly pulled on his wrist, and, his brain still stupidly convinced that Kendra was made of the thinnest porcelain, he ceded to the pressure and turned back, uncertainly meeting her eyes. It was almost like they were lit from inside, a stunning, shining gold. The doctor smiled, and it was the purest, sweetest expression Suzaku had ever seen from her.

"For however long you're with us, you're one of us. Our rag-tag little gang," she added teasingly over her shoulder at Aurora, who still knelt next to a happily panting Ban, her chin pillowed on her folded arms on the seat of Kendra's chair, a content smile curled across her mouth.

"It matters, so you deserve to know. I want you to know." She spoke so rationally and certainly, how could he possibly argue? And when she uncharacteristically wrapped him in a hug, Suzaku froze in shock. Kendra was warm, and ever so careful of how she held him, cognizant of his injuries. Yet she was the one so much more delicate; Suzaku was hesitant to hold her back. God forbid he break such a wonder. Eventually though, bowing to her determined grip, he cautiously wrapped his arm around her waist, tilting his head to whisper in her ear.

"Congratulations."

She leaned back slightly, her eyes twinkling like suns.

"Thank you," she murmured back before sinking back into the embrace.

Chapter Text

It infuriated Aurora.

That after such positive, life-affirming news, after the reminder of why she'd wriggled free of the mire of her past and diligently pursued a future she hadn't always believed in, her fears caught up with her.

The night George had died, she'd been at home, studying Renaissance sculpture while field stripping and cleaning a pistol. She'd eventually heard the news from a colleague of his, a beautiful woman in her late thirties named Zalea who'd started in the business when she'd been younger than Aurora. She was unfailing clever, elementally dangerous, and exceptionally difficult to read.

But that night, she'd shown the most sympathy Aurora had ever seen from her, or would ever see from her. While Zalea didn't necessarily run to friends, she'd respected George Hampden as a colleague and benign competitor. More than she could say for most. The details she'd given Aurora had been sparse, but did the job sufficiently. Being involved with the wrong kind of people was part of the trade, but George just hadn't quite had enough leverage. They'd shot him like a dog, left him unconscious, bleeding out from what could have been a survivable injury.

That, however, was not how the memory was replayed tonight.

Tonight, she was there. Kneeling and immobilized, she was forced to watch, her muscles leaden and her joints like blocks of wood.

She didn't know what George and his eventual killer were talking about. All she could see was her mentor arguing with a young man no more than nineteen, with dark, scarred skin and hard, desperate eyes. When the boy withdrew a pistol, street-bought and poorly maintained, George hardly flinched. He'd faced down meaner threats before, with bigger weapons. She could tell by his face that he was confident he could talk this kid down.

He tried, and, oh, he was good. She still didn't know what he said, all sound coming to her blurred and wilted, just varying tones and ripples. But his face, lightly charming and intensely watchful, told Aurora that George was working his magic, that silver tongue of his performing to turn the tide. She had almost believed, like the street thugs holding her arms, that he'd succeeded.

When the situation devolved, it devolved so quickly, Aurora lost sight of the man who shot George. But when he turned to look at her, cobalt eyes blazing and certain, Aurora nearly retched.

It was Nikolai.

George crumpled, blood pumping through his hand-tailored suit from just under his ribcage. Aurora somehow managed to rip free of what was restraining her, and ran to her mentor. Her father. He was wheezing like he did when his allergies to cottonwood acted up during the summer, and his hand blindly grasped for hers. Just as he said her name, another gunshot whiplashed through the air.

The blinding sunburst of pain, a fatal destruction of her kidney, radiated across her entire core. By the time Aurora managed to press her hand to the wound and push herself upright, George was already gone. She'd been robbed of whatever last thing he'd wanted to tell her.

With her breath heaving in and out of her lungs like a gale, Aurora turned to Nikolai with as much fury as she could muster, her system already edging towards a crash.

"How dare you? How dare you? Nikolai, why?"

The beautiful, tall young Russian stepped closer and knelt, threading his fingers into her hair lovingly.

"Because, moya zolotaya devochka. I love you," he murmured, disturbingly sincere as he left her bleeding on the floor and stood. She shuddered as the pain ripped through her like thick, tearing teeth, made worse by his old endearment – my golden girl. He nodded towards shadowy figures stationed by the door, and they pivoted to escort more people into the room. When the weak light caught them, Aurora's mouth went dry as bone, her breath completely halting in shocked horror.

Chandler and Kendra were ushered into the room like refugees about to be executed. Aurora frantically tried to scramble to her feet, but she couldn't even get to her knees before the pain drove her to the floorboards, the weight of nightmares pressing against her shoulder blades like cold hands. Nikolai stood just out of reach, but close enough for her to see the deadly intent in his sapphire irises. As they caught sight of the situation – Nikolai standing with a gun in his hand, George dead on the floor, and Aurora lying next to him bleeding – both stiffened. Chandler ranged himself in front of his wife, and it was only then that Aurora caught sight of the swaddled bundle in her best friend's arms.

"You don't need to do this," Chandler murmured, reassuring and strong despite the pistol aimed at his breastbone. He held his arms out slightly, more to defend his wife and child than convince Nikolai that he wasn't a threat.

"Please," the father whispered. "Spare them."

Nikolai tilted his head, then shook it.

"No. Nikolai, no!" Aurora screamed, straining against a weight that seemed to pin her to the floor. But it didn't matter. Easily, he pulled the trigger, Chandler fighting the collapse every moment as his lungs flooded with blood, his wife clutching at his arm, going down to her knees beside him. Aurora felt the tears tearing through her chest, the air reeking of harsh cordite and coppery blood. Kendra squeezed her eyes closed, holding her silent baby closer to her chest in instinctive protection as Chandler's eyes closed. Then she straightened her spine, her eyes clear and cool, grief already eating away at the beauty of her face as her husband bled out beside her.

Kendra knew, with the clarity of a survivor, that there would be no escape for herself, or her child. She glanced down at Chandler, his gilded hair flecked with blood, and closed her eyes as tears trailed down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she looked at Aurora, and her gaze softened with an indescribable pain and regret. One last time, her eyelids drifted down, and Kendra curled her body around her babe in an age-old gesture of shielding, one of her palms pressed to her husband's cooling cheeks.

"I'm begging you. For the love of God, don't do this!" But Aurora's anguished cries didn't halt the young man, nor did her frenzied struggled to interfere. Kendra fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and Aurora's tormented sobs filled the air in the shot's echo. Agony and pain welled like oil through her blood, and she glowered up at Nikolai, a man she'd once trusted with her very body, her cheeks wet with tears and blood.

"Why are you doing this?" she rasped. Nikolai checked his clip before answering, apparently satisfied with the remaining number of rounds.

"Oh, Arishka. You asked me to. You asked me to set you free. And that's what I'm doing."

The use of his diminutive from of her old cover, the only name Nikolai had ever known her by, in such a warm, easy voice made Aurora's lungs feel like they were collapsing. He nodded to someone she couldn't see, and she nearly blacked out when Suzaku was dragged into the room.

He took one look at the carnage, and, with a heinous fury lighting his green eyes, lunged for Nikolai with a warrior's snarl. He was faster than the Russian, and stronger, but Nikolai was an expert gunman, managing to twist his wrist enough to gain minor control over its direction. Aurora helplessly screamed as Suzaku went down, his knee shattered by Nikolai's bullet.

The older man whipped the butt of his pistol across Suzaku's jaw, and he hit the ground hard, his skull bouncing against the floor. Aurora dug her fingers into the wood, attempting to drag herself over to him, but could hardly worm her way six inches. Suzaku's eyes fluttered open, meeting hers for the briefest of moments before Nikolai planted a bullet in his brain.

Aurora didn't know if she then screamed, cried, begged. It was a safe assumption, but a vicious vacuum in her brain, in her heart and soul erupted as the fog of death crept over the green of Suzaku's eyes. It felt like her entire body was scorched, burned hollow by a loss she simply couldn't compute. All she could hear was the splash of the tears dripping off her chin against the floor.

Then, another noise penetrated the haze of her destruction.

It was weak, tentative. The soft wail of a baby. Aurora realized that Kendra and Chandler's child was still alive the same exact moment Nikolai did. The rage and misery and helplessness united within her to spark a final fight. She lunged upwards against the weight dragging her down, hooking her arm over Nikolai's, yanking his gun away from the squirming bundle tucked between corpses. The edge of the fabric had fallen away at Kendra's collapse, revealing pale, achingly soft skin and eyes already turning gold, dark hair tipped with chestnut. The baby's cries gained strength, a lusty demand for life that gave Aurora the will for a final bargain.

"No! No, Kolen'ka," she tried, softening her voice after her loud, desperate plea, reaching for the old pet name she'd used to murmur to him as they would drift off to sleep. Aurora tightened her grip on his wrist, swaying on her knees as blood soaked her clothes to her skin, her shoulders bowing under a weight that seemed to press down on her bones. "Leave the child. End me. Set me free. Please." The words staggered out of her, husky and broken with tears. But the way she tilted her head, so that the muzzle of Nikolai's pistol pressed against her temple was fatally eloquent.

Nikolai knelt, rubbing his cheek against hers, smearing the tears. "Alright, krasavitsa. My beautiful girl. Because you asked. Because this is what you wanted."

"Yes," Aurora whispered, desperate to save the infant, the only remnant left of those she held dear, her eyes drifting close at the click of the hammer. In the dark of her mind, in that final moment, the image of Suzaku standing in the sun filled her brain. The last thing she heard was the crying of Kendra and Chandler's baby before Nikolai pulled the trigger.

Aurora awoke like a crashing missile, her eyes flashing open blindly as she silently convulsed. Her breath was racing like she'd just surfaced from being underwater for minutes, her system oxygen-starved and bucking like a horse. She struggled her way free of the sheets, back to that hateful sensation of being trapped with no way to escape. Once she managed to sit up, Aurora pressed her face into her hands, trying to hold back the tidal wave surging up through her throat like vomit, tiny, thready whimpers seeping through the barrier of flesh.

Ban was standing, having been chased off the bed by her thrashing, his ears flat against his skull and eyes dark with worry and fear. She could hardly see him in the gloom, just a worried shadow, whining in time with her shuddering breaths.

The darkness of the night felt like it was pressing down on her, a liquid weight that seeped into her lungs. Eventually, she just couldn't stand it. Standing, tripping and fighting her way out of her room and into the hallway, she stumbled into the door frame with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Her breath was stuttering in half-formed sobs, her fingers ineffectively pressing against her lips in an attempt to silence them. Aurora ran down the hall, swinging around the railing, Ban following her with a terrified trumpeting. She was too fast to notice the way Suzaku's bedroom door was slightly open, the moon glowing on empty sheets.

She nearly broke her neck going down the stairs, twice. Tears streamed down her face, hiccupping and weeping, as she raced through the hallway and into the kitchen. The only thing getting through the haze of pain and fear and helpless anger was a single thought: 'I have to get outside. I can't stay in my own head.'

Suzaku hadn't been able to sleep, not with Kendra's news bouncing around his head. He was so many things, he couldn't pick a single emotion to quantify. Happy, and scared, for Kendra, excited for Aurora, proud for for many different feelings to simply fall asleep to the pounding of them.

So he'd snuck downstairs after Aurora had gone to bed, warming a cup of hot chocolate from the batch Aurora had made from Nutella and milk. He sipped away at it, sketching in his notebook to the faint light of a couple candles she left scattered around the kitchen. He didn't usually notice them – they were just there, on the periphery of his vision. But now, he rather enjoyed it, stroking his pencil over paper to the shifting light of flame.

Since Kendra was on his mind, he drew her. With his limited knowledge, he drew her through the stages of pregnancy, slight and hardly obvious as she was now, all the way to heavy and round, ripe like a pagan goddess. He'd just finished the rough-ins of Kendra holding her new baby in her arms, nuzzling cheek to cheek, looking up with the secret warmth of a mother with her new child, all the mystery and wonder in her world, when Aurora raced past.

Her hair was loose and ragged, inarticulate sobs bleeding from her into the quiet air. Ban trailed after her, as agitated and upset as Suzaku had ever seen the dog. She was banging through the back door and into the gardens before he could even push back from the table.

"Aurora?" he murmured, the surprise leeching the volume from his voice. Standing cautiously, he walked to the door, bracing his hand on the jamb as he slowly leaned forward, catching sight of Aurora just within the faint rim of light spilling from the kitchen. She was facing away from the house, crying into her hands with a soul-wrenching depth. Bannock joined her, his sounds somewhere between mournful howls and frightened cries. Shocked into silence, it took Suzaku a moment to gather himself, to think beyond the pain echoing from the gardens.

He repeated her name, slightly louder this time. Suzaku could see little beyond Aurora's silhouette, but it was apparent the way she struggled to gather herself, swiping her hands along her cheeks before turning to face him, the hand on her jaunty hip and the quirked smile somehow disturbing when paired jarringly with a shattered agony in her eyes. It kept him on the step, unsure of how to help, afraid to make whatever was tearing her apart that much worse.

"Sorry, Suzaku," she tried, her voice cracked and choked. Trying to swallow several times, Aurora made one more attempt to sound normal, to sound fine. "I just, uh, just needed some air. I…" she trailed off, her lips quivering as tears again flooded her eyes, her gaze frantically flicking away from his. Ban had fallen quiet as she'd spoken, but now that she was again losing control of whatever grief was ripping through her, he loosed a howl that sent shivers down Suzaku's spine, lonely and primal and wolf-like.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and Suzaku had to watch as she physically folded in on herself, her shoulders drawing in, her hands going up to her mouth as if she could somehow staunch this outburst of pain. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"It's cold outside. Why don't you come back in?"

It was cool at best; both of them were perfectly comfortable in t-shirts. Although her feet and the hems of her pants were wet with dew. But it didn't matter. Aurora needed an excuse to come back inside, and it was the best Suzaku could think of.

When she finally looked at him again, for some reason reluctant to meet his gaze, she nodded, the physical movement somehow helping to choke back the tears. As she stumbled in after him, hiccupping and fragile, Suzaku glanced frantically around the kitchen. When nothing leapt out to offer its aid in dealing with a traumatized Aurora, he ended up just gesturing lamely towards the table. Aurora managed a watery gurgle of assent as she all but fell into her usual chair, Suzaku's eyes widening in alarm at the state of her.

Something had happened, something monumental to degrade her to this point. Completely at a loss as to how to deal with the distraught woman, Suzaku slowly sat down across from her, watching as she battled to control the tears still welling in her eyes. She laced her fingers together in front of her, bravely settling her face into neutral lines. Even if he hadn't known her as well as he was starting to, it would have been glaringly apparent that something was extremely wrong.

"…You OK?" he eventually tried, even though the evidence was obviously to the contrary. Despite that, Aurora attempted a smile that came across more pained than reassuring.

"Yep." She then promptly dropped her face into her hands and burst into tears. Shell-shocked by this storm of emotion, Suzaku blinked in a flurry, recoiling slightly at her uninhibited show of pain. Even when he'd lost Euphie or killed Lelouch, he'd never cried so freely and fiercely, always moving through the pain, functioning and speaking despite the hot ball of lead in his chest. But Aurora made no such attempt at control.

She wept like a child, relinquishing herself to the full grip of her grief. Suzaku was somehow both envious and frightened of it, and her. How in the world could he stop such a storm? Should he even try?

He himself never went that far – it scared him, the enormity of the pain waiting to be unleashed, a well inside him that he feared never ended. Finally, at a loss, he quietly stood, neither Aurora or Ban, still crying and pacing, paying him much mind. He headed to the stove and embarked on a task he'd seen countless times but had never actually attempted.

He made Aurora tea.

Ignoring the hairs standing up on the back of his neck at the heart-wrenching sobbing behind him, he focused with a desperate, deadly precision on measuring out the tea leaves from the pretty blue and silver tin and heating the water. As it began to boil, he surreptitiously looked over his shoulder, noticing the way Aurora ineffectively knuckled away her tears. Plucking up the box of tissue from the downstairs bathroom, he deposited it at her elbow. When she made no move to use his offering, Suzaku pursed his lips, utterly at a loss and deeply worried.

The tea kettle shrieked, saving him from agonizing over his uselessness. Pouring the completed drink into one of the mugs she favored, Suzaku gingerly placed it in front of Aurora, wondering if it would be as worthless as the tissues. Sitting quietly and eyeing her more closely than he usually allowed himself to, he was immediately relieved when she scented the tendrils of steam curling into the air. The wisps twirled as she unfolded her hands slowly, the familiar, soothing scent slowing the run-away train of her torment.

Seeing her eyes peeking through her fingers, wet like stones by the sea and rimmed with achingly sad red, Suzaku was nonetheless relieved. For in that expression of question and curiosity, he saw her returning. It was one of Suzaku's own deepest fears – that his agony would overtake and consume him, leaving him insane and wrecked in the aftermath. But Aurora seemed to have avoided that, sniffling and huffing as she slowly, wonderingly, cupped her hands around the mug.

They still shook a little, he saw as she sighed hugely. She took a sip of tea, blew her nose on one of the tissues she seemed to finally notice, and sighed deeply. Suzaku swallowed, eventually voicing his concern.

"Did something happen?" He spoke hesitantly, unsure if the wrong word from him would send her tumbling back into tears. There was something about a female crying that made Suzaku's stomach shrink into a tight golf ball and left him feeling like an inadequate bastard.

"Just a bad dream," Aurora replied, her voice husky from weeping and her eyes boring into her tea like she was grading his brewing skills. She had apparently deemed it passable when she took another deep sip, probably trying to settle her heaving stomach with the herbal brew. Suzaku intimately knew what that felt like; being so hollowed out and haggard, trapped with the feeling that your body was trying to core itself, cut out the rotten parts in a last desperate act of self-preservation, like hacking off a limb pinned under rock. Something in the air – maybe it was Ban's trembling whines, just under auditory levels, more physical than sound. Maybe it was the way tremors still ran across Aurora's muscles like the shudder of tree branches in the wind. Or maybe it was the hollows under her eyes, thick gouges taken from the porcelain of her skin. But Suzaku couldn't quite let it go, no matter how much it killed him to push and prod.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" Part of him wanted her to say no. Vehemently. How could he help her when he couldn't even help himself? It almost felt like he was betraying his own code by asking her to do something he himself couldn't do.

But he wanted to know, wanted to do anything to lessen the inhuman grief and shame in her eyes. It was an old instinct, so ignored that he almost didn't know what it felt like anymore. To sacrifice himself, his feelings and fears, for another.

"No," she said with a small, broken laugh, lacing her fingers tight enough around the mug to leave them bleached sticks of bone. Suzaku blinked a little, surprised at her denial. He'd made the offer with the expectation that she would take it, since she was so adamant about the healing power of sharing your burden.

"Were you sketching?" she asked instead, a subject change that caught Suzaku a little off guard. Aurora had always been open and honest; seeing her deflect so completely was somewhat strange. At first, he wondered if he could steer her back to what was so upsetting, or if he even should. But the faint light of interest in her eyes as she tried to subtly look at Suzaku's sketchbook made him pause.

He didn't display his sketches, ever. Suzaku was aware that Aurora had seen them from time to time just by spending time around him, but she never asked, and he never offered. But… The fingers that had instinctively extended to flip the cover closed hesitated, then gently nudged the sketchbook towards her. If it could help, Suzaku reasoned with himself even as his stomach lurched, then it would be fine.

"Are you sure?" Aurora asked, her gaze widening in surprise. He wasn't really, but the battered look in her eyes and the hoarse edge to her words steeled his resolve. So Suzaku just nodded, and a tremulous smile spread across her face, a weak shadow of her normal expression. It hit Suzaku like a punch to the gut, and he suppressed the urge to shoot out his hand. Not to stop her tentative reach for the sketchbook – to take her hand, to let her know, in a way he couldn't express, that he ached because she'd been hurt, and would do anything he could to chase the ghosts from her eyes.

Carefully, she set her tea aside, away from the book she slid in front of her. It was still open to the sketch of Kendra in the early stages, looking slim and confident and extremely clever with her newly added jacket. Aurora's mouth tilted up a little higher, her eyes a little clearer as she huffed a soft laugh through her nose.

"This is lovely. It's so Kendra – looking like a tough genius out to save the world and kick some ass."

Since that was a simple, accurate summary, Suzaku just smiled a little in response and nodded. Now he understood her long periods of silence when she was trying to drag something out of him. It could be effective, but required patience. He suddenly appreciated how much Aurora had.

One by one, she flipped through the pages, careful to keep her fingers on the edges of the pages and away from the soft graphite. Aurora had praise for his skill and some small, positive reaction for each sketch. Besides occasionally thanking her, Suzaku watched in silence. She laughed out loud at the drawing of Kendra with her arms folded above her slightly rounded stomach, her eyebrows raised imperiously, the expression of chilly temper aimed at the viewer.

"God, been on the receiving end of that look a few times," Aurora chuckled. She hummed softly at the image of Kendra loosely sprawled in an office chair, her face exhausted and soft as she rubbed the side of her big belly, like she was comforting her restless babe after a long day. The second to last picture had taken Suzaku half an hour just to rough in – it was Kendra and Chandler, Kendra heavily pregnant, the two of them cuddled together in a field of rippling meadow grass. Kendra covered Chandler's hands on her belly with her own, their heads tipped together, their lashes lowered.

Aurora sighed, propping her chin on her palm as she gazed at the picture. Suzaku refused to acknowledge that the inspiration for this drawing came from a flash of fantasy he had thought he'd buried with Euphie. He reminded himself to just enjoy Aurora's pleasure in the picture, her disproportionately glowing phrase. She looked at this one for a long time, her fingers slowly running along the edges of the paper like she was controlling the urge to touch the pencil strokes.

Finally, she turned to the last drawing, the rough, hazy sketch of Kendra holding her newborn. Her breath stuttering slightly, Aurora quickly looked away from the picture, her eyes glimmering with fresh tears. Cursing his stupid idea mentally, Suzaku reached out his hand to close the sketchbook, completely at a loss as to what had upset her and desperate to stop the reason.

But Aurora looked back and held out her hand to stop him. With a deep, shuddering breath, she dropped her gaze and looked at the picture. Tears trembled on her lashes and her lips pressed together hard enough to whiten the flesh around them. But she looked. And saw.

With almost exaggerated care, Aurora closed the sketchbook, handing it back to Suzaku like it was encrusted in diamonds.

"It's beautiful," she managed to whisper. Once she'd relinquished the book, Aurora tipped her head back, blinking furiously as she tried to stem the tears. Swallowing like there was mud in her throat, she finally straightened, taking a sip of tea. Suzaku set his sketchpad aside, getting the sense that Aurora was bracing herself for something. She ran her finger along the rim of the mug, shoving her hair away from her face impatiently. Finally, her silvered, red-rimmed eyes rose to his.

"Do you mind if I tell you now?"

Her voice was so quiet, Suzaku thought. He was so used to her power and vibrancy, seeing her shaken and pale was a shock. And an uncertain Aurora felt almost alien. Shrugging off his more solitary inclinations, Suzaku held her gaze, stretching out his hand. He still wanted to take hold of those delicate fingers, but he restrained himself, instead laying his hand on the table in an unspoken, untouched gesture of support that she'd once given him.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Chapter Text

"It was…" Aurora braced her elbows against the table, jamming her fingers into her disheveled banks of hair before tilting back and gazing at the ceiling, her fingers pressed almost ruthlessly to the back of her neck.

"I guess if I don't want to sound like an idiot I need to give you a little history. Maybe going through it all will help me figure out what the heck it meant. I told you George died when I was thirteen. I also told you that my last job blew up in my face hot enough to have me run out of Britannia on a rail. The dream was like some weird melding of those two events." She puzzled about it in silence for a few moments, but couldn't seem to reach a conclusion.

"I, uh, didn't take George's death well. He knew better than anyone how risky the game was, so he established an inheritance for me that was as much security as it was money. I took it and struck out on my own. George had been working on something big, and it took me three weeks to figure out what. There was something going on with the influx of people into the homeland. He got killed trying to figure out where it was all stemming from. Turned out it was coming from the very top."

At Suzaku's questioning tilt of his head, Aurora passed her hand over her face, smiling very bitterly.

"The Emperor was importing cheap labor from around the world to grease the wheels of his war machine, and he was using the bratva as mules."

"You mean the-"

"Russian mafia, yeah. They would ship in desperate people from around the world, baiting them with the promise of a better life. Most of them would die from inhuman conditions within ten years. George had gotten wind of it, and he was working to ferret out the source when he took a .22 LR slug to the liver. I found his notes, and swore that I'd take down the man responsible for his death. Charles had stolen my family from me time and time again – this time, I was biting back, and would attack him where it hurt. Every job I took in those three years got me one step closer to the core, closer to the proof I needed to destroy Charles zi Britannia. Even when I worked for Kendra and Lloyd."

"How were they involved?" Suzaku quietly wondered.

"Personally, they weren't. They had their own issues. But Charles got wind of Kendra's return to Britannia through the vory v zakone. She didn't know that they'd come across the Pacific in one of their ships. Charles recognized her name from the manifest, and sent out his hounds. As for Lloyd, the people I had to work with to salvage his career would later help me establish my cover."

"By the time I was sixteen, I was ready. So I went undercover with the bratva."

"You joined the Russian mob?" Suzaku murmured in shock.

"I did," Aurora confirmed with a weary smirk. "Kind of. I wasn't a true member, more of a consultant. Initiation wasn't that bad – came out of it with a broken rib, three cracked ones, two broken fingers, and a magnificent black eye. Got off easy," she said with zero sarcasm, wiggling the fingers of her left hand. "Built one of my best cover ID's to get in, used shadows of actual work to support my rep as a thief. I was old blood, young, pretty, and mean as an alley cat, so they overlooked my unfortunate gender in favor of my sticky fingers. I had been with them two weeks when I met Nikolai." She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, working on keeping her voice smooth, even as it hushed with reverence when she said Nik's name.

"Everyone thought I was nineteen, a decent cover age. He was twenty-two at the time, the son of a vor captain. He'd been raised in the life, so he was like their prince." Aurora sighed heavily, her voice taking on a wistful, sorrowful tone. "Nikolai was beautiful. Handsome, lethal, weirdly honorable, and an incredible shot. Gang code is pretty warped, but his father was old school, and was ridiculously proud that his son was earning his vor status the traditional way. He'd done three stints in prison by the time I met him; one for grand theft auto, one for possession with intent to distribute, and one for assault and battery. His father fully expected his son to follow in his footsteps, and he'd been game practically since he was born. He'd been a shestyorka since he was thirteen. A vor in training, if you will, waiting for his stars."

At Suzaku's confused look, she elaborated.

"When a man becomes a true member of the vory v zakone, he is tattooed with stars on his chest and knees. So that he must kneel to no one," she said distantly, like she was echoing it by rote. "Nikolai was young, but a remarkable street soldier. Liked by many, almost everyone I talked to said that Nikolai would be an ideal successor. And, for some reason, he took a shine to me." She pressed her palm to her mouth, like she had to physically work to hold back from saying something.

"I tried to discourage him – God, did I try. Nearly bit his nose off when he got in close to try for a kiss. But he was charmingly impervious and insanely persistent. I was busy trying to establish contacts, build the trust I needed to get to the levels of information that I hadn't yet been able to access. I didn't have time for the attentions of some hopped-up thug who thought I was an easy lay."

Ban had finally decided that she wasn't inches from flat-lining, so he crept close enough to rest his chin on Aurora's thigh. She stroked his ears as a comfort to them both as she continued.

"I supposed I could have used a honey pot gambit – he was so highly ranked, it would have made information mining a freaking field trip. But, the vory have very strict rules about that kind of thing, and not to mention, it's morally repugnant. I was pretty far gone, but not that far gone. Besides, George always had two hard and fast rules when it came to undercover work." Aurora held up one finger.

"No tattoos, which blew any chance I had at actually joining the bratva right out of the water. You barely exist without tattoos in their eyes. And two," she continued, holding up her paired fingers, "no sex. Not with someone involved. Ever." Aurora tilted her head back, massaging her pounding temples as Bannock hummed in her lap.

"Well, at least I got one right." She looked at Suzaku, waiting for the reproach to bloom in his eyes. God knew she'd done it enough to herself over the years. But he still looked at her uncomprehendingly. It took her a second. Right, virgin.

"Turned out Nikolai wasn't quite the dickhead I thought he was, and I was way lonelier than I had ever banked on. It's what happens when you starve yourself of basic human connection long enough – you do crazy, stupid shit. Like sleeping with a guy up to his eyeballs in the organization you're working to infiltrate and topple because it's fun and it makes you feel good. Nothing wrong with that last bit – it's the first part that was the problem."

Comprehension emerged. The condemnation flickered, and Aurora was surprised by how badly it hurt. Then he wrestled it into submission, and looked at her with eyes that were expressionless and fairly civil

"Did you sleep with him because of who, or what, he was?"

Aurora thought the question over. She knew the answer – she'd grappled with it years ago, but she appreciated that Suzaku had found it in himself to ask.

"Who. He was clever and cunning and, against his code, surprisingly kind. He was my first," she said, very quietly. "And he was wonderful." She didn't mention how they may have had sex, but Nikolai always left once she fell asleep – the way of the vory v zakone was harsh, and allowed for little attachment. He had already tread a thin line in the way he'd pursued her, but allowing himself in any deeper with Aurora would have been a death sentence for the future Nikolai had been building since infancy, if not his life. A faint tinge stained Suzaku's cheekbones, and Aurora took pity on him and continued.

"I cared for him, more deeply than I would have imagined and certainly much more than I was bargaining on. We… became something of a fixture amongst the bratva. Our names became a single word – Nikolai and Arina, Arina and Nikolai. He taught me fenya, which is basically the vory language. I actually speak it better than true Russian. Months passed, until it seemed that Arina Strelkinov was more real than Rory Seven. Maybe she was."

Into the silence, Suzaku's words were soft.

"Did you love him?"

Aurora raised her eyes from where she pressed her palms to her forehead to meet his, the breath whistling out of her lungs as she exhaled like there was a concrete block on her chest.

"No. Not the way you mean. I cared for him, I was attracted to him, I liked him, and I trusted him, as much I could, which wasn't much then. But I didn't love him like that. George would say I didn't love him enough." She still felt guilty about it – the part of her that had refused to engage when it seemed like she had every reason to.

"It lasted for about six months. It was almost like I'd been born for it. I'd even designed my cover name to run close to my real name, which I'd almost forgotten over the years. It's easier to respond to a cover that's close to what you habitually hear. Slipping into Arina Elena Strelkinov's skin was almost like coming home."

"But it couldn't last," Suzaku said quietly. She looked at him, and a part of her eased as she realized he knew. Knew what it was like to allow yourself to believe a lie is real, even as you function within your original purpose. To compartmentalize parts of yourself, and somehow manage to feel with an honest depth despite the fallacy of the very world around you.

"No," she breathed. "It couldn't. It all ended with an email." Aurora took a sip of her cool tea, not even wrinkling her nose at the taste, since the bitterness of failure already coated her tongue.

"It was from an obshchak. A bookkeeper. Just some low-level number cruncher who kept the bratva in the black. With a little help from an old friend, I'd tapped into almost all of the bratva's communications. I almost didn't open it – thought maybe it was spam. It was blank, and the subject line just read 'Insurance.' Attached was a .jpeg, a picture taken of a document. It was poorly focused, but you could read it well enough. It was signed and stamped correspondence on royal stationary between the Emperor and his closest aid. It referenced a ship number, and asked to verify if all cargo had been lost, or if some could be salvaged for a rubber factory in Accolon. It was also a reminder to speak with their representative about rates and security – if they couldn't be trusted not to lose cargo, then maybe he would look elsewhere. The very last line read 'If Ivan thinks I'll tolerate this again, he should never have left the cold ruts.'"

"The Northern Barrage," Suzaku quickly guessed, furrowing his brow as he tried to piece together the information. It didn't surprise her in the least, and frankly impressed her, that Suzaku knew of the derogatory nickname of the prolonged rebellion waged by the Russian people during their resistance against Britannia. It hadn't lasted, but the winters had ground Charles' armies nearly to a halt, as they had to so many invaders before. Too bad Britannian stubbornness was a bitch to break.

"Yep. I took the info and ran with it. A little digging revealed that the ship number referred to a freighter that had been stopped in Australia. The cargo manifest listed raw rubber from India. In reality, it was stuffed to the brim with desperate Indonesians who had been promised safe, if illicit, passage. It was a vor ship, but with that kind of flack, they burned their bridges. So when the Australian officials went looking for whoever the hell was responsible, they came up empty. Just some smoking dead ends." Aurora reluctantly remembered the fevered excitement that had gripped her when she had initially dredged all this up. Shame it came to nothing.

"With no one to hang it on, the Australians had deported the Indonesians and left the ship to rot in a sort of boat impound, never to be claimed. I had good evidence that Charles had been implicit, if not the cause, of trying to get those people into Britannia illegally. But that wasn't the best part." Or maybe the worst. Even with the distance of time, it was hard to say.

"It took a while to click, but I knew it all along. Nikolai's father's name was Ivan Dragunov, and he'd cut his teeth on the bitterly cold front lines of the Northern Barrage." Even now, sorrow laced her voice. It had broken her heart, idiot that she was, to hold the catalyst of her fake world cracking apart at the seams.

"It took me fifteen minutes to figure all this out. It took the vory ten to realize they had a leak. I was about to shoot off my bundle of goodies to a contact with very high connections when a squad of Britannian soldiers kicked down my door. They shot out my computer before training their sights on me. I have George to thank for days and days of knocking me on my ass repeatedly until I learned how to stay on my feet in a fight and get out alive. It was as I clapped two thick Britannian skulls together that I got it." Her voice had been weary all night, but now it dropped into a bone-deep timbre of exhaustion and failure.

"It didn't matter how thorough my cover was or how reliable my contacts – no loner could ever take on Charles. My ridiculously brilliant older brother knew that from the start. To destroy an Emperor, you needed an army to hack a clear path. No one standing alone could take down a monarch. At least, I couldn't. So I ran."

Suzaku knew that shame, that gutting realization that your ideals and drive had crumbled beneath the animal need to survive.

"It wasn't that surprising that they'd figured out it was me. I was new, an outsider, and I was sleeping with their prince. About the time I was pulling up outside one of my safe houses, Nikolai had been called into a meeting with the vor. I was his responsibility, since it was on his recommendation that I was brought deeper into the fold, and they didn't take kindly to this breach of trust. In order to rectify the problem and regain his standing, Nikolai would have to solve the problem personally. So he headed out with his 9mm Viking in order to hunt me down and execute me for betraying the vory's faith and contract. It just goes to show how badly I bungled this in that I'd mentioned the street name of my safe house to Nikolai once in passing. Not to mention Natasha's pretty recognizable."

"She is a beautiful car," Suzaku conceded. For the first time that night, Aurora smiled. It was faint, but nonetheless genuine.

"That she is. Anyway, I'd just started the burner program to wipe my ID's from the system when Nikolai knocked on the door."

"What did you do?"

Aurora's smile was heavy with sorrow and hindsight.

"I let him in."

"What did he do?"

"He kissed me." Aurora answered almost too quietly to be heard. Suzaku blinked a few times, obviously surprised by what she'd said.

"He told me he loved me, and that he deserved the truth. I confirmed his suspicions – I wasn't a career thief, not of goods, anyway. I wasn't even Russian. I was a liar and a traitor. My only excuse was my hunt for a liar and a traitor. I was guilty of everything he accused me of, and it was all done in the service of a vendetta that was being dismantled as we spoke. But he said it didn't matter." Aurora spoke quietly into her knuckles. By now, the candles had burned low, flickering flames constantly in danger of guttering out.

"Nikolai wanted run with me. He told me that together, we could hide forever. They'd never find us, and we could be happy. It sounded perfect – I told him no. I didn't love him, not the way he needed to support that kind of decision. It's hard to understand, but they have their own kind of code, own kind of honor. And Nikolai was ready to throw everything away for a woman that didn't even really exist. And he would come to hate what stood in her place, the me that would be left behind. I couldn't let that happen."

"But you couldn't stay," Suzaku quietly offered.

"No. And he couldn't go back empty handed. In the eyes of the vory, it was his life or mine. Nikolai could be very persuasive, but so can I. We wasted precious minutes arguing. It got worse when I told him my plan. For us to get out clean, he'd have to shoot me." Aurora started her faint, habitual tapping on the table, the easiest indication that her story was reaching its climax.

"Oh, did that make him mad. I may not have loved him, but I trusted him. I'd never met a better shot. It could be done. But he demanded there had to be another way. So I begged him. Begged for him to set me free the only way he could. That if he truly loved me, he'd believe me, and he'd do what was best for both of us." It was a manipulation worthy of Lelouch – she still thought so to this day, even as it brought a sour taste to her tongue.

"So he did. We put on a show. Burst out of the place like a couple of wolves, snapping and snarling. The fight spilled out onto the streets, where there were plenty of witnesses. Nikolai was really good at gauging the exact moment when the pressure would break and someone would call the cops. At the last second, I turned and ran. Felt like I got punched in the back. In-and-out hit, just above the left pelvis wing. I scrambled into Natasha and drove for my life. It took me weeks to get the blood out of the seats."

"About the time Nikolai was reporting to the vory his unsuccessful mission, I was being flown out of Britannia on a black-out flight with an elderly veteran medic patching me up. I never saw him again."

"What happened to him?" Suzaku asked quietly, no doubt sensing the finality in her voice.

"Well, with all the witnesses to his attempt on my life, the vory couldn't doubt his resolve. They gave him his stars two weeks later. Less than a year after, he died. Drive-by shooting. The way of a street soldier." Her voice had become a little clipped in defense against the way her throat thickened – it had been a very long time since she'd cried for Nikolai.

"So Nikolai was in your dream?" Suzaku managed to steer her away from the old, pointless grief.

"Yeah. Shooting my mentor and executing everyone I've ever cared about not related by blood because he loved me. And I asked him to set me free."

Suzaku realized what Aurora could not – she was so afraid of again losing her family. Not the one she'd born to, but the family she'd made. The family she'd earned.

"You know you only did what you had to."

"I know. Doesn't really make you feel any better, though, does it?"

They both knew that bitterness all too well.

"But it was the last part that was the worst."

Suzaku immediately focused even more tightly on her – there was something about the tremble in her voice. When she spoke again, she could only manage a whisper.

"It was their baby. Kendra and Chandler's."

Both of their eyes instantly went to Suzaku's closed sketch pad.

"The only way I could stop Nikolai was by convincing him to…"

"To set you free," he quietly supplied, only too familiar with the only kind of true liberty. Her eyes swung back to his, huge and drenched with confusion and guilt.

"I don't want that, Suzaku. I don't want to be set free of them! Why did I dream of that? And did I turn Nikolai into that? Did I… did I break him when I couldn't love him?" Her voice was so tiny and lost; Suzaku could only offer her the truth.

"I don't know, Aurora."

"I know. I'm sorry," she weakly apologized, pressing her palm to her eyes to stem the tears.

"Don't be," Suzaku murmured before he had a chance to think it through. When she slowly lowered her hand to look at him with wide eyes and raised brows, he swallowed thickly, and continued. "I… I know I haven't exactly been cooperative, and I know that there's nothing I could do that would repay all that you, and Kendra and Chandler, have done for me. So I want you to know that, at the very least, I am honored by your trust in me. I've done nothing to deserve it, but I will treasure it as well as I can."

"I'm not keeping a tally, Suzaku," she said with a tired, gentle smile. "You didn't have to listen. It can't have been easy."

Suzaku shrugged, wincing when the habitual gesture hurt more than he could hide.

"I know that. But I wanted to. I'd almost forgotten what it was like – to care for someone's wellbeing beyond their physical safety."

Aurora's fingers reached out, gently brushing over the back of his, their skin gilded by faint candlelight.

"I'm glad you remembered. Thank you, Suzaku. Bad memories can be frightening when you face them alone."

It was true – they could be terrifying. He knew that struggle all too well, sometimes infusing his every waking moment.

"You're not to blame, you know," he finally said after a while. "You made the right choice, for you and for Nikolai. Even at your lowest, you still did the best you could for those around you. I wish I could say the same about myself."

Aurora leaned forward, her other hand closing around his wrist as her eyes deepened with intensity.

"You can. Everything you've ever done was to protect others. It's not just your goal or drive; it's your definition. You sacrificed everything for the sake of everyone. How could anyone else, let alone a traumatized teenager, be that selfless?"

"But I'm not," Suzaku weakly protested. Her mouth curled into a crooked grin.

"You are. I'll always believe that – you can stake your life on it."

He really could, Suzaku realized as he gazed into her bright eyes. Aurora had a kind of faith in him he'd thought had been eradicated by false heroes and corrupt kings. It certainly wasn't the wisest of convictions, but he couldn't doubt its strength. He was helpless against the small smile that crept across his face.

"You'll never let anything happen to that baby. You know that, right?"

Aurora's chuckle was a little rusty, but strong.

"I'll watch over that kiddo like a hawk. I may have gotten my ass handed to me a time or two, but now I'm older, wiser, and meaner. Ain't nothing getting through Auntie Aurora." She pushed back from her chair, patting her thigh to call Ban to follow her. Aurora paused before leaving the kitchen, approaching Suzaku's side.

"Thank you for reminding me of that," she murmured as she rested a hand on his good arm. As she leaned down, Suzaku's brain practically shut off. He had no idea what she was doing, or how he should respond. The light brush of her lips over his cheek sent a shiver down his spine, and something like fireworks shot through his brain.

"Goodnight, Suzaku," she said quietly as she left the kitchen. The stairs were already lightly creaking with her steps before he managed to respond.

"Goodnight." His voice didn't even sound like him – Suzaku couldn't recall the last time he'd croaked like that. His hand slightly shook as he reached up to brush the pads of his fingers of the same stretch of skin she'd kissed. Suzaku knew intellectually that it had just been a friendly gesture from an affectionate person in thanks. So why didn't he feel the same way? Why did he feel… bright? Like a sun was rising in his brain and there were stars in his blood.

But that was ridiculous. Gathering up his sketch pad and pencils, Suzaku made his way up to bed. He didn't fall asleep until three in the morning, staring out at the stars as he tossed and turned. And when he woke the next day, he was no closer to an answer. So, in his usual fashion, Suzaku re-established a safe distance between them. He may be starting to thoroughly trust Aurora, but he was experiencing yet another reason why he simply couldn't trust himself.

Chapter Text

Aurora wasn't taking a hint – it would piss Suzaku off if he could find some way not to admire it. She was determined to maintain the friendship she felt had been established the other night, and no casual brush-offs or surly warnings could get her to back away. It was uncomfortable, but oddly exhilarating.

Except that with her blossoming confidence in their closeness came a probing into his past that made Suzaku want to vomit, or weep. Or punch the wall. Initially, it had been subtle, round-about questions that could lead in any number of directions. But as he determinedly steered away from one area of his past, Aurora kept honing in on that target with increasing obviousness.

She wanted to know about the heroin.

She didn't ask him outright, which was his only excuse for continuing to dodge the subject. When deflecting her with information didn't work, he started using questions. He was interested, of course, but Suzaku was desperate to keep her away from an aspect of himself that he hated more thoroughly than his darkest days during the Rebellion.

"You said your cover name with the bratva was based on your real name, Aurora Sterling. Does the same go for your middle name? Elena?" he asked after lunch. She was trimming the stalks of some flowers she'd picked from the garden in the sink. Suzaku sketched her, but was extremely unsatisfied with the results. However, he determinedly clung to the pencil – even if the work itself was mediocre, the sketch book was a shield that Aurora respected without fail.

"It is," Aurora answered without turning around. "My middle name is Evaine."

Suzaku wasn't the least surprised – she may have been illegitimate, but Aurora was without a doubt a member of the Britannian royal family.

"What about your name as a fixer? You said it was Rory Seven. Where did that come from?"

Aurora glanced over her shoulder, a knowledgeable glint in the smile that curled across her lips. Oh, she knew exactly what he was doing. But she let it slide, and answered his question.

"George called me Rory from the moment he met me. He said that 'Aurora' was too much of a mouthful. Besides, the grubby little beast he found looked more like a scrappy "Rory" than an elegant 'Aurora.' Once I became his apprentice, he informed me that I needed to pick a new name, as my old one wasn't safe. I could keep Rory, but I had to come up with a new last name." She sighed fondly, pausing in her snipping as she braced her hands on the edge of the sink and tipped her face to the light coming through the windows. Suzaku quickly got down the basics of that stance, those rough lines the first good ones he'd produced all day.

"We were playing poker at the time. George killed me every game, but this time I had a hell of a hand. Four sevens. So I told him that would be my name. Seven. I had a horrible poker face then," she added over her shoulder with a laugh. "Instead of telling eight-year-old me that was stupid, George just shrugged and told me that Seven was as good a name as any. Stayed with me the rest of my career."

Suzaku waited a beat before speaking.

"Did you win?"

Aurora arranged the blooms, red and purple and white, in a copper vase, snorting as she plucked and nudged the flowers.

"Nope. Bastard had a straight flush, club queen to eight. Took me for my last pretzel."

As she laughed, Suzaku knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he couldn't let this woman realize the extent of his weakness and shame. Not her. He couldn't lose her too.

That conviction carried him the rest of the day of gentle, vague questions and patient, benign answers. After dinner, he helped her with the dishes, a chore he was only too eager to undertake once Aurora had reluctantly suggested it. She still worried about his arm, but it was a relief to finally carry at least a fraction of his weight around the house. Eventually, everything was dried and sorted, Ban watching them from his bed with a tilted head and eyes that bounced between the two of them like tennis balls. As Suzaku dusted his hand off against his jeans and reached for his cane, which he really only needed for the stairs at this point, Aurora's voice stopped him before he took the first step.

"Suzaku? I was wondering if you would sit down for a minute."

He stiffened at the brisk tone in her voice, the one that brooked no argument and withered denial in its tracks. Since Aurora really had yet to break any of the trust she'd carefully cultivated with him, Suzaku turned back, a considering expression on his face before nodding and moving to his usual seat. Maybe she wanted to talk about something else – even with the fear hissing through him, he had to give her that chance, give her the benefit of the doubt that he allowed for so few. Tugging the towel through the handle of the oven, Aurora sat as well, without her usual accompaniment of tea or water.

Glancing over her shoulder, she murmured, "Ban, bed," and the dog reluctantly strolled out of the kitchen. Satisfied that he had left, she finally looked back at Suzaku. Her fingers nervously clenched and unclenched, and Suzaku felt a familiar terror he'd been struggling with for days unfurling in his chest.

"I've been holding off on asking this directly again, and I wanted to give you time, but it's been a month now, and I… well… I think it's time you told me about the drug use."

Suzaku felt himself turn to stone, felt every blood vessel and muscle fiber lock into place. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't face it.

"No," he said, the single syllable as hard as his heart. Aurora frowned a little, but smoothed her expression before continuing.

"I understand your reluctance, but-"

"I said no," Suzaku croaked, interrupting her with a voice that bordered on robotic. He could see her struggling to be fair, struggling to keep her voice gentle. And suddenly, ice surged through his blood, along his skin. It was time. He'd been deluding himself, enjoying this sanctuary with someone he believed, someone he believed in. But this had to stop. Aurora had no idea who he was, not really. It was time he relieved her of the ridiculous notions she had assigned to him, get away before she drew him in too close to allow either of them to survive. Because God forbid she ever found out what he really was. Better to release her with a lie, than be released by the truth.

"Suzaku, please, I know it's hard, but-"

"Just shut up, will you?" Suzaku hadn't spoken like that in a long time. The cruelty felt unfamiliar on his tongue, the burn of his self-hatred scorching down to the roots of his teeth. He was genuinely angry at her, angry that she couldn't leave well enough alone, angry that she forced him to face what he so desperately wanted to hide. The way she reared her head back, the way her eyes flashed, he could tell that Aurora was struggling with the hurt, the insult. But she disciplined her features as she cleared her throat. God, she was working so hard not to hurt him. But the only way to save her, and himself, was to wound her beyond repair. She opened her mouth to speak, but Suzaku barreled on.

"I'm sick of your sanctimonious lectures. You think you know me, what I've done, what I've seen, but you have no fucking idea. So why don't you crawl back to your little hole, and leave me the hell alone." He'd done it. He could see it on her face. The snarl that crept along the edges of her pretty, agile mouth, the way her expressive brows ducked down over those mercurial eyes in an expression that would have made any man not driven by self-destruction quiver in his boots.

"Not going to happen, asshat. So why don't you pull your head out of your butt, calm the hell down, and talk to me?" Aurora was mad, but he could tell that she still had the tone of someone dealing with a snotty child, that edge of patience designed to smooth raised hackles. Instead, it just locked his into place, but there was something worse. The realization that Suzaku was going to have to go even farther, be even crueler, to tear down all Aurora had built between them. It had to rubble at their feet before she was going to walk away.

"Talk to you? What makes you think I want to talk to you?" Sensing that it wasn't enough, he said two more words, words that made his stomach twist and his lungs burn. "Half-breed."

Somehow, the mask that slid into place over Aurora's expression was exponentially worse than any manifestation of hurt, even her bursting into tears. Because he knew, even respected, that at her core, Aurora was a warrior. And she would show no weakness when under attack. And he was the bastard attacking her.

She settled back, her arms crossing across her chest, a single brow lifting as she tilted her head, almost as if she was actually seeing him for the first time. Suzaku detested himself, knowing that now she finally saw him for the monster he was.

"Wow. I have to say, you surprise me, Suzaku. I didn't know you were such a hateful bigot."

His mouth went dry, and Suzaku could feel panic fizzing in his bones. Dammit, if he could just see this through, Aurora would be safe. And he would never again have to admit his sickeningly shameful weakness. None of his thoughts showed on his face – instead, he just shrugged, his eyes hard as granite.

"How was I supposed to know you were such a bad luck charm? You poison everything around you, don't you? Your family, George, your job. Even Kendra and Chandler are at risk by their association with you. I'm just trying to cut my losses before I get caught in the tide." His breathing was rolling in and out harder as the volume of his voice escalated, his heart squeezing at the way Aurora's eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. Oh God, he was using her nightmare, a confession that had stripped her down to the bone, against her. If he didn't already loathe himself with a scorching depth, this would have sent him over the edge. As it was, he mentally begged her to step away, to back off before he had to say anything truly unforgivable.

"You've got to be fucking joking. Me, the bad luck charm? Don't make me laugh, Suzaku. We both know the blood you have on your hands." She was raising her voice to match his, lightning sizzling through her eyes that cut him down to the bone. Feeling like he was cornered, terrified that any second, the truth of his pathetic fear would tumble from his lips, outracing any lies he had left, Suzaku straightened, and pinned his eyes on her, swallowing honesty in favor of a poisonous deceit.

"How many people have you killed with your lies, Aurora?"

In the wake of his loud, frantic accusation, she stood with such force, her chair tumbled to the floor. Slapping her palms down against the table, Aurora leaned forward, her face lined with fury and her eyes damp with tears.

"Not as many as you killed with a single push of a goddamn button, Suzaku!"

As her words echoed away, the familiar feeling of turning to stone crept along Suzaku's skin. He wanted to get up, to run away from the truth his cruelty had dragged out of Aurora. But his legs were numb, the joints of his hand tingling from being clenched so tight. Having delivered her crushing final blow, Aurora straightened and turned, striding from the room like it was on fire and it was best if she exited in an orderly fashion.

But Suzaku managed to see out of the corner of his eye as he sightlessly stared out the window that she stopped before stepping out into the hallway, bracing a hand on the jamb and leaning against it. He could see a fraction of Aurora's profile, the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way her long fingers were pressed to her mouth.

He was safe. She was never going to push him for his ugliest secret again. So why did Suzaku feel like he was rotting inside?

She slowly turned around, one hand still against the wall, as if she needed the support, while the other lay over her mouth, as if she didn't trust herself to talk. He met her eyes with the hollowness of a ghost. Because it had taken him breaking everything to realize that Aurora's opinion of him mattered more than he could have ever admitted, especially to himself. That perhaps the Suzaku she saw was a Suzaku worth being. He tried to tell himself this was for the best, but he was busy drowning in how much he despised his own skin, bones, mind.

"Suzaku, I…" Now her voice trembled with tears, and he was inches from screaming, crying, jumping off a fucking cliff. Anything to relieve the burden of guilt at what he'd done to her for his own selfish gain. She lowered her hand and straightened, and Suzaku noticed that Aurora's hands were shaking. She drew a deep breath that sounded painful, rattling against the pressure in her chest. He personally felt like a building made of cement and lies had collapsed on him.

"I didn't mean that," she finally said. Suzaku wasn't sure why he'd assumed her voice would be weak. It was quiet, but clear. He met her eyes, and slowly shook his head.

"Yes, you did." He didn't even recognize the voice coming out of his mouth. He'd heard the hysterical tone to his accusations and insults from earlier before, but this? This was the tenor of a corpse.

"No, I didn't," Aurora argued, her voice gaining strength. She stepped closer, but only one step. There was too much distance between them now to breach so easily. Thanks to him. "That was acting out. Remember? That wasn't venting. I was just… hurt."

Suzaku closed his eyes against her tone. He didn't want to hear this, but how could he deny her now?

"I… I can live with myself if that's what you think of me. But…" Her voice trembled, then firmed. Aurora rolled her lips between her teeth as she struggled to recover the strength in her voice. "But I can't live with letting you think that's my opinion of you. It's not. It never has been, and it never will be."

Suzaku nodded. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know if he really believed her – how could Aurora be so forgiving? – but he couldn't let such heartfelt words go unacknowledged. Then, without warning, his lips opened, and he found himself speaking in a wooden tone.

"I don't think that of you, I just… I just can't tell you. I'm sorry, Aurora," apologizing for both his inability to tell her the truth and for what he'd said. He didn't know why he was retracting the statements earlier that had cost him so much, undoing all that was done to protect himself. Suzaku just couldn't stand the look on her face. She held her hand up to stop him before he continued.

"I'm sorry, too. What I said was beyond out of line. OK," she murmured with a deep, shuddering breath, the tears still thick in her lungs. "Why don't we give it some time? I think we need to think about some things, make some decisions before this goes any further."

Before he said anything else, she turned and walked away into the darkness of the hallway. The glow of the stair light spilled down into the hall when Aurora clicked it on, and Suzaku could hear her making her way upstairs. Her quiet command for Ban drew him out from where he'd pushed himself into the shadows by the stairs, slinking past the kitchen like he'd been beaten with a bat, attaching himself to his mistress's side with a pathetic series of whines and chatters.

After tonight's little episode, Suzaku wouldn't be surprised if Ban, or Aurora, for that matter, never looked at him, spoke to him, or even dealt with him ever again. It shocked Suzaku that the prospect hurt so badly. He had been certain that he'd made the right decision, the best for both of them. But now? Now Suzaku just felt nauseous, exhausted, and painfully stupid. Lashing out at Aurora because he'd felt backed into a corner like an animal. Ridiculous.

What had she called him? An asshat? That was pretty appropriate.

Sleep usually came on command – the hazard of being raised in an underground war zone. But that night, Aurora didn't sleep worth a damn. She caught a few hours here and there, but spent most of her time staring out the window, watching the moon move across the sky. She'd hoped that an indulgent half hour spent sobbing silently into her pillow would wear her out, but it just left her with a headache and itchy eyes. She finished two books that she hardly remembered, and set aside to reread again because no book deserved to be treated like that, dammit.

Finally giving up, she rose just after four am, getting ready in the pre-dawn silence. She'd heard Suzaku make his ponderous, three-legged way to his room sometime around one last night, but that was the last she'd heard of him, the door to his room still snuggly closed. After a long, hot shower and getting dressed in the most comfortable clothes she had that weren't pajamas, she stood for at least five minutes in the hallway between their doors, racked with indecision and bone-deep guilt. After a while, she shook her head and made her way downstairs. She had told him last night that they had a lot to think about, and that they needed to make some decisions before they talked again.

After fixing a light breakfast – her stomach still felt like it was laced with lead – Aurora grabbed her jacket and jogged out of the kitchen door and down the steps, wincing when the screen door closed with a bang. Ban enjoyed a chance to stretch his legs and thoroughly mark his new territory, again, and quickly arrowed away, leaping over the wall with perfect form.

He seemed to have recovered from last night, at least. He'd whined off and on for about an hour after they'd gone to bed, but had mercifully dropped off to sleep eventually. Ban had always been fairly sensitive to tension, but when it was between Aurora and Suzaku, he seemed to take it especially personally. Damn crazy dog. She vaulted the wall with a braced hand and a smooth leap, eager to cool any hot, sore spots left in the soft chill of dawn.

Shaking her head, briefly marking the weight and movement of hair that she'd been growing out for about a year, Aurora hiked to the top of a hill, the hem of her jeans thoroughly soaked from dew and her sturdy leather boots beaded with it. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she cocked her hips, and allowed herself a moment to admire the birthing sun.

Navy faded to cerulean. The sky blushed, the soft underbelly of the clouds rose-pink, their backs a dark, silvery lavender. As her eyes edged closer to the horizon, the pink burned, turning umber at the sky line. The sky seemed to wait for the sun to crest, warming its colors in preparation as the air remained chilly. To the west, purple and midnight held sway, a soft haze all that was left of a thick night. Clouds covered what stars have yet to fade except for the irrepressible evening star, the last of her brethren to shine as the sun begins to echo.

The mountains far from dawn's touch hummed a velvety black lilac. Aurora shivered, the breeze, which would normally be playful, biting with kitten teeth, needles almost small enough to numb. She traced her fingers along the seams in her jacket pockets as the sun painted the sky a sort of peach. There's even the fruit's fuzz, plump clouds sailing across the splash of color. To the south, the sky is shell blue, hinted green by the land at the horizon. The clouds started to bleed, and Aurora could see the sleek slip of dark that was her hound weaving through the grass below. Gold bleached to yellow like the yolk of an egg, her muscles twitching slightly against the cold and sudden stillness after exertion. The northern skies gave no quarter, still dark like a mourner's flowers as the clouds hovered like a bruise. She was waiting for that first moment of light, still pure and cold, as the breeze moves the trees and grass, the hint of salt carried farther than the sound of crashing waves. Light bled from cloud to cloud as the sun broke. Diamonds glittered on the black strand of land, and so began a day.

Ban trotted up next to her, his ears pricked as he gazed past her to some hapless rabbit, no doubt. She stroked a hand over his head, his ears flattening under the touch before popping up again. Chuckling as she looked up at the horizon, her hand still resting on the dog's soft, bony head, Aurora felt the last sharp, barbed edges of hurt slide away. Apologies still needed to be made, but, through the remorse, Aurora assured herself that, if Suzaku needed her, then she'd be there for him, no matter how badly they slapped at each other out of fear and pride. Because that was what had happened last night – an ugly clash of their fears and prides.

She didn't have the answers for what had gone wrong, and was beyond ashamed of her revolting reaction. But what was said was said, and both parties had recanted. So next was to find out if they could live with each other following the aftermath, and hopefully decide if the catalyst for last night – Suzaku's heroin addiction, obviously – should be forgotten or explored. Aurora prayed for the latter, but last night had been a solid warning to watch more closely where she stepped. She and Suzaku were obviously not as close as she'd lulled herself into thinking.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, scrubbing Ban's withers before traipsing down the hill. Back at the kitchen, she dried off Ban's paws before releasing the hound, pulling off her boots and rolling up her jeans to her ankles once she'd replaced her jacket. Glancing around with her hands on her hips, Aurora frowned. Nothing really needed a cleaning, and she wasn't sure if she was in the mood for a work-out.

As her eyes landed on a plate of covered scones, she smiled. Brianna O'Toole had come by a few days ago while Suzaku had been napping, bearing the gifts of a delicious casserole and enough scones to feed an army. A smile lighting up her eyes, Aurora quickly started braiding her hair back as she prepared for a cooking marathon. Her music set low and ready, most of her tools on the counters, and her hair snug away from her face, Aurora rolled up her sleeves, and dived in.

Some people cooked with something approaching a battle plan. Others played a game of hit-or-miss, often with extreme results. Aurora sat somewhere in the middle. She knew enough of the basics not to make anything too catastrophic, but loved to improvise and guess about the finer things that made the whole process fun. It had only taken a few disasters to learn the limits of the game, and, as per her usual, she thrived with a bit of chaos.

Hours passed. Ban snoozed on his bed by the laundry room, still worn out from his poor sleep the night before, watching Aurora closely for a break in her rhythm that would present an opportune time to head back outside. That backfired when she let him out, but was too immersed in flour and butter and music to see him patiently waiting to be let back in. In retaliation, Ban slept in her flower beds until two, when a buzzer sounded to signal a completed batch of snickerdoodles and Aurora realized that her dog was no longer in the house, let alone the kitchen. They had a grumbling conversation when Aurora let him back in, and agreed to disagree about how to deal with future situations of that nature. A light spanky was delivered, which was eventually nullified by Aurora giving Ban a malformed gingersnap.

By the time dinner rolled around, the acres of counter space were strewn with baked confections. Cookies of many different flavors and varieties, scones that ran the gamut of accompaniments, even a few cakes that smelled fairly scrumptious. The scents competed with a beef stew that had been sizzling all day, the meat local and most of the vegetables from the garden.

The sink was a graveyard of dishes, and Aurora, flushed from heat and contentment, sighed as she looked at it, forced to wash her hands in the laundry room, since there was no room around the bowls and measuring cups and utensils. When she came back out, she was startled to a stop to see Suzaku sitting silently at the table.

She hadn't seen him all day – he'd stayed well away from the kitchen even when she'd stepped out for a few minutes. He looked pale and exhausted, his broad, strong shoulders almost bowed around himself, as if he was hunching down over a wound. His right hand rested on the table, clenched into a fist. Suzaku gazed at it as if when he opened his hand, the answers would spring from his palm.

Clearing her throat, Aurora finished drying her hands – she'd forgotten when she'd caught sight of Suzaku – and shut off the music. In the silence that seemed to vibrate in its wake, she poured a mug of tea from the kettle she'd been nursing all day, the drink strong and bitter. She took a sip as she sized up his expression, and decided that he looked unhappy, but resigned.

"Can I get you anything to eat?"

He finally looked up at her, and the regret swimming in his eyes made Aurora's stomach lurch.

"No," he managed to say, his voice rusty as if he hadn't used it all day. She nodded slowly, feeling awkward when he didn't say anything else. Sipping her tea again, she clicked the crock pot to low and laid a sheet of saran wrap over her most recent batch of cookies. Chocolate chip, the way Aurora imagined most grandmothers made them. She was about to say something – she didn't know what – when Suzaku beat her to it.

"I was wondering if you would sit down for a minute."

Raising her brow slightly at the repeat of her opening line last night, which had marked an auspiciously awful occasion, she sat down slowly. Aurora couldn't be sure if she was reluctant, or if she was afraid of spooking him. He did have the fear of a wild animal in his eyes, but also the haggard edges of a wounded one.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, rushing on before she could say anything in return. "I know it doesn't mean much, but I have to say it. What I said last night was completely uncalled for. I said it because… because I was afraid. Of what you'll think. Of what I have to say." When he didn't continue, apparently lost wrestling with his own head, Aurora dared speak.

"Say what?" she said, very quietly. When he caught her gaze again, Suzkau's eyes were anguished.

"Why. How. I'm an addict, Aurora. And I hate myself for it, more than I can possibly express."

Feeling the tears welling in her chest, Aurora willed them down, certain that such a display was the last thing Suzaku needed to see. She quickly realized what he was doing. This was another apology, but it was also Suzaku reaching out. He was splaying his darkest parts before her in return for the hurt he'd caused. But he was also hoping that she wouldn't judge him, reject him, for a truth he'd pushed her away to hide. Feeling a part of her shivering with fear, warming with trust, Aurora extended her hand, her muscles even and sure. She carefully smoothed out his clenched fist, wrapping her fingers gently around his as she stroked her thumb over the hard, strong ridges of his knuckles. Looking into his eyes, she squeezed very gently, hoping that her support, unwavering and fair, would suffice for her apology, one he desperately needed, no matter what he said.

"Tell me," she said. His eyes still on hers, he did.

Following Nunnally's coronation, Suzaku eventually achieved a sort of grudging contentment. He was far from happy, but he was functioning, and fulfilling his duty relieved some of the guilt that still clung to him like cobwebs. He was still disheartened, but going through the motions didn't feel like such a terrible lie.

And then, about a year ago, the nightmares started. At first, he'd just wake up miserable and out of breath – that was almost usual for him, something he'd already been struggling with for years. But as the dreams became more vivid, more destructive, he'd been forced to start engaging the security lock around his wing at night – guards had run to his suite, banging on the locked, reinforced door, demanding to know if Lord Zero was alright, when he woke up screaming and writhing like he'd been stabbed at three in the morning. Almost a week of this urged him to adjust the sound-proofing system that made his wing impossible to tap to also block out sound during the night. That way, no one else was disturbed by the echoes of his insanity.

On their own, he could have handled the nightmares – he'd been enduring them practically all his life. But around the same time, Suzaku had experienced a growth spurt that had nearly crippled him. Four inches gained in a year was no mean feat, and he was constantly tormented. Not only was it becoming impossible for him to sleep, but the physical agony was overwhelming.

Suzaku tolerated it for six months. An average, healthy man perhaps could have held out longer. But when combined with a grief he refused to acknowledge and a lingering death wish that resurfaced with a vengeance, Suzaku was floundering.

So he gave up. Pressing his eyes closed, like he was admitting to the worst of crimes, he told Aurora of how he'd stopped fighting, giving in to the demand for relief. He didn't want Refrain – the past was a hellhole for him, the last place he wanted to go. It was surprisingly easy to get access to heroin. The first time he injected himself, he almost passed out from the sheer fear at his stupidity. But he'd been without sleep for three days, and had hallucinated Euphemia in the courts earlier that afternoon. He couldn't survive another day like that.

In a disturbingly short amount of time, it became his crutch. He couldn't function without it; for a while, he believed that he was even better with it. He could sleep again, if only with the introduction of the heroin into his bloodstream. His nightmares were drugged into silence, and the pain was alleviated more and more every day. Even as he'd known it was weak and wrong, he'd been powerless to survive without it.

Aurora stood at this point, and Suzaku's shoulders went hard as steel, looking up at her with heart wrenching eyes that clearly said he expected her to leave, to have had enough of him. Instead, she walked over next to her chair, and crouched down. Gently cupping the back of his neck, she drew him down until his forehead rested against hers. With a shudder, he gasped, then went limp, their eyes closing while he gripped her hand as the shaking tore through his body like a hurricane.

Aurora realized that she'd been wrong that morning. It wasn't that she and Suzaku weren't close; they were too close. How many times had he lost those allowed into his inner circle, had seen his confidences betrayed and hopes detonated? Of course he'd push her away – she'd been stupid to think otherwise, to assume she could barge her way into his most fragile secrets. He was a soldier; it went without saying that he'd put up a fight. It was apparently their day for stupidity. Maybe neither of them were as clever as they thought, not if they allowed something like this to erupt and wound them both.

Finally, the shaking faded, leaving only the occasional tremor to skip across Suzaku's muscles. Aurora allowed him to draw back, but didn't release his hand nor move from where she was. He had to hear this – if she had to pound it into his thick head, he had to believe this.

"You're allowed to be weak, Suzaku. Being weak is the most consistent thing we humans can depend on. But that's not what matters. What matters is moving beyond that weakness, and never allowing this particular one to consume you again."

"But what if I can't?" He sounded so desperate. Not even in the midst of combat had his voice ever been that afraid.

"I know you can," she answered simply.

"How?"

Carefully, cognizant of all the ground between them that had been razed and healed in such a short time, Aurora laid her palm on his cheek.

"Because I know that while you're fragile, damaged, incredibly angry, and immensely hurt, you are also strong. Stronger than anyone I know or will ever know. And I know with that strength, you'll move beyond this. You're not an automaton, Suzaku. You can doubt yourself, fear your failures. But I believe a boy that brought the world to its knees while still in his teens can face his demons and emerge triumphant. So, in my opinion, you have nothing to doubt, nothing to fear."

He gazed at her silently, his eyes huge and wounded and bright.

"I'm so much less than what you see. Why can't you admit that?"

Aurora could sense that Suzaku was pushing for an answer he kept on expecting; she'd just have to keep proving him wrong until he figured out it was never coming.

"How can I possibly condemn you for confiding in me your darkest moments when you've never done the same when I divulged mine?"

He shook his head, but not hard enough to dislodge her hand.

"I don't deserve that kind of fairness."

She hated the way he spoke – the hollow, mechanical words of a man too beaten to know better.

"You more than most, my friend. Honestly, it's pretty much impossible to blame you for turning to that kind of comfort. I know it's hard to bear, but it's your greatest attribute. Not your strength or speed or skill. Your humanity. That well of empathy and compassion and kindness that cost you so much. It drives me crazy that someone so essentially good was so completely screwed over. And I will do everything in my power to right that imbalance, any way I can."

His eyes widened at her words, at the promise she'd been holding inside until she thought he was ready. She didn't know if Suzaku could hear it, but it was damn well time he should.

"I don't know about any of that, Aurora, but thank you for listening. I… I was so afraid of what you would say. I couldn't stand it, or myself." His words went quiet with confession, and she couldn't help her wry smile.

"I'm not a saint, Suzaku. You should know by now that I have my own reams of mistakes. I have no right to judge. I just want to help. You've been too long without the simplest aid. A little because you push help away like it's poison, but mostly because the world has forgotten to extend a hand. I don't want to make a promise that will be broken despite my best intentions, but I will promise you this. If you ever come to me for help, I swear to do everything in my power to be what you need. I'll never abandon you, Suzaku. As long as you leave me with that choice, I will always try to be what you need."

His hand tightened on hers, and it was an action more worthy of triumph than any eager agreements.

"There's nothing to change. You've given me more than anyone – I'd be an idiot to ask you to be anyone other than who you are. And I've been enough of an idiot today."

It was the first smile she'd seen from him since this whole ordeal started, and that, more than his apologies and revelations, told her that they were back on even ground.

"Well, I haven't been exactly stellar, either. But the promise stands."

"I can't say if I'll ever take you up on it, but I'm very grateful that you thought to make it. It means more than you probably know."

Aurora was shocked speechless when, hesitantly and a little awkwardly, Suzaku drew her into a hug. She was motionless for a moment, until the weight of his action got through the haze astonishment had thrown over her brain, and she wrapped her arms around him. Aurora could feel the beat of his heart, and knew, with a crushing sort of finality, that she was now tied to it. And that he'd break her heart before this was done.

Chapter Text

The old tradition of a witch riding her broom was a disrespectful product of many years of religious assimilations and overwritings, mostly by Britannia's order of priests working under the Emperor's wishes. It stemmed from an ancient convention of a woman of power using a carefully crafted broom to sweep out negativity from her home. Aurora had been around enough interesting company to learn of the old tale, and although she wasn't a practitioner or of any particularly blessed bloodline, the superstition blended with her natural tendencies towards occasionally manic cleaning. So, although she was content with the resolution to their titanic explosion of a disagreement, Aurora felt the need to gain a little personal closure.

So, as politely as possible, she kicked Suzaku and Bannock out of the house not long after breakfast the next day. Although she'd been cleaning the house on a regular basis since they'd arrived, a deep cleaning would alleviate any last bruises she carried and also give her and Suzaku some time to regroup privately. There was a great deal of information she was working to absorb, and mopping the floors and dusting practically every surface of the house would help her do so. She also hoped with a great deal more investment than she knew was wise that Suzaku was also considering what they'd talked about.

With her music plugged in and booming loud enough to rattle the panes in the windows, she set about her task, starting in the upstairs study and making her methodical way down. Ban had protested the banishment, sulkily following Suzaku down the steps and out into the garden, still a little prickly from all the emotion that had swirled through the house over the last few days. He usually knew what to do on cleaning days, but Aurora wanted some time to herself and him out from underfoot. There had been a memorable instance in London when she'd chased him out of the house like a slightly deranged avenging angel armed with a still-dripping mop and a dusty broom when he'd trotted across her just-mopped floor with muddy paws – that was not an episode she wanted a repeat of today.

Following her baking spree yesterday, the kitchen was the area most in need of her attention. Aurora worked her way through the battlefield she'd indulgently left behind the day before. Once the mountain of dishes had been tackled and the counters set to rights, she turned her attention to the floor. A solid week of grubby paws and walks outside in any weather only to return to the kitchen had left her with some serious work. But after more than a month of emotional challenges, physical work was something she could get her teeth into with relish.

When a particularly ridiculous song clicked on, Aurora felt her mouth quirk as she swiped the mop across the floor, the suds cutting through the grime as the first chords rippled across the air. She was humming along before she knew it, the quick words tripping off her tongue, the roll to her hips and quick steps in time with the beat instinctive. With no regard to form or technique, she whipped around, using the mop as both ballast and support, singing loud and with zero regard to how closely she hit the notes about the preposterous attributes required in a man. As she managed to erratically clean the floor while gleefully bouncing around the kitchen, Aurora relaxed, her shoulders going soft as she struck out her hand, running seductive fingers through her messy, brutally bundled hair.

Surrounded by the song, alone and free of judgment, Aurora greedily gripped the fun she'd been struggling to keep alive since she'd come to this house. Until her entire world had collapsed like a house of cards, Aurora had never realized how much it mattered to her, how it kept her heart safer than all the walls she'd spent entirely too much energy building. With a dependability that had never once disappointed her, the music swept Aurora away, rinsing the worry and strain from her muscles and leaving a shine, both sweet and bright, in its wake.

Suzaku was celebrating his final removal of the sling he'd worn for over a month with a solid romp over the hills with the gray hound at his side. Aurora hadn't exactly been subtle, both in her exile of them from the house and her refusal to his offers for help. But it was hard to complain; he still found it bizarrely easy to take comfort from the land, from the quiet breeze that ruffled his hair and the rustle of leaves that seemed to move along his skin. A simple walk certainly had never been this restorative back in Aurelius. And Ban's muted, kind presence either at his side or the edges of his awareness kept any loneliness he might feel at bay, his eager explorations urging Suzaku to walk just a little longer. After his relapse following Galway, Suzaku had been pushing himself, walking farther every day, demanding a return to strength he didn't always know if he could achieve.

But it was getting easier, even if the changes seemed too minute to matter. At the very least, he could move his shoulder now, if he was extremely careful. Aurora had been creative with her threats when she'd warned him not to push any part of his upper left body too hard, too fast. And she made the drill sergeants he'd endured as a youth seem downright delicate in comparison to how she drove him through physical therapy, always with an encouraging smile and a steely glint in her eyes. Any inkling of ignoring her warnings was all but incinerated under the punishing exercises she yanked him through – it was miserable, frustrating work, but between her determination and his desperation, the pair of them were dragging Suzaku back into fighting condition. Because he knew – dreaded or anticipated, he wasn't sure – that there was a fight waiting for him back in Britannia. And if Suzaku was going to avoid failing Nunnally again, then he needed to be able to win that fight, decisively and without hesitation. In order to do that, no matter how much it grated, he had to follow Kendra and Aurora's instructions to the letter. Because reinjury wasn't even an option. Not after the misery he'd suffered so far.

So Suzaku contented himself with walking the property, wondering how far he could go before he left the land belonging to Chandler and Kendra. There were no fences but ancient walls to speak of, and it was difficult to say if those were accurate. When he'd brought it up to Aurora, she'd just shrugged with a smile, saying that if he wasn't supposed to go anywhere, there'd be a current-enough fence to warn him.

After making his way north for some time, Suzaku cut back down in a southwestern direction, moving in an arc around the house. He'd become fond of the oak tree on the western half of the property. Deciding to take the time to enjoy the dappled sunlight, a gentle hint of approaching summer, Suzaku carefully sat next to the trunk, Ban trotting over and curling at his side without encouragement, like he knew that was where he was needed, where he belonged. Suzaku couldn't help but envy the dog's simple certainty of his place.

He often found himself sitting here after a walk to rest up before heading back to the house, or just to achieve some time alone. Even when he wasn't in Aurora's company, the house seemed to breathe with her, reverberating with her movements and radiating her energy. Even when she wasn't physically around, it was as if Aurora was always there. Suzaku found it comforting most of the time, and supposed it was a testament to her strength of will that even her environment had no choice but to mirror her incredible vigor. But it could be downright exhausting, living in the echo of that power, especially when he was still struggling with his enduring sense of inadequacy. Never had Suzaku felt so dark than when standing in the presence of such a bright light.

Yet Aurora had given him a choice. To languish in the darkness he'd assigned himself, thrown into shadow by her. Or, perhaps, to take in the light she so eagerly shared. It was terrifying, but tempting. He still didn't know what path to take, caught between the options in a sort of paralyzed indecision. But more and more Suzaku had caught himself yearning for something he'd believed lost. Something he'd long ago sacrificed for a cause he'd since forgotten to force himself to believe in.

He caught himself wondering, though. Aurora's certainty, her intense belief, was seductive, enough so that he contemplated if there were parts of himself not yet dead. Just dormant, like seeds surviving a nuclear winter. His hand paused from its smooth strokes over Bannock's ridged spine, balling into a fist over his shoulder blades. Suzaku tipped his head back against the rough bark of the trunk, waiting for the wave of nausea and chills that took him in its sweaty grip every time he allowed himself to consider her positivity, to consider himself something not necessarily worthy of swift euthanization.

But it never came. Maybe a quick shadow of it, but it passed almost before he felt it. It left Suzaku blinking into the mottled sunlight in its wake, breathing a little hard as his skin prickled. He had no illusions about his future, but he wondered how his time here could be, this brief sanctuary from his duties, if he allowed himself a chance to be something other than a penitent sinner.

It was too much to consider, a boatload of hope and risk that he simply couldn't grapple with right now. But it didn't have to be dismissed just to keep him from losing his mind. Maybe, in time, Suzaku could face those questions with the personal honesty Aurora was adamant he owed himself.

But for now, he just sat, breathing in the smell of grass and wood and the faint, sweet tickle of the flowers from the gardens. With conscious command, he loosened his hand, resuming his slow strokes over Ban's fur. The dog had raised his head and gazed at Suzaku during his mental wrestling, but now dropped his head back to his paws, his eyes drifting shut as Suzaku smoothed his fingers over the dog's brows, following the whorl of hair around his ears and under his navy collar. As he rubbed the juncture of Ban's neck and shoulder blade, the dog leaned into the contact, grunting quietly as his eyes drifted closed, slightly glazed with happy, greedy comfort.

Suzaku took his time, consciously enjoying the gorgeous weather and pleasant company. As he continued petting the deliriously contented dog, Bannock flopped over on his side, Suzaku wincing at the way his head thunked against the ground. He moved his palm over the dog's broad ribcage, garnering a lazy stretch of long legs hard enough to separate long toes and curling long, broad claws. Dropping his head back against the sturdy oak, Suzaku continued passing his hand over Ban's silky coat, drawing up his knee to shield and support his injured arm as his eyes slid shut. A soft breeze scented with the earth and air stirred his hair and brushed against his skin like silken fingertips.

When his eyes flickered open again, Suzaku could tell by the position of the sun that at least an hour had passed since he and Ban had plopped themselves under the shade of the oak's leaves. Ban know sat pressed against his side, Suzaku's arm draped over the dog's strong, bony shoulders, looking out over the hills and house with a quick gaze the color of his mistress's tea. When Suzaku straightened slightly against the tree, Ban whipped his eyes around, suddenly panting in a dog's facsimile of a grin. Smiling at the happy greeting and grimacing at the faceful of dog breath, Suzaku gently nudged Ban's face away as he creakily made his way to his feet.

"I suppose we better go check on your mama," Suzaku murmured to Ban as he cautiously stretched, who immediately howled low in his throat in agreement before dancing back and forth in encouragement. A low, gravelly laugh tripped from Suzaku's throat as he affectionately scrubbed his hand along the hound's spine. He'd laughed more here while recovering from critical injuries than in the last five years. It seemed pointless to wonder what that said about his life.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Tucking his hands in his pockets, marveling at the fact that he could now do it with both hands, Suzaku headed back towards the house, Ban trotting ahead with his gazelle-long stride. As he rounded the banks of flowers and carefully hopped onto the gravel path, Suzaku paused when he caught sight of Ban again.

Instead of standing on the step by the kitchen door, wagging his tail and nudging the door frame with his nose or paw, maybe even barking in that low, lilting voice of his, the dog instead sat, his tail draped over the steps as he silently peered through the screen, his ears up and his eyes wide.

Suzaku furrowed his brows as he smiled at Ban, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior. He hadn't yet reached the bank of windows when he could make out Aurora's voice over the pounding drive of the music. As Suzaku drew nearer, the appreciative grin stole over his face without conscious control, easily reading the eager power in her singing. As he cleared the corner of the house, though, and finally caught sight of her through the screened kitchen door, Suzaku stilled in blank shock.

Aurora was grace personified, in Suzaku's opinion. Elegant, lethal, and achingly beautiful. Yet the woman dancing in the kitchen… wasn't. She was grubby, vaguely ridiculous, and so ecstatically oblivious that she didn't notice Suzaku and Ban peering at her dumbly in the doorway. She swayed and rocked, her face twisted into exaggerated expressions that mirrored the lyrics, popping out of her mouth so quickly they almost stumbled over the tails of each other. The words darted through the air like crazed sparrows, Aurora occasionally losing pace, making up for it with an especially fierce expression as the singer listed her dubious requirements in a man.

Whirling around her mop like it was an unwilling partner, Aurora proceeded to scoot backwards across the floor in time with the music, leading with her butt and tugging the mop along with her. It was terribly hilarious, and Suzaku pressed his fingers to his lips to hold back the barking giggle that wanted to burst out. It was enlightening – beautiful, skilled Aurora danced like a loon when no one was watching. He had no doubt she could be smooth and sinuous when she wanted. But now, Aurora moved with spastic abandon.

The singer's range was too brassy and high for Aurora to follow faithfully; that, however, did not encourage her to hold back on volume or vigor. She was singing with everything she had, regardless of tone or accuracy. In a way, Suzaku had to admire the uninhibited manner in which Aurora obviously enjoyed herself, the forceful push of sound from deep in her lungs as she wiggled and bounced seemed to purge her more than any blood-letting or bone-breaking. In that silly glitter of pleasure, Suzaku could almost see her remaking herself.

Suddenly, the song shifted, and, using her mop's handle as a microphone surrogate, Aurora began to belt out what appeared to be the only substantial singing in the song. It still wasn't quite in her range, but Aurora nonetheless gave it an intensity that sent shivers down Suzaku's spine. Squeezing her eyes shut, demanding that her man stayed, singing about runaway heartbeats and their bass tempos, Aurora spun, her brow knitted and her grip on the mop like she was afraid where she'd end up if she let go.

For a moment, she was radiant. Stunning in her personal fire, fleet water tumbling over limber wood. Then, she gave an exaggerated twist of her hips, and she was once again twirling around the kitchen in a bad approximation of a dance he knew she was butchering on purpose. Because it was fun, and who would care?

In the closing beats of the song, she struck a glamorous pose made off-kilter by her spotted purple t-shirt, bright blue toenails, and listing, wild hair. She was breathing a little hard, the mop head sad and dirty like a grumpy cohort. Suzaku swallowed back his laughter, cleared his throat, then raised his hands and began to slowly clap.

She reeled around like he'd shot her. For a moment, her eyes flew wide, blank with surprise and assessment. Then, the flush in Aurora's cheeks doubled, staining her face and neck like spilled juice. Gingerly, she leaned the mop against the counter, rubbing her fingers through the hair falling into her eyes like it was its fault that she'd been caught. She trudged over the wet floor to the door with her face flaming and a weak smile hovering around her lips. Aurora opened her mouth to say something, but Suzaku beat her to it.

"Sorry. I didn't want to come in until you were finished. I'd hate to muck up your clean floor." There was a shimmer of laughter under the words, try as he might to control them. Aurora just laughed, weak and hoarse, before rubbing her hands dry on her dark gray sweatpants, her entire demeanor shrieking embarrassment.

"Ah… no problem." She couldn't seem to find it in herself to say anything else.

"Shall I head around front?" he offered brightly. "I can make sure Ban's paws are wiped off if you've got a towel handy."

Aurora bobbed her head in agreement.

"Sure. Let me grab one," she managed, her voice shrilly bright, still scrabbling to recover. Quickly hunting up an appropriate rag from the laundry, she trotted back to hand it to her uninvited audience. Suzaku stepped backwards with the towel in hand, patting his thigh to call Ban like he'd seen Aurora do, who seemed uninterested now that the show was over.

As Suzaku stepped away from the door, Aurora still scrambled to recover her wits. That had been… excessively unfortunate. She didn't mind dancing in front of people, she reminded herself when she finally trudged to the laundry room to get the towel to dry the floor. She'd built several covers on the fact that she didn't, and she usually liked it. But not like that, Aurora thought with a groan, pausing with the towel in her hands to bang her forehead off the wall a few times.

Treacherous floor. It didn't mind letting her dance all over it, but when she wanted the damn thing to open and swallow her, it had been stubbornly uncooperative. She couldn't quite figure it out – such a thing happening not even a couple months ago might have made her a little embarrassed, but she would have just shrugged and grinned and teased the other person until she felt they were back on even keel. So why did it freak her out so badly that Suzaku saw her not up to her usual standards, acting like an idiot and looking like a grimy chambermaid? Why did it matter?

Well, it shouldn't. She was certain of that. Almost. Kind of.

Whatever. Stomping to the center of the kitchen, she took a second to grab up her armor, her attitude, and slot it firmly into place. As she began to glide the towel across the floor with her toes, she looked up just in time to see the boys striding into the foyer, looking wind-tousled and gorgeous, the both of them. Looking away, she groaned, the noise so quiet it barely vibrated her throat, waiting until she was out of sight again before digging the heels of her hands into her eyes and dragging her palms down her cheeks.

Maybe if she just pretended like nothing had happened, Suzaku would just forget about it.

Suzaku was certain that he'd never forget that afternoon for the rest of his life. Even now, in the quiet of the evening after dinner, he played it over in his head as the trio retired to the parlor. In what had become their habit, Suzaku folded his limbs onto the surprisingly comfortable brocade chair with the worn spots at the ends of the armrests while Aurora stretched out along the neatly recovered couch, Ban curled up at her feet. He scribbled out rough sketch after rough sketch, determined to immortalize Aurora's display of inelegant dancing. The sketches were never to be shown to anyone, least of all the subject, since Suzaku didn't want to test the extent of Aurora's creativity when it came to vengeance, as he expected it was expansive, and blood-chilling. But he was certain that any time he looked at them, they'd bring a smile to his face. To know that joy could be easy, and freedom so simple. And that such a stunning woman could be such an utter goofball.

Even now, he smiled to himself, rubbing a finger over the tip of his nose to hide the expression from Aurora's keen eyes. He really needn't have bothered, though. Aurora was thoroughly engrossed in her novel, quickly flipping through the final pages as she raced towards an ending she probably already knew but was deliriously eager to experience again. She made a small, excited keening noise, and Suzaku braced his elbows on the arms of the chair, intently watching the facial expressions flicker and fade across her face in rapid succession. He could tell when she was nearing the final resolution, as a huge smile began to edge across her pretty mouth, practically glinting off her glasses, it was so bright.

As her eyes skipped across the final sentence, Aurora softly flipped the book closed, pressing it to her chest and wiggling on the couch in a seated approximation of a happy dance, cheerful little trills sounding from her throat. Finally, she set the book down on the floor next to her, and with a huge sigh, laced her fingers together, inverted her palms, and stretched her arms out in front of her before arcing them over her head. Suzaku felt his eyes widen, however, when, instead of stopping above or just behind her head, Aurora's hands kept going, her upper body bowing back over the arm rest until her palms pressed against the floor and her ponytail pooled on the rug, her spine curled like a cresting wave.

Even as Suzaku's mouth went bone dry, he swallowed nervously. Every curve and muscle from Aurora's hips up was highlighted in stark relief. His blood pounded so loud in his ears, he could hardly hear himself think. Not that he had any idea what to think, really. Except damn, the woman was supple as a sapling. A stretch of delicate skin along her midriff had been revealed by her stretch, along with the silvered scar just under the left edge of her waist that was unmistakably an old bullet wound. Aurora's parting gift from Nikolai, the slug that had set her free. The undeniable fact that she was strong enough to survive it, to fight through it, made Suzaku's breath faintly wheeze.

It lasted maybe ten seconds, before Aurora easily righted herself, readjusted her glasses, and squirmed her toes under Ban's rump like she hadn't just bent herself in half. Suzaku, however, was no closer to gathering his thoroughly scattered thoughts, his pencil dangling from limp fingers and his pulse pounding like he was holding his breath. With a startled inhalation, he realized he was. Suzaku didn't have the faintest idea what all this meant, except that he'd rather face down an armed contingent with a butter knife than try to flop his way through this confusion and tension.

Aurora very slowly slid her eyes over to his without turning her head, her expression completely neutral behind the lenses of her glasses. But as she held his eyes for what felt like a year before looking back to Ban and cooing to the hound, Suzaku got an answer to at least one of his myriad of questions too sizzling hot to even consider. Aurora's version of revenge was brutal, sly, and impossible to predict. No doubt about it, the woman was dangerous. And, apparently, exquisite enough to turn Suzaku's brain to mush.

Shocked into a flurry of blinking, he realized with a dazed sort of dawning that there was a part of him, woven deep down in the bone where instinct pulsed, that liked it.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Chapter Text

Forgoing his usual walk, Suzaku accidentally fell asleep outside in the sun. His time in Ireland had largely been marked by quiet sunshine and soft clouds, so he was taken off guard when the overcast skies gave way to hard sun during his impromptu nap. He'd folded himself on the hard bench by the rear gardens, crossing his arms and tipping the hat he'd worn in Galway down until the bill shaded his eyes. He dreamed of broken glass and bent needles, beautiful lilies that became stained with blood.

The enduring sense of unease and phantom pain nudged Suzaku awake, and he had to resist the urge to rub at the lingering ache in his shoulder and arm. It wasn't the unpleasant dreams that pushed him into alertness, though. It took a moment for him to gain his bearings, the easy drift of this place dulling his ability to awaken immediately and completely. But Suzaku quickly identified the haunting noise that trembled through the air and tugged him awake – Aurora was singing.

It wasn't like the song from a few days ago in the kitchen; there was no wild joy or silly fun today. She was unaccompanied, the only melody the one crafted by her voice, lovely and powerful and sorrowful. Still slightly addled by the bitter tang of his dream, it took Suzaku a moment to comprehend the words, to realize that she sang a dirge, a bitter old folk song about an executed man and the love he left behind only too eager to follow where he'd gone without her. Slowly sitting up and righting his hat, Suzaku stood, following the soft velvet of Aurora's song to where she knelt amongst the flowers.

Her hair was neatly braided and gilded by the bright, nearly brutal sun. Already grubbied with soil, her hands patted and pulled, weeded and worked, her eyes seeing something far beyond the blooms in her palms. She crooned to the flowers, gently touching their petals once they were cared for. Hooking his hands in his pockets, Suzaku listened to her sing her mournful song while she babied the blooms. Her last vibrating notes rippled through the balmy air, and she finally looked up at him, her eyes warm and a little wet.

"That was beautiful," he finally murmured, surprised by how affected he was by a simple song. Aurora's mouth crooked, her luminous eyes dropping back down to the red, blue, and purple flowers.

"Thanks. That was George's favorite song. He loved the irony of it."

Moving slowly, his joints protesting as he folded his legs, Suzaku sat down next to her among the flowers, watching the way her clever hands nurtured.

"Do you always sing to your flowers?" he asked with a note of humor, trying to glean a laugh out of her. For some bizarre reason, despite the half-smile on her face and the soothing activity, Suzaku got the sense that Aurora was in pain.

"Sometimes. But I don't sing about the tree except on the day of the year that George died."

That silenced Suzaku more effectively than if she'd slapped him. He looked at her with a pained sort of awe. How could she tend to flowers and sing gentle songs on the anniversary of the day that had nearly destroyed her? She'd told Suzaku that losing George had nearly been the loss of herself, yet she spoke with self-possession, moved with a grace more quiet than her typical cadence.

"I…" God, he wanted to apologize, to give her anything to validate her mourning. But she just flashed that half-smile again before glancing at him out of the corner of her eye with a small shake of her head.

"It's alright, Suzaku. It was a long time ago." She glanced at the house, the sky, before returning her eyes to her work. "I do it for him, but also for me, too. For a while, all I wanted was to forget, to get a revenge that would erase my helplessness. But that didn't work." Her tone was ironic, even though Suzaku could keenly understand what she meant. "So the only way I could survive the grief was to mourn, and move on," Aurora said with a shrug. "Singing his favorite song on the anniversary is a way to do both, I suppose. At first, it was sort of like pissing out a house fire. But, as time went on and I kept trying, it got easier. Now, well… it's nice." Settling back on her haunches, she glanced over at him, the silver in her eyes softening as she flicked a fingertip over his chin.

"You fell asleep outside, didn't you? Your chin is sunburned." Now that she mentioned it, Suzaku noticed a faint prickling along the skin of his chin and jaw. Cautiously running his palm along his stubble, he winced at the faint sting against his skin at the drag.

"I suppose I did." His small, twisted smile faded into wide-eyed stillness when Aurora reached back up and gently twirled her fingers into the hair curling behind his ear.

"You've got some gold in your hair from the sun. You're looking good, Suzaku."

Anything would be better, he was sure, than the pale, gaunt, hollow-eyed ghost he'd become over the past few years. He felt heat that had nothing to do with the sun tickle his cheekbones, and ducked his eyes, completely incapable of accepting her compliment. Aurora tugged at the lock of hair still woven between her fingertips, forcing him to meet her eyes again.

"I mean it. You've come a long way from death's door, Suzaku. You should be proud of that. It matters."

"To you more than most," he said quietly. She just rolled her eyes with a tiny smile as she returned her hand to her lap.

"Yeah, well." Bracing against her knees, Aurora stood, dusting her hands off against her equally grubby jeans before knocking her braid over her shoulder with the back of her hand. As she stepped around him, Aurora lightly trailed her fingertips over his shoulder, leaving a whisper of electric heat in the wake of her touch. Watching as she walked to the back of the house, Suzaku waited until the kitchen door closed with a bang before turning his eyes forward to the middle distance, propping his chin on his folded fingers. He thought about a beautiful woman mourning the dead even as she cherished the living. It was an incredible dichotomy that he hadn't even thought was possible, certainly never for himself. But her quiet song almost made him want to try.

He was finishing his breakfast when Aurora trotted down the stairs Thursday morning, Ban following her like a clumsy shadow. Instead of her usual uniform of jeans, a tank top, and a button-down shirt, she wore dark gray jogging pants and a ratty sky blue t-shirt that reminded "Just remember if we get caught, I'm deaf and you don't speak Standard." Almost snorting his juice as she finished tying back her hair, it dawned on Suzaku as she tapped the toe of her frankly impressive black running shoes against the floor that she was going jogging. A fizzle of envy suddenly lit the itch of restlessness that had been burrowing under his skin for days into a scorching need, and Suzaku wanted to join her more than he had ever wanted heroin.

Leaping to his feet with enough force to nearly topple his almost empty glass, the clatter of silverware succeeded in getting Aurora's wide-eyed attention from filling a water bottle as Suzaku's brain raced to think of a way to convince her that he could manage a run. When nothing eloquent came to mind, he simply asked.

"You're going running, right? Can I come with you?"

Aurora's quicksilver eyes narrowed in consideration at his almost breathlessly eager question as she tilted her head, and Suzaku was positive that she was going to say no. He considered, and dismissed, argument after argument, mostly because he'd already used them all.

"OK. You can break in your running shoes. Not the ones with the red on them – grab the all-black ones."

Suzaku was thundering up the stairs before she finished speaking. Less than a hundred seconds passed before he joined her again in the kitchen in the specified shoes, black, green-piped sweatpants, and a t-shirt the color of blood. His brace peeked out from under the edge of his left sleeve, and he slipped sunglasses on, since the sun was warm and tricky today. She just smiled, and jerked her head in the direction of the door, Ban noodling after them like a furry eel.

Since he didn't know the terrain, Suzaku followed Aurora's lead. They used a straight hike up the hill behind the house to warm up, going through some cursory stretches at the top before setting off. Almost immediately, Suzaku strained against her pace. It was easy, almost lazy, and his blood burned for more, even as he keyed into her movements. Because he'd forgotten how much he liked this.

The healthy pounding of his feet against the ground, the stretch and glide of warming muscles, the thorough beat of his blood. It felt like everything in him was waking the hell up. Suzaku had run in the past; as a kid to gain endurance to Todoh's standards, as a recruit just to survive, as a knight to keep him at peak fighting shape, and as Zero to keep him from losing his mind. But he realized now that when the heroin had taken the edge off his pain, it had completely ground the edge off his drive.

Suzaku frowned as he realized to the thud of footsteps that the heroin hadn't just killed the hurt in him – it had killed the fight in him, as well. And wasn't that what he was, down at his very core? He fought, so that others wouldn't have to. Somewhere along the way, through all the lies and loss and downright fucking insanity, he'd lost that truth. Odd that now, jogging at Aurora's side in the Irish sunshine, he got it back.

And wasn't that magnificent? If he was being honest, everything was. Suzaku couldn't ask for more stunning terrain, jogging partners, or head space. Even the warm weather was gorgeous, the sun peeking in and out behind ivory clouds that looked like they'd been daubed onto the canvas of the sky with an angular sable brush. Eager notes scrawled through his brain about how he could reproduce this, and maybe finally tap into the acrylic and oil paints that still intimidated him. Bannock loped beside them, occasionally arrowing off to investigate whatever it was the dog deemed irresistible before returning to their sides with a long, elastic gait. Even running, Aurora was elegant, her movements balletic and her stride easily as long as his. It was perfect.

For about ten minutes.

He didn't even know how far they had gotten before the cramps started up and his breaths got shorter and shorter. The blood singing through Suzaku's veins started to burn, and he had to grit his teeth as he adjusted the tempo of his inhales to alleviate a snarling stitch in his side, to no avail. Almost, immediately, without a word or whimper from him, Aurora dropped to a walk. Suzaku wanted to protest – after all, they'd only just started! But when he couldn't even get enough air to complain, maybe he was better off throttling back.

Finally, Aurora stopped walking, and Suzaku braced his hands against his knees, panting hard enough to rock his entire frame.

"I used… to be able to run… five miles in under… twenty five minutes," he bitterly muttered between his gasps.

"And I used to be able to play Pagini's 24 Caprices. Things change."

He felt a companionable nudge against his shoulder by her elbow, and looked over in time to see Aurora fold down to sit in the grass with her legs crossed, leisurely drinking from the water bottle before offering it to him. Straightening cautiously, glad to feel the stitch under his ribs fading, Suzaku guzzled the water, dropping down next to her. As he started to recover, he felt his brows rise, finally comprehending her comparison. The 24 Caprices were a notoriously difficult classical violin piece which, though he didn't prefer the work himself, Suzaku could nonetheless appreciate the difficultly of playing such a frantic, oscillating work.

"It doesn't seem like your sort of piece," Suzaku said, idly rolling his ankles as his muscles were re-oxygenated and his heart rate slowed.

"God, it's not. But I had to learn it for a job. My violin tutor was a sadist, and loved watching me suffer. Six solid weeks of hearing her snarl about my finger placement."

Out of the corner of his eye, Suzaku could see Aurora flex and roll her left fingers and wrist. His mouth quirked at the scowl on Aurora's face. It cleared, though, as she turned to him, slowly running her palms down the outsides of her thighs, over her knees, along her calves before circling her fingers around her ankles and rubbing.

"Talents come and go. I wasn't sad to see the Caprices slide from my repertoire, but we can get your frankly killer five mile time back. Should be fun." Aurora sent him a bright grin that made a small knot in his chest loosen. He turned away, though, and picked at the sticker on the water bottle.

"You should keep going, Aurora. I feel awful cutting down your run so much just because I'm way out of it. I didn't… I didn't think it'd be so bad," he said quietly, aching at the truth of it. Plucking the water bottle out of his fingers, Aurora took another drink before depositing it back in his hands, as if reminding him what the device was actually for. Her brows undulated, and Suzaku couldn't tell if she was teasing or irritated.

"I'm not exactly at the top of my game, either. And I don't mind. Honestly, you got a lot farther than I thought you would. Teaches me to underestimate you."

Suzaku loosed a low, hard bark.

"Not much to underestimate."

Aurora flicked his ear, pointing at him, her coffee-colored brows raised in warning.

"Hey. Be nice."

Suzaku couldn't help the smile at her fierce expression.

"Yes, ma'am." His answering retort was more rote than snotty, but Aurora seemed satisfied. She leaned back against her palms, tilting her head back to squint at the sky. Even though he couldn't copy her stance, Suzaku followed her lead, letting his eyes trail over the sky and landscape. Ban eventually collapsed at their feet, ears back and eyes half-closed as he contentedly panted. The trio sat, quiet and content, long enough for the sweat to dry on their skin.

Then, Aurora burst into activity, pulling her long, limber muscles into a few perfunctory stretches before turning her attention to Suzaku. It didn't take him long to realize that his physical therapy session had simply been transposed outside. The usual tugs and pulls, rotations and clenches, were actually slightly less painful after his muscles had been exerted.

However, this instance provided one distinctly unique aspect. Sitting on the ground again, Suzaku had his eyes closed and his head dipped forward, breathing deeply through the residual burn of the exercises, when suddenly, Aurora's thumbs slowly dug into the base of his neck. His eyes flashing open as he instinctively tensed, Aurora pressed her palm against his spine between his shoulder blades.

"Relax, Suzaku. Just smoothing out a little tension."

Swallowing, Suzaku struggled to obey. Aurora's fingers, dexterous enough to coax the most difficult of notes out of a violin, gentle enough to care for delicate flowers, stroked and smoothed his back, firm enough to push the underlying muscle into submission. She paid considerable attention to his neck and shoulders, the pressure halved on his injured side. When she ran her palms over his deltoids and down his biceps, the touch was strong on the right, butterfly soft on the left. Eventually the focus turned to his spine and ribs, working out the last of the bruises, digging at a stubborn knot under his left shoulder blade as she diminished the strain of the muscles encasing his ribcage.

Aurora had to continually remind him to breathe – initially, he was perplexed into stillness. No one had ever touched him like this in his life; strong, smooth, comforting, and soothing. Aurora's faintly medicinal demeanor kept Suzaku's brain from swinging into that awkward direction it seemed magnetized to these days, but still, it was just… foreign. Then, he was so relaxed, he all but forgot to inhale deeply like he was supposed to, slipping into the shallow breaths of near-sleep. Suzaku felt like he was melting; seeping into the ground through the sieve of his bones, his breath almost liquid in his lungs, his blood turning sluggish and soft under the press of her hands.

Ban barked, just frenetic enough to have Suzaku slowly lifting one eyelid. Aurora pressed one last stroke to the base of his spine before patting his uninjured shoulder. He could hear the rustle of her standing, managing to pry the other eyelid open in time to see her rub Ban's ears, murmuring as she looked out to whatever had caught his attention. There was something about the way she stood, fingers hooked on her jaunted hip while she rubbed her knuckles against Ban's ear, the breeze catching the strands of hair that fell against her temples and the nape of her neck. He wasn't the only one who'd gotten sun – Aurora had as well, turning her skin more gold than his usual bronze. Her eyes were quick as they scanned the horizon, the gray softening what could be hard-edged cobalt. Her inattention gave Suzaku the chance to just… look at her.

She was so lovely. Natural and soft and strong. There wasn't a trace of make-up on her skin, her lashes their native bistre color. The only adjustment to her appearance was the tie holding back the fall of her leonine hair, curling slightly at the ends near her shoulder blades. Her loose, comfortable clothing masked slim curves, and impressive strength. The combination of it all was captivating. Aurora was just so different from Euphie, that it was a little too easy to fall into admiring her.

Catching himself before he lazily slid anymore into that forbidden territory, Suzaku slowly pushed himself to his feet, forced to take time to allow his muscles and joints the chance to readjust. The movement caught Aurora's attention, and she glanced over her shoulder with a grin.

"Ban's just getting territorial about a neighbor's herding dog. Ready to head back?"

"Sure," Suzaku agreed. But back to what, exactly? That was the question, and he had yet to find a satisfactory answer.

Chapter Text

Every few days, Aurora would sit down to her slim black laptop in the kitchen and spend a solid half hour doing whatever it was she was doing. She was always very intent, the expression on her face one Suzaku had seen all too often over the years of briefings and councils, surrounded by generals and soldiers and those of exceptional power. It was the absorption of important information, the careful assessment of risk and threat. As she went through her usual ritual of steady clicking followed by lengthy periods of reading, Suzaku watched her as he worked with charcoal at the kitchen table. Since her hands kept catching his attention, he entertained himself by sketching strong knuckles and long, lithe fingers which seemed to be in perpetual motion.

Subtle emotion occasionally flickered over her face, but it was all but impossible to decipher what she was thinking by expression alone. She was far more sphinx-like than Lelouch had ever been, almost to the level of Schneizel. Finally, when she closed the lid of the computer, Suzaku couldn't quite swallow the question that had been swirling through his mind ever since he's woken up still swimming through pain killers, addiction, and mind-crushing pain.

"Any press conferences?"

"Sorry?" Aurora murmured, looking up to meet his eyes from where she'd been tracing the logo on the laptop lid.

"Has Nunnally given any press conferences about my… about Zero's disappearance?" he clarified, doodling in the corner of the page as he carefully watched Aurora's expression. Before she spoke, he knew what her answer would be, her eyes apologetic.

"No. She's been very tight-lipped. All she's said is that Zero is currently on a diplomatic/investigative long-term global mission. Fancy way of saying that Zero is supposed to be out there somewhere, so don't fuck around, because he could be in just about any country's back yard. It's actually a pretty effective stop gag."

Suzaku's nod was sharp and definitive, like the breath of relief he loosed.

"Good. Then she's following the contingency we put in place."

"You told her to do this?" Aurora asked, her mouth twisted in bemusement like a woman reluctantly impressed.

"Lelouch set up contingencies for nuclear winters and EMP's. We used the framework of the policies he wrote for the Black Knights, and Nunnally and I decided what we would do in any manner of emergency. And she's doing exactly what we planned on regarding my unexplained absence. I just feel ridiculous for having to put her through this in the first place."

"Oh, yes. Mighty inconvenient of you, getting shot like that."

Suzaku struggled against the smile that wanted to tip across his mouth – Aurora didn't try nearly as hard, the grin blooming across her face like the moon over meadows of summer grass.

"So what was the plan, exactly, if Zero just up and disappeared?" she asked once her face was again composed.

"Admit to nothing," Suzaku listed off with practiced conditioning as he stroked out the lines of the horses he'd seen on his walk the other day, glossy beasts who had taken one look at him standing at their fence and immediately put on a show. Running leaps and wild bucks, trumpeting whinnies and playful snorts. Beautiful examples of eager, wholesome life. "Be careful not to give dissenters any leverage. Hold out until definitive information can be gathered, or a year had passed. Not even Lelouch could hold radio silence beyond a year."

"Can Nunnally?"

Suzaku didn't really have to think it over – he'd spent years in Nunnally's shadow, watching her progress from a fragile, well-bred child to the stronghold of an empire in a world still recovering from war.

"Nunnally could probably hold them at bay for two years, but it'd do more damage to keep it up than give some version of an explanation at that point. She knows what to do, and how to hold the jackals at bay. At least until I can get back."

"I just can't picture it. The Nunnally I knew was… delicate," Aurora finished politely. Suzaku just laughed lightly.

"Not anymore. She doesn't need to be aggressive to get her way, but she damn well gets her way. It's hard on her, but she meets the challenge head on."

"I'd expect nothing less from our littlest sister. Lelouch would be proud." Aurora said with a low laugh and a gleaming smile.

"She is the best of her brother. He's not the only one who's proud." Suzaku loved that girl more than he'd ever loved either of his brothers.

"I wish I could see her again. She's changed so much. We both have." For some reason, Aurora didn't just look wistful; she looked heartbroken. Suzaku thought to ask why, but quickly swallowed the words. It was the same reason why he hadn't yet asked to contact Nunnally – something, somewhere had been compromised. It was the only explanation for a kill order on Zero undertaken by Britannian soldiers. Until he could return in full, his weakened state could be a threat to Nunnally.

And Aurora, with her checkered past and hefty price on her head, could get herself killed or Nunnally yanked neck-deep into a scandal if the public became aware of even a fraction of her connections or compromises. Idly, Suzaku thought to himself that family ties were supposed to last a lifetime – why was it that the two of them had been stripped of theirs before a couple of decades?

"Would you do anything to get it back?" Suzaku breathed before he could stop himself, not intending to voice the question that was permanently lodged in his subconscious. He was a little taken aback to realize that Aurora was considering the question he'd never meant to ask before he could take it back.

"To get them all back? If the Emperor was gone, I suppose I would. Go back to a time when I had Lelouch and Nunnally, Euphemia and Cornelia. Even Schneizel. Even Guinivere and, God forbid, Odysseus. But not even for them would I live under Charles' thumb again. I am no sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered on the altar of his ambition."

Until that moment, Suzaku had never quite comprehended the depth of the peril Aurora had faced in the court of her father until her steady voice, like an autumn wind scented with the smoke of danger, slid through the air. Clearing her throat and shifting slightly, the intensity in her eyes shifted from assertive to pensive.

"And you? Would you go back? Do it over, fix what was broken?"

Initially, Suzaku didn't respond. He couldn't. He'd asked, and answered this question to himself a million times, but never before had it found life in sound.

"Yes," he said with precise certainty. "But not for my family. And I wouldn't go back to when Lelouch and Nunnally were with me. Lelouch was already set on a course that would change everything. Something was irrevocably broken in him before we ever met. But if I could return to a time when they were safe. When Euphemia had a chance, then yes. I'd sacrifice our time together if it meant she would survive." He spoke very clearly, but Suzaku could feel a prickling against the back of his eyes.

For a moment, Aurora was utterly silent, staring at him like he'd suddenly turned to glass. A sheen of moisture stole over her eyes, like dew over silver-veined lapis. She laughed a little helplessly, her voice slightly choked and her face completely devoid of humor as she traced her fingertips over her brows.

"What is it?" Suzaku asked, picking up the piece of charcoal he'd set down when Aurora had first mentioned Nunnally, slowly tracing out the beginnings of the oak that had shaded the corner of the horses' pasture. Aurora shook her head, and Suzaku pressed again. Finally she shrugged.

"You're the most selfless person I know."

Something about her tone had Suzaku narrowing his eyes.

"Why do you say that like it's not necessarily a good thing?"

"Because it's really not in your case."

He tilted his head, helplessly curious to hear what she meant. He'd heard the same things about his qualities all his life, even from her. But this was different.

"You're very good at taking care of others, Suzaku. Always eager to step into the line of fire, be the human shield. But that also means you're exceptionally bad at taking care of yourself."

His eyes widened at Aurora's words, still absorbing what she'd said when she continued.

"Who do you think you would be, if you'd never met Euphemia?"

"I'd be an emptier man. But maybe a healthier one."

Aurora just quirked a brow, and he conceded with a huff.

"Alright, probably. But there's no going back, is there? No do-overs, no second chances." His tone shifted from chuckling concession to a cool emptiness before he could control it.

"Just because something can't be undone doesn't mean you can't have another chance. Nothing is truly taken from us until death or defeat. And defeat is only secured through our consent."

Before Suzaku could flounder under the weight of her words, before the tears in Aurora's eyes could fall, she flattened her palms against the table on either side of the laptop.

"Do you want some cookies?"

He stared at her, and started to laugh, helplessly. It got louder and louder, and Suzaku pressed his fingers against his temples, cackling into his drawings as the charcoal stub between his fingers marked his scalp. Aurora snickered quietly, her mouth curled even as the fragile skin under her eyes, shadowed by long lashes and a restless night, grew damp.

"Yes. Damn, Aurora, I would love some cookies."

Chapter Text

Over the crunching of gravel, Suzaku could hear a faint chuckle that he was starting to hear in his dreams. As he and Ban let themselves back into the kitchen after their traipse across the northwestern hills, he caught sight of Aurora, slowly pacing the kitchen floor in her moccasins, one hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, speaking into a slim turquoise phone he'd never seen her use before.

"No, I know. Of course. Oh, come on. I've handled worse. Wow. Wow! Way to be a jerk, Chan. Durai wasn't that bad," she argued with a chuckle. "No, he was not. You just didn't like him because he thought you were pretentious, and he said it to your face." She paused a moment before rolling her eyes, smiling wryly over at Suzaku as he bit into an apple, Ban leaning against his leg as they mutely watched her smoothly stride back and forth.

"You want to go there? Really? OK, I went out with him because he was smoking hot, and he was a panther in the sack, especially when – Yeah, I thought that'd shut you up. You started it, Senator." Her laugh was a little wicked.

"Bite me," she said with easy warmth. "Love you too, punk. Take care of the mama, alright? And give that ginger tea with cinnamon a try. I've heard from a very reliable source that it does wonders for an expecting mom. What other kind of source do I have?" she demanded with a laugh. After a few more murmured goodbyes, Aurora broke that connection, deftly catching the apple Suzaku tossed her way without really looking as she tucked her phone in a pocket.

"Chandler?" Suzaku asked around a bite of apple meat.

"Yup," Aurora confirmed, her canines flashing as they pierced the fruit's bright skin once she'd joined him where he leaned against the counter. "Kendra won't be coming out for your appointment this week. She's been hit by morning sickness like a freight train. Poor girl's puking at the slightest provocation. Hopefully she'll be back on her feet soon."

"But that's normal?" Suzaku nudged, vaguely aware of the prevalence of morning sickness but utterly lost when it came to gauging the severity of pregnancy symptoms. His stomach danced at the thought of Kendra ill and fragile. It didn't reconcile with the image he had of her, and her condition alone made an element of him primitively nervous. He could only imagine how Chandler felt.

Aurora nodded as she chewed. "Approximately seventy five percent of women have some form of morning sickness. Hers is hitting a little late, and pretty hard. But nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing Kendra can't handle. And this gives Chandler practice spoiling her – he's always treated her like a princess, but carrying a baby warrants queen status. They'll be fine."

Suzaku nodded, relieved into relaxation. For a while, they munched in companionable quiet. Finally, though, his curiosity got the best of him.

"Who's Durai?"

Aurora froze, the apple raised to her mouth, lips glossy from the juice. Her eyes slowly tracked to him, gradually lowering the fruit to her side.

"Your manners die with the Lancelot?"

Suzaku looked away as warmth stole up over his throat and onto his ears – it had been years since he'd been asked to engage the rules of etiquette that had been ingrained in him since childhood. Apparently he'd all but forgotten how to use them, lacquered over by heartbreak and war. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm sorry. That was rude. But, uh…"

"The question still stands?"

He nodded, quickly taking another bite before he could say anything else ill-mannered or ridiculous. Aurora slowly rotated the apple between her middle finger and thumb, watching the fruit spin with impressive focus. Finally, she spoke.

"Durai Kapoor and I were… involved, not long after I first came to England. His family was old Indian blood, displaced from the Federation after the protests. He was their only child, the apple of their eye," she murmured, ironically eyeing the fruit she had yet to take another bite out of.

"And they didn't approve of me in the slightest." Aurora grinned as she said it, chomping crisply into the white fruit, but something in her eyes seemed… disappointed. In herself, of all things. "I was all sorts of bad influence, mysterious and rootless and all but uncontrollable. His parents thought I was demon spawn. But Durai was intrigued. We pretty much only did three things: go on stupid, dangerous adventures, fight like cats and dogs, and have incredible make-up sex. He was swarthy and impish and all sorts of fun."

He knew she tagged on those little details to make him squirm, payback for the awkward question he'd posed in the first place.

"He was also ambitious," she added with a sigh. "He wanted to go into investigative journalism, but more than anything, Durai wanted to change the world. His parents begged him to the settle down with a nice Indian girl; nothing could have been farther from his mind. Built castles in the sky as we dodged grapeshot and started bar fights – honestly, what were we thinking? But it didn't last long."

Remembering what had happened to her first lover, Suzaku was almost afraid to ask what had befallen the second. But he couldn't quite resist.

"What happened?"

Aurora just shrugged, but her mouth twisted with pasts she almost regretted.

"Durai got an offer from some big international magazine – they'd read one of his articles, and wanted to take him on for an apprenticeship. He had to be in central Africa in two days, and he wanted me to go with him. We would have self-destructed within two months. Besides, I'd spent most of my life trying to change the world, and largely failing. Frankly, I was tired of it. I'd gotten shot for it. I was trying to figure out what I wanted from my life then, and I was pretty sure it was in England. In our usual fashion, we fought like jackals, and made up like rabbits. Durai was gone in the morning. He's somewhere in Eastern Europe now, reporting on the civil wars and genocide over there. His was one of the articles that prompted global action. So he got what he always wanted – a chance to save the world."

But it wasn't lost on Suzaku that Durai Kapoor didn't get something else he'd undoubtedly wanted – Aurora Sterling. If he had to personally pick someone to take with him into a warzone or wilderness, she'd be that person. But it seemed that with the two men she'd been intimate, Aurora had been the one to let go, the one to watch them walk away, even demand it. Suzaku wondered what that said about her, but couldn't quite hone in on a conclusion that felt right.

"Why be with him at all?" Suzaku mused. It hardly sounded like the healthiest, most productive relationship she could have pursued. Aurora shrugged as she swallowed her bite of apple.

"Because he was handsome, intelligent, and charming. He's one of the funniest bastards I've ever met, and phenomenal in bed. I was at an emotional bottom, even almost a year after the fiasco with Nikolai, and he made me feel gorgeous and wild and alive. He was bored and looking to rebel, and I was an excellent means to that end. And while we weren't meant to last, Durai taught me some very important lessons, both about myself and what I wanted from life."

"May I ask what lessons?" he managed politely. She grinned at him out of the corner of her eye, obviously aware of his attempt at contrition.

"Where I wanted to be. Who I wanted to be with. Maybe not yet where I wanted to go, but certainly where I didn't want to go. Durai forced me to evaluate my direction and purpose. For too long, survival had been all that mattered to me. But that can't be everything forever. You burn out, and can hardly recognize yourself as human. And I probably never would have figured it out if Durai hadn't insisted that I should go with him back into the fray. In a way, I owe him the life I have now – who knows if I would have pursued it if my choice hadn't been challenged."

"Were you tempted? To throw caution to the wind, and give life on the battlefield another chance?" Very rarely, Suzaku longed from the elemental simplicity of combat – right and wrong, kill or be killed. Surviving from one moment to the next, forced to give, and live, with every strand of himself. It was the aftermath that was complicated; when he'd been in the cockpit of the Lancelot, all of the answers had seemed so simple.

"I'd like to say not even for a moment, but Durai was very convinced that he could convince me. And I was still used to the grind and flash of the life I'd left behind – I couldn't be sure that the need to cause trouble with Durai would leave with him. But for pretty much the first time in my life, I wasn't willing to take the risk. Best gamble I ever made." With that, she tossed the skeleton of her apple in the trash and sauntered over to start a fresh batch of tea. Suzaku envied her courage to take that gamble, and privately thought that though Aurora would have no doubt excelled back in that world of risk and intrigue, it would have sheered away the best parts of her revealed during her time in England. For a moment, he was stupidly hostile towards a man he'd never met, for threatening even for a second the person Aurora had become, and the life she lived with such verve.

But that was silly, Suzaku reminded himself, throwing away the remnants of his apple, Ban's eager, opportunistic licking of his fingers drawing out a husky laugh.

Later that day, Aurora suddenly gained a wild hair to go through some old boxes in storage, culling out the things to be donated, thrown away, or saved. Apparently, the storage shed was getting a little cramped, and Aurora was bored. Suzaku was starting to realize that the B word was fair warning that Aurora was on the war path, and it was easier to let her undertake whatever insane project she was focused on than try to stop, or even deflect, her. Since he was curious and a little bored himself, Suzaku offered to help, at the very least with the mountain of boxes he'd glimpsed over her shoulder when she'd stood in the shed's doorway, her hands on her hips and her foot tapping as she laid out a battle plan.

At his offer, however, Aurora had just looked at him over her shoulder, her brow raised wryly and her mouth a little sardonic.

"Don't even think about it," she'd muttered, the playful edge to her tone softening the embarrassed heat that crawled over his neck. Suzaku was getting exceptionally sick of being an invalid, even if Aurora's fussing was occasionally… pleasant.

However, he wasn't the only one forced to submit to Aurora's cheerful caretaking. As the pair of them had eaten lunch, a high, solitary yelp outside had Aurora stiffening and straightening like a hound coming on point. She'd left her chair with astonishing speed, striding out of the house with a purposeful lope that looked like it could cover miles. When she called Bannock's name, it was in such a firm, no-nonsense tone, any male within a ten-mile radius would have been hard-pressed to disobey. Suzaku joined her outside in time to see Ban come limping over the crest of the hill, heavily favoring his left front foot with the severity that made Suzaku's guts pitch.

Under the blood and whimpers, however, it wasn't that bad. Aurora had immediately sheparded the dog into the kitchen, murmuring and soothing even as she deftly grabbed his paw in an implacable grip. Handing her the wet wad of paper towels she'd requested, Suzaku squatted down next to her as she cleaned away the blood and cooed to keep Ban still. Eventually, it was determined that he'd sliced between the pads of his paw, not the actual pads themselves. Although he was quietly vocal about his injury, Bannock was largely unresisting in Aurora's hold, resting his head on her shoulder as she worked, gazing at Suzaku with giant, pathetic eyes. He rubbed the dog's ears gently, impressed that he was such a good patient, especially when Aurora's other charge was pretty much a pain in the ass.

Eventually, Ban's foot was disinfected, which was pretty painful to endure for all parties, wrapped in gauze, and tucked into an old sock that was taped around his pastern. His limp was magnificently dramatic whenever he had to leave his bed, watching with soft, sad eyes as Suzaku helped Aurora clean the blood from the kitchen floor.

This all meant, of course, that Bannock had to be even more sedentary than Suzaku. So the pair of them settled at the patio table nestled among the flowers in the back yard to supervise Aurora's project. Armed with his sketchbook and a dock for Aurora's music, Suzaku settled in as best he could, keeping an eye out to be sure that Ban stayed on one of his countless beds dragged outside so he could be watched and watch in turn.

It was the first time Suzaku was working with his new colored pencils, an advancement that still slightly worried him. Focusing on the landscape, a largely forgiving subject, Suzaku started the music on shuffle, and they settled to their tasks.

It was so easy. So pleasant. They didn't really talk to each other, just focused on their separate pursuits and went along in a quiet proximity. Occasionally, Aurora softly hummed along with the music, or Ban grunted as he shifted during his nap, or Suzaku murmured to himself as he worked on a simple portrait. The only thing that spoke was the breeze, tossing fleecy clouds that had enough of a silver backbone to be a threat later on across the crisp blue bowl of sky. Suzaku didn't have a watch, and Aurora wasn't wearing one. They had no idea how much time passed. It was hours of a broad range of music and contentment bred from gentle proximity and simple success.

The music clicked to the next track. As the piano began and the soft lyrics spoke of thinking her father was asleep, Suzaku keyed into Aurora singing along, slightly louder than her previous contributions. Her hold on the box never faltered, her eyes swiftly tracking across the piles even as she easily sang along with the words in a low, quiet voice that held the notes easily. Once deposited, she hooked her hands on her hips, surveying the sections she'd divvied up so far, her foot bouncing along with the base rhythm pumping out from the dock's speakers.

The song, and Aurora, sang about losing control as her body gave in to the beat of her heart, his hand touching her skin, and Aurora kept pace, her head bobbing as her voice gradually gained volume. Suzaku started a new page, his pencil racing over paper as he glanced back over to her, and listened.

In the way of young romances, there was the question of love or sexual desire, and Aurora managed to dance even as she carried boxes back and forth. Her shoulders and hips moved in time with the rhythm, and her hands gestured whenever free as the singer's girl woke up dreaming, lying with him.

Even taking chances in the back of his car as the radio played "Rockin' in the Free World," Aurora never lost her place amongst her sorting. Even as the pair started a fire and began to burn, she still categorized and counted, easily keeping track of the song she now sang at full, resonant power and the project she had undertaken.

The only time she ever took her eyes off the boxes was when she belted out the repeated "Why's," her eyes closed and her fist raised in the air like a banner. As her voice dropped to a gentle murmur, Aurora opened her eyes and again returned to her filing. After three pounds of her fist in the air, matching the beats in the song, her voice leapt back up in strength without taking her attention away from the storage shed's contents.

As the song faded, Aurora plopped down across from him at the table to take a drink from the water bottle he'd thought she'd forgotten. Suzaku flipped to a new page, immediately settling into the outline of Euphemia as Aurora rubbed Ban's shoulder, taking her first break since tackling the storage shed. She quietly spoke as she took off the sock to check on Ban's bandage.

"I never had that."

"What?" Suzaku asked without looking up from the careful shaping of Euphemia's hair.

"What that song talked about. You know, that frantic kind of teen romance. I mean, I met Nikolai when I was sixteen, but not like that. Sneaking out, avoiding my dad because it's way past curfew to make out in his car. Holding hands and wearing his coat more because it smelled like him than because I was actually cold. Thinking that maybe this punk, wearing a leather jacket that he thinks make him look cool and driving a muscle car that he's fixing up, could be my husband someday. Feeling like the two of us are going to consume each other whole from the sheer want."

His mouth had slowly gone dry at her husky words, for it was all too easy to imagine.

Waiting after school for her to come out of class. To see her smile when she saw him, her eyes lighting like stars and her running towards him with an abandon she never showed anyone else. Mussing her gold hair with his fingers as they…

He blinked, the sight of his still hand holding the pencil coming back into focus. Wait. That didn't make any sense. Why was he thinking of-

"Did you?" Aurora's question broke Suzaku's train of thought. With an effort, he gathered himself as she reapplied Ban's sock.

"No. Not like that."

"But what about-"

"No," Suzaku repeated. His relationship with Euphemia had been much more complicated, much less free and young that what was described in the song. She looked back up at the mercurial sky, the curve to her lips considering. Then she glanced back over.

"Do you think there's something wrong with us?"

Suzaku couldn't help it when a brow lifted.

"You don't?"

She just looked at him for a moment before breaking into laughter. It was an easy chuckle at first, self-deprecating and a little sarcastic. But it quickly escalated into full-blown gales. He didn't know when he first joined in, but when he had to push away from the table so the tears from laughing so hard didn't drip onto the paper, Suzaku realized it had been years since he laughed so well like that, let alone at all.

As their giggles died away and Aurora took to her feet again with a wondering sort of vocal sigh, Suzaku turned back to his pad. As she returned to her organized chaos of boxes and before resuming the sketch of Euphemia, he flipped the page to the sketch he'd done during the song. He hadn't consciously decided to draw it, but it had all but erupted from the pencils.

It was Aurora, probably around sixteen years old. Her face was a little younger, but not much softer than it was now. She wore expensive trousers a little ragged at the hem, and her silk blouse, which probably cost as much as the sapphire necklace around her neck, was lightly splattered with the blood from her split lip. But it was the eyes that were starkly different. Cool, and terribly experienced. The horrors seen still too fresh to hide under the thin shield of knowledge and determination that she now carried. There was anger and aching sadness well hidden under a gloss of training and cunning.

She was stunning, and a little savage.

This was a woman who had a tasteful, brief affair with a man, not a girl who would, or could, indulge in a sweet summer romance with a boy.

It occurred to Suzaku that neither of them had had much of a chance at a normal youth – their training simply hadn't allowed for it.

Chapter Text

"I think I should teach you how to drive."

Suzaku slowly looked up from the book he was tentatively reading to see Aurora standing across the hallway from the study, putting away towels she'd washed earlier that day. Giving himself time to recover from the tiny ball of lead his stomach was trying to pack itself into, he straightened from where he lounged on the couch, finding a slip of paper to mark his minimal progress. Ban wiggled his ears and briefly popped his eyes open where he lay on the other end of the sofa, but that was all the more reaction he gave. He'd been sulking all morning, ever since Aurora and Suzaku had left him behind for their daily run. Even hours afterwards, he still barely acknowledged them. At the moment, however, the dog's punishment was the least of Suzaku's problems.

"I'm sorry?" he eventually managed, proud that his voice only sounded slightly strangled.

"You don't know how, right? I could tell by how you were around Natasha." She continued with the towels, neatly returning them to their appropriate spots, her hair messily spilling out of its band in shades of bronze and dark gold. "But if something happens, and for whatever reason I need you to drive, I don't want it to be some drama that ends up making the situation worse because you've never sat behind the wheel before."

That made a certain sort of sense, Suzaku grudgingly agreed, even as his mouth dried to sandpaper. But he didn't like to even consider a scenario that would make it impossible for Aurora to drive. That was a little too dire to imagine.

"Besides," she continued in a slightly gentler voice, leaning against the door jamb of the study with her arms crossed once her chore was completed. "Kendra said that you're probably feeling a lack of control right now, what with your recovery from the injuries and addiction. Even though you're doing a beautiful job not compensating, that has to be frustrating. So here's a chance to regain a little control. Nothing like being the master of your fate and all that."

Oh, if only, Suzaku thought privately, and bitterly. Destiny had long ago wrenched away any sort of control he might have had over his life. And the second part of that quote? The captain of his soul? It was easier to forget here, with her, but not too long ago, Suzaku had dully, almost daily, wondered if he had a soul at all anymore.

But she had a point. Past tantrums aside, bowing to her as his caretaker was starting to wear on him. Which was bloody inconvenient, as neither Kendra nor Aurora had made it any secret how long he was to be like this. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would get him over his ridiculous skittishness around something that was ubiquitous. There was just one thing, though.

"You want me to learn to drive Natasha?" Suzaku asked through a tight throat. It would be like wrestling with a dragon. Bare-handed and buck-naked. But he had to give Aurora credit – she didn't laugh right to his face. There were slight twitches in her expression, mostly around her brows and mouth, and her eyes were utterly unreadable, certainly nothing that could be defined as an emotion. Finally, she answered.

"Do you want to learn to drive Natasha?"

Slowly, Suzaku shook his head, wide-eyed, because the thought was frankly terrifying.

"Good, because I was planning on teaching you with the rental car." Now that she mentioned it, he vaguely recalled the white sedan he'd seen parked out by the garage that housed the very pampered Natasha, a serviceable, largely forgettable vehicle. It wasn't glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but as a vehicle to learn on went, it couldn't be all that bad.

Aurora was struggling to keep a straight face, and thought she was succeeding nicely. She'd been twelve when she'd first sat behind the wheel of a car, and it had been love at first roar of the engine at her touch. It was just so odd to think of someone who not only had no idea how to drive a car, but was actively uncomfortable around them. As far as she knew, Suzaku had never been in any sort of car accident. It might be as simple as a machine he never learned to control. His fear wasn't anything to laugh at, she sternly reminded herself.

But then, it kind of was. Suzaku Kururugi, scourge of the Black Knights, White Death of the East, feared Knight of Zero, sword of an empire, was scared of her car. Then again, her car was nothing to trifle with. The 'Vette was perfectly capable of being more difficult to handle than the most spastically wired of racehorses. But it wasn't just Natasha. His mouth was still twisted and his eyes glossily wide at the thought of toodling around in a field in some shitty rental.

Taking pity on the poor guy, Aurora sat down on the sofa between the two boys. Tugging on the end of the snoozing dog's tail, who stubbornly refused to react, she leaned back, trying to project as relaxed of a stance as possible.

"You'll be fine, Suzaku. You've piloted a seventh gen Knightmare Frame, arguably one of the most complicated pieces of machinery in recent history. I know you can handle some lame little sedan with less horsepower than a lawn mower."

His mouth crooked and his shoulders minimally softened, but Suzaku still made no move to stand and begin their lesson. Well, it was her idea. It was up to her.

An hour later, it was also up to her to keep her nose from breaking against the unrelenting dashboard of the car. It had only taken a few whiplash jerks before Aurora learned to keep her palm planted against the dash at all times. This would almost be funny, if it wasn't so fucking bizarre.

She knew, without a doubt, that Suzaku was instinctive, both physically and mentally. He functioned from the feel of things, moving by the demands of his gut and committing to moments and actions almost preternaturally quickly. Not to mention, the guy had been one of the most lethal pilots of the Rebellion, a focal point of the world's best warriors at the time. It wasn't as if he was mechanically disinclined. Aurora had never been behind the controls of a Knightmare, but one glance in the cockpit made it ridiculously apparent that they were a bitch to maneuver and required more than skill to pilot well.

So why was he so bad at driving a crappy little stick shift?

Bad wasn't quite the word to use. Abysmal would be more appropriate.

Aurora had driven them out to one of the O'Tooles' empty pastures. Pete had reassured her in his near silent way when she'd called earlier that it was a fine place to teach Suzaku how to drive. It was, in fact, that same place he'd taught both his sons how to finagle their way through a car's gears. The grass was patchily growing back from the cows' first pass through of the summer – the sheep had done a real number on it last year, so Pete wasn't expecting any sort of significant growth that they'd be destroying with the car's tires.

Once Aurora had gotten them out into the middle of the field, she'd moved through a demonstration of how to take the car from an absolute stop all the way to fourth gear, back down to a stop, then into reverse. She was careful to keep the procedures simple, the important points succinct, and the cues visual, which, if she had to guess, was one of his major learning styles, along with physical. It was a lot to take in, especially for someone as nervous as the pale tone to Suzaku's face hinted he was. But he was game, which she had to give him boat loads of credit for.

They switched seats and buckled in, now in the same position they'd had while in Natasha, since this was a car produced in the EU, as opposed to Tasha's Britannian origins. She didn't like that he'd be forced to shift with his weaker left arm, but the only car on the island that would let him shift with his right was too psychotic to make it worthwhile. Suzaku carefully followed her instructions to move through the gears exactly the same way as she had – which meant the car was off. That was, of course, the easy part. Once satisfied that he knew which gear went where and the general purpose of the third pedal, Aurora gave him the order to step on the clutch and start the car. Suzaku's left hand settled on the gear shift with the same white-knuckled grip he had on the wheel as he prepared to nudge the car into first. His foot firm on the brake, he released the emergency brake and began to barely depress the gas pedal. The car rolled less than a foot before almost instantly stalling.

Suzaku looked so perplexed, so utterly taken aback by the machine's disobedience, Aurora had been forced to mask the chuckle as a cough. Explaining that letting off the clutch too early would make the car stall, they started all over again. This time, the car rolled about three feet before revving like a banshee then rocketing forward and immediately jamming to a halt when Suzaku smashed the brake instinctively. With her collar bone complaining and her abs whining, Aurora turned and calmly explained that this was what happened when you let off the clutch too slowly. Suzaku was panting and startlingly ashen, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel so hard Aurora thought she could hear leather creak. Occasional shudders ran along his frame, the majority of his weight still hammered down on the brake pedal as he stared straight forward. Aurora wanted to touch his shoulder to reassure him, but resisted. He probably wouldn't react well, and she would really just be satisfying her own needs, not his.

Eventually, he calmed down enough to get the car into first and rolling after a few more false starts. Aurora allowed Suzaku to creep around the field at ten miles an hour for about thirty minutes, talking him through the finer points of maneuvering the car and allowing him to get comfortable. His finesse with the wheel was excellent, and what Aurora was expecting. Finally, when he seemed calm and focused, Aurora suggested that they try second gear, explaining when to shift, what to look for, and what to feel for. His face spoke of dread, but Suzaku buckled down and did as she asked, accelerating beyond the comfortable ten mph limit he'd imposed on himself. Although he'd had a bit of a rocky start, Aurora was sure he'd be fine.

But when the moment came to shift, a gnashing, grinding sound vibrated out of the car's core. It took more control than Aurora thought she had to keep the wince from manifesting across her face. With the car bucking like a weary, pissed-off pony across the field, Suzaku somehow eventually managed to wrestle the poor thing into second. Aurora allowed everyone, including the car, a chance to recover as Suzaku familiarized himself going thirty before asking him to decelerate and downshift. In a way, he did exactly as she asked – the car certainly slowed down. Mostly because he'd stalled it almost instantly.

For the next half hour, if Suzaku wasn't stalling, he was sending the car through angry little fits that had Aurora silently oscillating between humor and agony. But she refused to be anything but patient, and he was growing more and more determined. At least, she hoped that steely glint in his eyes was determination. This wasn't about eliciting his temper, but his repeated struggles had to be grinding on it the way he was grinding on the clutch.

Finally, after yet another failed attempt to get the car into second, Aurora called for a break. Now that Suzaku had committed to learning how to drive the damn thing, he was reluctant to relinquish his hold on the wheel. However, Aurora could smell the acrid, sickly sweet smell of the clutch burning to death.

Both of them slowly exited the car, looking everywhere but each other. The day was cool, the sky promising rain that afternoon. Slowly stretching out the kinks the herky-jerky ride had knotted into her muscles and spine, Aurora turned and rested her forearms on the roof of the car, watching Suzaku pace back and forth about twenty feet away.

Her fingers itched to smooth the crease between his brows that for some reason looked adorable. Hands locked behind his back in a distinctly military stance, long legs swishing through the grass like blades, Suzaku looked intense enough to have her stomach clutch in a pleasant sort of dip. Aurora kind of just wanted to ruffle his hair, to cuddle him until the tension bled from his frame like water. But that was silly. Every once in a while, he'd hold out his hands to emulate holding the steering wheel and gear shift, muttering to himself as he ran through the process again and again.

Maybe it was the way he spun on his heel to retrace the ground he'd just paced over. Maybe it was the way his hands moved through the air as he tried to talk himself through the procedure of shifting. Or maybe it was just the way he stood, strong and straight and supple. But Aurora suddenly got it.

The man used to pilot a Knightmare. And that little car was anything but a Knightmare. He kept expecting that near instantaneous response from an automobile with the comparable reaction time of a slug. It wasn't that Suzaku wasn't hitting the gears – he was hitting them way too fast. Too elated by the discovery to worry about how they would work around it, Aurora had just opened her mouth to relay her discovery when Suzaku pivoted and marched back to the car, looking intent and fierce and a little desperate.

"Do you have a moral or mechanical problem with automatics?"

Of course. The automatic argument. Without conscious thought, Aurora's face settled into hard, unrelenting lines. Automatic cars were her biggest pet peeve. She hated the fucking things. Hated the way they took the decision out of her hands, took the magic and the music away from the connection between man and machine. Hated being told what to do by a non-sentient pile of metal when she obviously had control issues. Hated the way the stupid things revved and jerked like morons because they couldn't feel the road like she could. Hated how her life could have been forfeit on several occasions if she'd been driving an automatic instead of a stick because the car wouldn't have listened.

But she didn't say any of that. Swallowing her sermon on automatics, Aurora just said instead, "I don't like them, and I don't think they're very good cars. And unfortunately, I don't have one in my back pocket."

Suzaku looked primed to argue, and Aurora reevaluated, swallowing back the knee-jerk inclination to sink her teeth into a disagreement that got under her skin. Obviously, he hadn't hit some kind of epiphany like she had during the break, which he'd obviously been hoping for. And Suzaku was desperate to avoid the idea of failure that haunted him. But Aurora could get him through this, if she could just get him back in the car.

His mouth was mulish, his jaw hard as rock. Breathing carefully through her nose, Aurora flattened her palms on the roof of the car, carefully modulating her voice before speaking.

"You can get it, Suzaku. I know you can. Just give me fifteen more minutes."

Reluctantly, he drew closer, and they became embroiled in a staring contest for a solid minute, gauging the other's weak points on opposite sides of the beleaguered sedan. Aurora softened her stance first, but Suzaku was the first to look away. Heaving a grand sigh, he looked back, and nodded. Once they were seated and buckled in, Aurora held out her hand before Suzaku could reach forward to start the car.

"No one's able to do this their first try, you know."

Suzaku just looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his fingers slowly rippling over the steering wheel.

"Took you fifteen minutes to learn, didn't it?" His voice was so dry, Aurora felt her skin tighten, the moisture sucked out of the car's interior.

"No!" she said adamantly. Suzaku just tilted his head and looked at her with raised brows. "Twenty," she finally admitted. "But that's not the point," Aurora was quick to interject. "The point is, it takes some time to learn. You wouldn't expect me to grasp how to pilot a Knightmare right away, would you?"

"No, of course not," Suzaku murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked straight ahead. "But I can do that. So why is a car so damn hard?"

"I have a theory on that. But let's try it again, and see if I'm right."

"You're not going to tell me?" Frustration eeked into his tone.

"Not yet," Aurora hedged. She'd already seen Suzaku compensate for a mistake hard enough to be slung in the opposite direction, in more ways than one. Maybe she could figure a way to map out the middle ground he kept leaping over. Suzaku stared at her for a few more seconds, but he might as well have been glaring at stone for all the good it did him. Finally, with a faint growl in his throat, he turned the key and removed the emergency brake.

As his hand landed on the stick, Aurora had a burst of inspiration. She laid her palm over the back of his hand, her fingers almost threading through his as they simultaneously held the gear shift. Immediately, Suzaku turned his head, his eyes a little wide. Meeting his gaze calmly, Aurora relaxed her shoulders as best she could so her tension wouldn't translate through touch, although she kept her other hand firmly on the dash.

"Just focus on the clutch. I'll help you move through shifting."

After drawing a deep breath through his nose, Suzaku finally nodded.

As soon as he started to shift, Aurora knew that she'd found the problem. He nearly yanked her forward with his whip-lash movement, and Aurora was almost too late to catch him and give the car time to barely hit the gear. Suzaku's hand and foot were working in perfect sync, but much too fast for the car to react in time.

When he shifted again, Aurora was ready and, largely just using her fingertips, she managed to slow his shift down, his foot quickly following in kind. Five minutes later, they hit fourth gear for the first time that day. Aurora couldn't help crowing in delight when he finally lapped the field at a solid forty-five mph. She looked over in time to see the slow, triumphant grin spread over Suzaku's face.

Seeing him like that made something in Aurora clench and curl, deep in the curve of her spine and tucked behind her ribs. Suddenly overly aware of the way her palm pressed against his defined tendons and scarred knuckles, Aurora followed Suzaku's gaze as he looked down at their joined hands.

"Eyes up," she softly reminded him, and he reluctantly obeyed. Her voice was supposed to be lightly cajoling and softly supportive – so why had it come out a little breathy, almost quivering to the raging of her heartbeat? Aurora could feel her pulse pounding in her fingertips, and hoped Suzaku couldn't feel it too.

Just when he'd been sure that he might be grasping this odd process of shifting, Suzaku became excessively conscious of the warm press of Aurora's hand against his. Suddenly, his senses were honed razor sharp, but he could hardly see the grass he was rolling over. Instead, it was everything else confined in that cramped cab.

The scent wasn't Aurora's perfume – that was sharp, exotic, sensual. It was something floral, soothing and soft. Suzaku recalled the lotion she rubbed into her hands on occasion, and suddenly he remembered the glimpse of Aurora applying it to the smooth skin of her legs that had sent him all but bolting past her room earlier that morning. He drew a deep breath through his mouth, and instantly regretted it. Suzaku could almost taste her, like the ghost of her scent coated his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of her hair, the casual drape of the long-sleeved t-shirt the color of twilight over her lean frame. The delicate hollows of her collarbone made him want to clear his throat, like he had swallowed a cotton ball. Suzaku's hands clenched on the steering wheel and gear shift in a desperate attempt to curb the urge to glide his fingertips along the fragile skin of the inside of her arm.

And, quite abruptly, all of Suzaku's fleeting progress completely degraded. No matter how Aurora tried to guide his hand through the stages of shifting, he was fighting the pressure instead of moving with it. He couldn't help it, not with his mind whirling with thoughts of her skin and eyelashes and the rhythm of her pulse in the shadow of her jaw. Sitting next to each other in the disgruntled car, Suzaku became more aware of her physically then he'd ever been of anyone else in his life, even those he'd been locked in combat with. Even Euphie.

That thought sent his brain careening into static, his concentration going to utter shit, only yanked free when he lurched against the seat belt. Suzaku's eyes refocused eventually to see the nose of the car inches from a wooden fence. Aurora's hand had left his to yank on the emergency brake. Slowly, he looked over to meet her gaze, even though he really, really didn't want to, unsure of what he'd see there.

Her eyes were a little wide, a little spooked. But they searched his carefully, and Suzaku frantically wondered if Aurora could see, with those steel blue eyes of hers, the absolute mess that was his brain, his soul. Sometimes, it felt like she looked at him all the way to the back of his skull, and she could see how the stitching of his mind was patchily, repeatedly mended.

But she said nothing of the sort. Instead, Aurora just cocked a brow and said, "Back in the land of the living?" She couldn't know the double meaning of the question as it dug under his ribs and burned through his lungs. Then again, maybe she did. But he was nonetheless here, trying to figure out how to make this damn car listen with a woman who was tearing him to pieces with her brisk kindness and powerful eyes. Suzaku could only hope that one of them knew how to put him back together – he'd been broken for far too long.

So he just nodded, and Aurora slowly loosed the breath that Suzaku's inattention had locked in her chest. Contrary to what he wondered, Aurora had no idea what was going on in that whirling head of his, only that it was probably painful and likely almost out of control. That, and it'd almost run them into the fence. Pete was an understanding, patient man, but Aurora had no desire to raise his Celtic ire by demolishing a panel of fencing.

As Suzaku jerkily put the car into reverse and inched away from the wooden planks, Aurora debated her hand placement. It had worked for a while, but maybe that was the reason he'd fallen apart. Just too distracting. She hadn't been doing so hot herself, going gooey when she was supposed to be focused on helping Suzaku. And all she really wanted to do was thread her fingers through the silky curls at the nape of his neck and-

Yeah, that wasn't helping. With a stern mental reprimand and a wicked gritting of her teeth, Aurora locked that impulse away where it wouldn't fracture the trust she'd fought to earn. Hesitantly reaching out to again to help, she aborted the gesture, noticing the way Suzaku's knuckles whitened when he caught sight of her hand out of the corner of his eye.

"Just remember how we did it before. You've almost got it," she managed to encourage through the huskiness that softened the edges of her voice. When Suzaku's jaw started to grit, Aurora spoke again. "It's not a Knightmare, Suzaku. Give the car a chance to catch up, Mr. Lightning Reflexes." Aurora knew she was being facetious in defense of the way her stomach was fluttering at the shift of muscles under his t-shirt, but she couldn't quite help it. Not when what she wanted to do more than anything was reach over, dive her fingers into that gorgeous hair of his, yank Suzaku across the gear shift, and taste the mouth that was starting to haunt her dreams.

So she just subtly sat on her hands, talking him through the grumbling gears. Suzaku was improving, but was still far from smooth or efficient, or even very comfortable. When he managed a lap around the field without making the car growl or lurch, Aurora held out a hand, and Suzaku concentrated fiercely, managing to downshift with stalling.

"Nicely done!" she complimented enthusiastically, smiling when he studiously cranked on the emergency brake and twisted to face her. "I say we take the win and call it for the day. Besides, it looks like it's going to rain soon, so I'll drive home. Congratulations, Suzaku. You can drive a car."

The corner of his mouth kicked up, which made Aurora want to nibble right at that spot where the smile threatened to overtake his usually stern face. She could feel it, the urge to sway forward, to scratch that itch and lock lips with one of the most handsome, difficult men she ever met. It blossomed through her muscles and bones, thick and sweet like syrup. And Aurora sensed that Suzaku would let her. He might not be experienced enough to know better, but he'd hardly shove her away.

That was why she locked her spine, scrabbling for the door as she babbled something about going to thank Brianna and Pete for letting them use the field for the lesson. Because Aurora couldn't do it – she couldn't damn them to a spiraling mess of consequences neither could quite comprehend because she was a little horny. Eventually, Suzaku joined her, and Aurora kept her careful distance. Maybe she knew objectively that she couldn't kiss him, but that just meant she yearned for a hug, free of pain and guilt and sorrow. Just a little pleasant human contact. She could control herself for a little hug, right?

When they popped into the pleasant, almost quaint cottage, it turned out that Brianna was in Gallagher running some errands, so it was just Pete reading in the parlor with his two herding dogs, Nuada and Cainte, named after brothers of Irish mythology. Like his namesake, Nuada had one white paw that had suffered a severe injury as a pup.

As Aurora waded through the dogs to greet Pete, she saw when his hazel, slightly rheumy eyes slid past her and locked on Suzaku. In that moment, two old souls recognized one another, and the faintest nod was exchanged, an acknowledgement of trials suffered and losses survived. Suzaku spoke with perfect seriousness.

"Thank you for letting us use the field." He then executed a smooth, short bow that somehow rang with intense elegance and tradition, and Pete just watched him for several long moments before nodding.

"Aye, then. Well done," he returned in a deep, gravelly brogue that carried far, but not nearly as far as his whistle. Pete had never been much of a gabber, but Suzaku hardly seemed taken aback by his succinctness. When it seemed neither of them were driven to say anything else, Aurora began to extract herself from the boys' loving attention.

"Right, then. Cheers, Pete."

He just nodded, then said something in Gaelic that instantly recalled the dogs, both of their demeanors immediately changing from excitable to calm. As they walked back to the car, Aurora couldn't help but look over at Suzaku and smile. He'd found a buddy. After considering a little gentle teasing, she decided not to go there. The guy could use all the friends he could get. So instead, she focused on something else.

"Wow, Suzaku. Four words out of Pete first time you meet? That must be some kind of record. The best I got was one word and a grunt."

He glanced over at her as they scaled the fence with a small smile.

"Guy's not much of a talker, huh?" Lithely, he landed, still a little stiff in his shoulder, but otherwise regaining his panther grace.

"No," she confirmed with a laugh. "'Reticent' is Pete's middle name."

Suzaku smiled slightly in response, turning his head north when something caught his attention. At the glimpse of his profile, Aurora felt her throat close, tears tickle her eyes as something grew to fruition inside her that she knew would inevitably leave her forever changed. Reaching out, she caught his elbow, halting Suzaku before he could round the hood of the car to slide into the passenger seat.

"Hey," she whispered thickly, clearing her throat before forcing herself to look him in the eye. He was wary, and a little confused. Aurora's sternum ached from the storm of emotion it caged inside her.

"I just wanted to say 'good job.' And not just with the car, which I know was a struggle."

Suzaku rolled his eyes, and they both thickly laughed.

"But with everything. You're so brave, and I'm proud of you, you know. Always." As she slid her arms carefully over his shoulders, Aurora could feel Suzaku stiffen in shock, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Not now. Not quite yet. It wasn't until she held him that Aurora realized just how badly she needed this.

When she felt his arms close around her ribs, Aurora's eyes flew wide in surprise, before they drifted close in a sort of choked contentment. Slowly, she passed her palm down his spine, feeling the ridges of bone and muscle that still had so much more healing to complete. Aurora had to tilt her face into his shoulder to control herself when his fingers hooked over her shoulder, his arm tightening around her waist as he pulled them flush against each other.

She had no idea how long they stood there, holding each other in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. A breeze lightly tossed the tail of her hair, shifting the strands of Suzaku's hair tickling her fingertips while the grass rustled as if the earth was breathing. Faintly, Aurora caught the scent of him, sandalwood and the ocean, grass and metal. She could feel his jaw pressed against her cheekbone, the flex of it a manifestation of emotions he struggled to control. Suzaku's lips brushed her ear, like he was whispering something to her, but there was absolutely no sound. The smooth slide of his muscles under her hands made Aurora's breath stutter, the stunning strength of the man pressed against her boggling in its fragility. It was hard to say who was holding up who, or if the only way they remained standing was by mutual support.

Aurora wanted to cry; she wanted to laugh. Only her, she supposed. Only she would already be half in love with the one person she couldn't be with. They'd only known each other a couple of months. And no matter where either of them would end up, they couldn't be together. Because he couldn't stay away. And she couldn't go back. Who was to say if Suzaku even had the emotional strength and capacity to return her feelings? Who was to say if he would even want to?

But that didn't matter. It didn't change a single aspect of the thing building inside her, and Aurora knew that even if she wanted to fight it, she'd lose. She'd always been a sore loser, and it burned to realize her helplessness against her own heart. No matter what, she'd always been able to command that part of her. Aurora had never lost control, never lost that most vital element of herself. It had been a strength, but perhaps a weakness, too. She had wondered over the years – was there something wrong with her? Some deficit that made it impossible for her to fall in love with someone, even when everything pointed to that being the inevitable, easy answer?

Well, now she had her answer. Aurora never could do anything the easy way. It had to be hard, brutally hard, for it to matter to her. And it hurt, even as it felt like the fibers of her muscles yearned for him, like her nerves sparked so much more brightly when brushing against him. Like gears inside her were only now beginning to move because they had found their mates. In Suzaku Kururugi.

Jesus. Aurora felt the tears pool in her eyes, and struggled to blink them into submission, tilting her head back as her chin rested on his shoulder to gaze up at the sky, fruitlessly searching for impossible answers. When he inevitably returned to Britannia, she would survive. She'd accept absolutely nothing less. But it was rapidly becoming clear that it would gut Aurora, down to the very core, when he left her. When she lost the man who had found his way under her skin, into something much more delicate. Her infamous shields weren't worth shit, not in the face of the sword of an empire.

It was galling, facing a fate that you could do nothing to change. Because she was too far gone to scramble back from that edge now. Fear the likes of which Aurora had never grappled with before in her life raced through her, and Suzaku tightened his grip even more in response to the shivers that stole over her. It was almost like he was trying to shield her, when she had always been protecting him.

Oh, God. What in the hell was she going to do? Aurora didn't have a plan; she didn't have an exit strategy, or even a contingency. He was going to destroy her, and she would die if she couldn't save him. She had never been faced with a harder end game to accept. Everything in her, every second of training, every iota of self-preservation, shrieked in protest. But, struggling every inch of the way, Aurora bowed to it, lowering her face until her cheek pressed against the strong muscles and smooth skin of Suzaku's neck.

Sometimes, there was no such thing as coincidence. She'd been meant to save him, just as he was meant to break her. Aurora had no idea if there was a fucking point to all this agony they'd both suffered, and the sob that bubbled inside her, tinged with immense rage and unbearable sorrow, was barely controlled. But there was one thing that she knew without even the slightest doubt; she was going to miss him more than she'd thought ever possible when he was gone. And she would take every second they had, with a wild sort of greed, until the moment he left. Because it would have to last her a lifetime without him.

So Aurora held him, and Suzaku held her. She gloried in the feel of him, strong and sweet, unsure and still unsteady. And she accepted, with reluctance, that her heart was no longer hers to do with as she wished.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Suzaku tagged along when Aurora headed out for her usual errand trip of the week. He wasn't exactly sure why, but neither of them had quite been able to drag themselves away from each other ever since that embrace in the pasture. Suzaku had no genuine idea what had happened that day, but he'd found himself magnetized to Aurora's presence with a puzzling intensity. And she seemed drawn to him the same way. How two notoriously difficult people could spend such a copious amount of time together in thorough harmony, he couldn't begin to guess.

Aurora hadn't the foggiest idea, either. Even when she and Nik had been at their most in-sync, it was nothing like the rhythm and ease she and Suzaku had exhibited around each other recently. The best she could compare it to was dancing with her instructor. He'd been her favorite person to compete with, and quite possibly her first crush. But whatever was sparking between her and Suzaku was honestly a completely different animal.

Yesterday, she'd gone to the study to ask Suzaku what he wanted for lunch to find him hunched over on a stool she'd unearthed during her storage cleaning mission, gazing at an in-progress canvas. He was in the process of painting a storm at sea, vicious and wild and unapologetically brutal. A bird, small against the fury of the storm with the sharp wings and long tail of a raptor, battled his way to the shore, buffeted and beaten by the wildness he found himself trapped in. It wasn't yet finished, but Aurora had the feeling the sense of uncertainty, whether the bird would find his way home or be swallowed by the storm, was intentional.

Suzaku had set aside his brushes and paints, and was staring at the canvas in ruthless concentration. Meanwhile, he rotated his right hand over and over again, the joints in his wrist cracking wetly a few times every revolution. It was the same wrist Britannian officers had crushed so long ago when it was discovered that the son of the late, reviled Prime Minister of Japan was in their midst.

She stepped closer, catching his hand before he could twist it around again, and began gently massaging the tense tendons. He startled at her unexpected touch, but it was hardly noticeable. Stupid, that Aurora glowed from such a change, but she did. There was incredible intensity in his eyes, the colors shifting and whirling – there was so much more than the gorgeous green. Gold and silver gave the metallic shine of star hearts and space dust.

"Been painting a while?" Aurora queried as his hand began to loosen in hers, barely able to speak around the way her throat tried to close, moved by what she could swear was a fragment of his soul that she could see. Suzaku nodded, turning his gaze back to the painting, allowing her to breathe again.

"Yeah. I've been working on it for about six hours – I had to take a bit of a break. But I want to get this one done. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I finally got it going last night."

They gazed as the painting together, and Aurora's touch along his hand slowed to more of a caress than kneading, a change neither of them really noticed, but both subconsciously relaxed into.

"What kind of bird is it?" she finally asked quietly. Aurora appreciated birds, but couldn't claim ornithology as one of her strong suits.

"It's a Japanese sparrowhawk," Suzaku answered with easy confidence. "The lighter barring and red breast are exclusive to the males. They normally live in wooded or open areas, so this fellow's far from home."

As her fingers finally stilled and curled around his, Aurora leaned a little closer, her unbound mane of hair sliding over her shoulder to tickle his ear. Balancing her other hand on his left shoulder, they talked a little longer about the work, creating a warm, almost intimate tableau that would have been impossible even a few weeks ago for either of them.

Instances like that had become almost commonplace over the last few days. So teasing each other in the frozen aisle seemed practically second nature. When Suzaku had to lean against the cold glass cabinets, he was laughing so hard at Aurora's impression of a king chicken with a wildly exaggerated accent, not even a thought went to how this must look to the people around them, two lunatics laughing about frozen chicken.

When a frowning housewife started down the aisle towards them, he reached out and looped his arm around Aurora's waist to tug her out of the way. As she bumped into his side, a flash fire of heat sizzled through his system. It spooked Suzaku, but it wasn't enough to incite him to release Aurora, not when her hand rested against his back to steady herself, the smell of lilies and cinnamon drifting from her meticulously braided hair. Just holding her was far more pleasant than he ever could have guessed, the woman supple and warm in his grasp. He'd just started to waver against the urge to drop his forehead to the crown of Aurora's glittering hair when she straightened from her rather cozy spot against his side. When the warm press of her left his skin, Suzaku couldn't help but feel a little bereft, a little weak.

It took him a moment, shaking off the longing and confusion and fear that clung to his spine like moss. He just had to lengthen his stride a little to catch up, to see the face Aurora made when she tossed a bag of chocolate chips into the cart, a cross between maniacal glee and insane intent. She had to play it up, of course. She'd barely caught herself before snuggling into Suzaku's side, wrapping her other arm around him until they could just sink into each other, muscle and bone melding in a moment of contentment. It was so tempting, Aurora focused on acting like a moron to get a laugh. It was never something she was very good at, but she would do anything to keep Suzaku safe, even if it was from herself.

They laughed like loons all the way through check-out, even back to the house to drop off their purchases. Ban was reading their mood with his usual accuracy, and settled into a clown-like routine Suzaku had never seen the likes of before, involving a great deal of bounding and singing and banging miscellaneous body parts against innocent walls, chairs, and legs.

Even with everything put away and their list for the day completed, Aurora and Suzaku still bounced off each other with almost frenetic energy. Aurora knew that she was going to do something delicious to Suzaku if they didn't burn off some of the intense heat that had smoldered between them during inappropriate jokes and snotty expressions. She damn well wouldn't regret it now, but she'd bet serious money that they both would before the day was over.

Aurora wanted to go for a run, a walk, maybe even a drive in Natasha. But the light drizzle that had appeared during their drive home put any of those ideas in a slightly less ideal light. But Suzaku was also eager to get out of the house, looking slightly perplexed when Aurora refused to expose the princess to this sort of weather. Finally, it was decided that they would take the rental car out to poke around the nearby area. Remembering the way Suzaku had longingly looked at the ocean of the way to Galway, Aurora suddenly knew exactly where to go. He snagged their coats, and with a final pat for Ban, who watched them go with a tilted head, they hurdled out into the cool light and damp breeze. Like a pair of young racehorses released from their stalls, they moved with a wild sort of joy and freedom that Aurora had worked years to earn and Suzaku had long ago forgotten.

The air was heavy with rain; they could almost taste it. It was like gunmetal, coating their skin and tongues with the promise of sound and wet. Once the car was started, they both rolled down their windows as if in tacit agreement, allowing the chilly, moist air to brush against their cheeks. With the scent of ozone and grass and the sea leading the way, Aurora pulled out of the drive, heading west towards the coast before nosing north.

The pearly glow hummed in the crests of waves, folding into then smoothing themselves out from the base of the cliffs to beyond the horizon in an eternal shifting. Suzaku leaned towards his window, immune to the slap of the cold air against his face, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of the Atlantic sheened over in storm light. As they drove along the coast, occasionally nudging close to dizzying cliffs, Suzaku never once looked away from that iron sea, deeply breathing in the primal scent of salt and stone, water and wind.

He may have been on the opposite side of the globe, but while he looked at that water, Suzaku felt like he was home. The cliffs were staggering, brutal in their abruptness, and somehow proud. Black as obsidian, a single glance revealed their strength, and their weakness. The ocean ate away at the ancient rock, proving it vulnerable to the inevitable march of time and the depthless hunger of that primordial water. Feeling his mouth quirk, he glanced at Aurora out of the corner of his eye, gilded hair struggling free from its snug braid, her elegant hands loose and competent on the steering wheel and gear shift, and knew how the rocks felt. How that small, seemingly gentle pressure could chip away at you, until you fractured and crumbled, revealing something in the breaking you'd never known had been inside you in the first place.

"You want to stop somewhere, stretch our legs?" Aurora eventually asked. They been driving for almost an hour dodging spots of rain, and Suzaku had hardly spoken. It was a good silence, however – she didn't feel nervous about it, just… content. Finally tearing his eyes from the pounding surf and scattering of islands, he looked at her and nodded.

"Sure." Glancing out of the windshield, he pointed at a single gnarled tree by a sizable turn-off, a bulb of land that jutted out from the road towards the water. "How about there?"

Once the car was parked, they both stood and stretched, the popping of war-torn joints eliciting smiling winces from both of them. Hands tucked in her coat pockets once she'd tossed her rope of a braid over her shoulder, Aurora strolled over to the single oak tree. It seemed lonely, stuck on the wrong side of the road all by itself, its branches bent and burned from wind and storm. But it was tough, its trunk thick and its skewed branches doggedly coming into heady green. Several of its roots broke the surface of the ground, the knock-knees of a stubborn old man who wasn't going anywhere, dammit. Aurora patted the rutted and marbled bark of its trunk, appreciating its tenacity and attitude. She could relate.

Suzaku smiled at Aurora's silent appreciation of the black sheep oak before the water called his attention again. Mirroring her pose and tucking his chilled fingers into the pockets of his wind breaker, Suzaku stepped closer to the edge. The daring was there, the easy what-if's that floated through his brain like black butterflies. But it was surprisingly easy to ignore them, to forgo the test that would inevitably fail, leaving him disappointed, bitter, and confused. Much simpler to bat them away as he settled into the thrum the ocean sent rippling through his bones, the warm presence of Aurora as she stepped to his side. Some would consider them dangerously close to the edge, but they knew what that really felt like, what staring at a lethal drop inches away while you teetered on a razor wire could do to you. In comparison, their two foot buffer was relatively tame.

"I wish he could have seen this," Suzaku murmured, immediately wishing he could have swallowed back the stupid, sentimental words.

"I thought Lelouch didn't much care about the ocean," Aurora responded quietly, the edges of her coat and fragile wisps of hair moving in the breeze. Suzaku shrugged; she had a point.

"Not really. It just seems… better here," he finally decided. It took him a moment to feel the weight of her gaze, turning towards Aurora in time to see her tilt her head consideringly, her eyes deceptively lazy. In truth, they were as bright as diamonds, and just as sharp.

"Maybe you're the one who's better."

That seemed so terrifying simple that Suzaku wanted to laugh. But it stuck in his throat, so he just looked back out to the much safer water. Storm-cold oceans had nothing on Aurora Sterling.

"Not enough. And I don't have that right. It's really quite as simple as that."

Her gusty sigh made him want to wince. The woman made it damn hard to repent with any sort of integrity.

"Uh huh," she muttered, her voice tilted in irritation. "God, you're such a soldier."

Taken aback by her accusation, Suzaku looked over at her again. It was true, but just what did she mean by it? She caught his questioning look with a quick side glance, and looked back out over the water with a sigh that lifted and curled her whole body.

"You especially, but I guess Lelouch a little, too."

Just as Suzaku was about to protest that Lelouch had never been in any way, shape, or form a soldier, she continued.

"The world was always carved into lines of black and white for you guys. Right and wrong, do or die, him or me. Your philosophies were brutally stark and unforgiving, and any compromises you made were soaked in blood."

"It was war," Suzaku said mechanically.

"It was slaughter," she ground back. Aurora took a calming breath, reining her voice and temper back like an ill-tempered horse threatening to buck and scream. "And you two were hardly unscathed. That in itself is a tragedy. But you know what I think the worst part is?" She didn't wait for his answer. "You two were just kids."

God, Suzaku thought as the rain that they'd briefly outrun started to mist down. When was the last time he'd thought of himself as a kid?

"Two pissed off, grieving, self-righteous little shits who truly only played by one rule: my way or the highway. Just look at what Lelouch did to you, Suzaku. His one true friend, and he consigned you to a fate worse than death."

"He trusted me with what was most precious to him," Suzaku protested.

"Trusted you to take your punishment with a bowed head. And that's exactly what you did because, like the dumb teenager you were, you thought it was the only way."

Suzaku was pretty sure he should be insulted because he still thought it was the only way. But Aurora wasn't done.

"What gave him the right? Let's put aside the Rebellion, the war. Let's talk about you. Lelouch was five months younger than you, your peer in every respect. What right did he have to flush your life, your future down the toilet? I don't give a damn that he was Zero, that he was Emperor. He was an angry, desperate teenager drunk on power eager to end the game that was killing him from the inside out. And you were a grieving, emotionally destroyed teenager drunk on power eager to end the game that was killing you from the inside out. Jesus God in Heaven, who put you two in charge?" Her no-nonsense words should have made him angry, and they did, a little. But one thought kept floating through Suzaku's brain – where the hell had she been when they'd needed her? Where had been the person brave enough, smart enough, who cared enough, to face him and Lelouch down and give them the bald truth she'd just served him. Everything might have been so different if someone had just given a damn.

"We were the ones who took charge, who made the move. No one stopped us because no one could. It didn't matter that we were young, that we were damaged. We did what needed to be done, what only we could do. And the costs were our own," he said with a shrug. He felt anything but casual, though. Aurora rubbed a hand over her chin as she digested his words, her eyes distant and unspeakably sad.

"You know that conundrum you and Lelouch were always tossing in each other's faces, and you were never really satisfied with the answers? Well, I'm going to give you my answer; it's a hell of a lot harder to give, but easier to live with. Do the ends justify the means?" With the rain clinging to her hair like diamonds, she tilted her head back to squint into the drizzle. "Sometimes."

"That's not an answer."

"Not a cut and dried one, no. And it sure as hell can't be adopted as a be-all, end-all for the public in a press conference. But I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the question you ask yourself. Yes or no doesn't give a guy much breathing room. I'm not saying Lelouch was wrong; he sure as hell got shit done. But I can't quite swallow the price so many, including both him and you, had to pay. And while your way seemed to be the answer, I've lived too long on the shady side of the law to admit that the system succeeds the way it should. So I have to draw a personal line for myself. How far would I go? Well, that depends. Crappy as far as answers go, but it's the truth. Who I was fighting for, why, the price of both success and failure."

"There's too much gray in that answer to be of use," Suzaku pointed out. Aurora laughed.

"Honey, I used to live in the gray. Breathe, hide, fight. The gray was my world. And it formed me like your black and white world formed you. But when I came to England, I figured out pretty fast that it couldn't be the only way. So let me give you a little piece of advice: whether it's lines or the absence of them, that can't be all you have. Black and white gives structure, gray flexibility. You can't have only one or the other, or you'll go insane. So give yourself a little breathing room, Suzaku. Adapt a little gray into your mental construct. And give yourself a fucking break. Like I said, you were just a kid. We all do stupid stuff when we're kids."

He couldn't help the brow he raised at what seemed a far too simple brush-off of globe-shattering errors.

"You didn't bring down a world regime enveloping the world in war and chaos."

Aurora laughed at Suzaku's desert-dry words.

"No, I sure as hell didn't." She patted his shoulder, careful to avoid the tender areas of healing. "But neither did you. Let Lelouch have his burdens; you've got enough of your own." She left her hand on his shoulder, offering what she could. Because she'd been young and broken once, too, having made horrible mistakes she'd never be rid of for the rest of her life. But that didn't mean she couldn't have a life at all, and she firmly believed that the same could be said for Suzaku.

He looked at her silently with his head tilted slightly, those fathomless green eyes nudging at her heart. The rain had deepened the color of his hair to nearly black, sliding off his sharp cheekbones to occasionally drip from his chin. God, he was beautiful, and driving her crazy.

"You're never going to give up, are you?" he murmured. Aurora didn't have to ask him to clarify before beaming out a sunny smile.

"Not on your life. Like someone else I know, I have stubbornness issues."

He rolled his eyes at her gentle jab, noticing the fine tremor that ran along her hand.

"Let's head back. Does the fireplace in the parlor work?" he asked, curious of the gray marble fireplace he'd always seen cold. Aurora looked a little insulted.

"In an Irish cottage? Of course it does."

Pivoting to follow her, Suzaku couldn't help the small smile – she thought the Andrews' house was a cottage?

He was still smiling a little when his foot slipped in the softened mud, momentum and gravity carrying Suzaku down the slight incline, centuries of erosion crumbling the lip of the cliff under his weight. Time seemed to end as he tumbled out into space, fragile flesh poised to plummet an unforgiving two hundred feet to the rocks and water below. It all happened so fast, he hardly had time to be afraid

Aurora had just started to turn away when she saw Suzaku stumble. Because it was him, and because she was who she was, she was already reaching for him when he slammed into the ground, wet and circumstance sending him skidding those precious few feet to the edge of the cliff. His eyes were wide, his quick reflexes earning him nothing as he instinctively scrambled for a purchase that simply wasn't there. As he slid clear, his lean frame suddenly suspended by nothing at all, an inhuman gush of adrenaline swamped Aurora's system. Because this wasn't happening; there was no way this was happening. It was only a matter of seconds, but each detail loomed large in her mind, the terror scrounging the ticking of the clock down to nothing. In this handful of moments, everything mattered, and Aurora gave it everything she had.

Quite suddenly, Suzaku wasn't falling anymore. There was incredible yanking pressure on his right arm, and he bounced off the cliff face like a rubber toy. He looked up and could see Aurora, her face set with a fierceness and fortitude that could have burned cities to the ground, gripping his wrist with everything she had. Fear and admiration and shock and gratitude melded with things he couldn't name, until there was nothing in him but a mess of emotion and a stomach that wanted to dribble off the toes of his shoes dangling in space. But then he realized an absence, the implications of which took him beyond stunned to paralyzed. He could only look up into the savage silver of Aurora's eyes as every part of him except the wrist clenched in her hand went numb.

She had him. Jesus Christ, she had him. She didn't know how, and she couldn't give a fuck. Aurora had a hold of Suzaku, and by God, she wasn't letting him go. As the initial, mind-numbing relief started to fade, other pertinent facts were trickling in. Her arm was already screaming, but she blocked that out with a brick wall. She was losing ground by slow centimeters. Suzaku was so shocked, he was all but limp, his eyes dark and huge. And the rocks that had given away under him banged against the water, which might as well be cement from this height, after falling the dizzying distance that would be their fate if she didn't get her act together.

Aurora began to coax Suzaku to take hold of her wrist, anything to solidify the only connection she had to him. He eventually obeyed, but she didn't know if he was actually hearing her or if it was just instinctive. She needed to, was dying to, use her other hand, but until she was more secure, it was pretty much the only thing holding them up. Feeling the fragments of grit disintegrating under her chest, Aurora realized that they were on the clock.

"Suzaku," she said in a firm voice, trying to cut through the shock that still had his eyes gigantic and empty. "Listen to me. I need you to grab onto me with your other hand, OK? Come on, bud, my shoulder's killing me. Just grab onto me, and we'll move from there."

"I… can't," he whispered through bloodless lips. She fought back the panic that wanted to surge up into her compressed lungs. Maybe he'd hurt his shoulder or arm in the fall. That was a grim thought, but dying was worse.

"Can you reach anything – a foothold or a handhold?" The cliff arched slightly inward, making it unlikely. But Suzaku mutely shook his head without looking, and Aurora started to curse.

"Suzaku, I really need you to try." A chunk of dirt and rock about the size of her fist gave way under her, and Aurora could actually feel the muscles in her shoulders starting to fray. "Come on, big guy."

Nothing. He just stared, like he'd been cored out and nothing but the husk remained. Terror resurged, this time as to what his dead expression meant.

"Suzaku, you know how I'm always telling you 'don't even think about it'? Well, I need you to think about it, right now. Please, Suzaku." She begged, she pleaded. She used every persuasion she could think of, without reaction. A terrible thought slid through her mind as she struggled against the pain and consuming fear.

He'd given up.

After everything, he'd checked out. Saw his chance, and took it.

The fury and agony and, worst of all, disappointment that burned through her kept the steady destruction of her shoulder from her mind. It drove her to scream at him, and even cry. She might as well have been holding onto a corpse.

Screw that, Aurora thought with venom. This wasn't the first time she'd dragged him back from the edge, and it wouldn't be the last. He may have given up, but she sure as hell hadn't. Two sizable chunks crumbled free from under her, and Aurora quickly reevaluated.

Throwing quick, desperate glances over her shoulder, she finally caught sight of the oak. Suddenly blessing the crotchety tree with fervent prayers and the sweetest of compliments she could think of, few of which were actually applicable to a tree, she wormed her foot under the biggest root of the ones breaking the surface close by. It twisted her whole body pretty awful, but her knee was hooked securely around the wood.

She didn't even have a chance to celebrate the torque she could remove from her shoulder when a solid six inches of the cliff edge fell away from underneath her. It would have been their death sentence not twenty seconds ago, but she managed to adjust, to keep her balance thanks to that lovely old tree. The jolt, however, loosened the grip she and Suzaku had on each other. His mouth trembled open, and Aurora clapped her other hand over his wrist before he slipped anymore, readjusting her grip. She was steady now, but who knew if that would last.

Summoning all the rage and desperation and something unnamable that ached under her sternum, Aurora sucked in a deep breath.

"Let you go, my ass," she hissed, then gave everything she had into dragging him back over the edge. The scream she loosed to the air was stunning its ferocity, its sheer animal anguish. Not since the time of ancient battle on these shores had the cliffs heard such a war cry. It felt like everything in her was tearing, ripping, but Aurora refused to stop. She'd made a vow – she would not let this man die. No matter the cost.

For a few seconds, it didn't seem possible, her wild purpose ramming head long into the wall of agonizing pain. But she tipped past the center of gravity, and the pair of them scrambled away from the edge, instinct energizing them into action that would otherwise be impossible. Aurora collapsed at the base of the tree on the other side from the ocean, practically wanting to cuddle her new best friend. Suzaku sprawled in the mud a foot or two away, too stunned to compute what had happened. It had felt like centuries – it couldn't have been more than ten minutes.

Both of them sat panting for a solid couple of minutes, too overcome by the insanity of what they'd just survived to even think about talking. Suzaku eventually sat up, drawing up his knees to brace his elbows against them, burying his fingers in his wet hair. The anger that had spurred Aurora to save his life resurged, and she held her arm close to her body, the intense throbbing in the joint only increasing her abject rage. When a drop of rain slid down her neck, Aurora felt like she could breathe fire.

Then he started to laugh. Still bent over, folded in on himself, cradling his head in his hands, Suzaku cackled. It wasn't a good laugh, or even a venting one. It was cruelly hysterical, gnawingly dark, and too close to insane to be anything positive. It set Aurora's teeth on edge, and her fingers vised around the wrist of the arm she was cradling against her.

"Shut up," she said quietly. Suzaku did not stop. "I said shut up." Even the slightly louder tone didn't pierce the veil of Suzaku's frenzied cackles. "Dammit, Suzaku, shut up!" she snarled, and the laughter quickly cut off as he raised his head. His eyes were still enormous, his pupils extremely dilated and his face nearly translucent.

"What could you possibly be laughing about? In case you didn't notice, we almost just died," Aurora snapped with a cutting scowl. Suzaku, though, hardly seemed affected. He muttered something under his breath, and started to giggle again.

"Knock it off!" she barked. He just stared at her silently. "What is going on?" She knew, of course. He wanted to die. He wished she'd just let him die. Of all the ungrateful-

"It's broken," he murmured, sounding dazed and increasingly mad.

"What?" Aurora croaked, confused and already aching. She was suddenly petrified about his arm and shoulder. Had the plates cracked? Had all that healing bone shattered again? He met her eyes, and the look in them sent a shudder down her spine.

"My Geass command, Aurora. It's broken."

Chapter Text

Aurora just stared at him, too shocked to say anything. He laced those long fingers together, pressing them against the back of his neck as he dropped his forehead to his kneecaps.

"I didn't... How is this even possible? It must be some sort of joke," he muttered into his lap, his voice and shoulders still shaking from deranged laughter.

She didn't find it very funny. In fact, she was still completely furious with him. And afraid.

Horribly afraid.

Because what was to stop Suzaku from rolling up to his feet and striding right off that cliff edge she'd barely managed to drag him back from? Absolutely nothing except his own will to live. And Aurora trusted that about as far as she could throw a Knightmare.

Lurching awkwardly to her feet with the steady support of the oak, thrown painfully off balance by her wrenched shoulder, Aurora limped over, movement making it blatantly obvious that she'd literally put her back into saving him. It hurt like a broken tooth all the way down beyond the curve of her spine. Pissed and in pain, in more ways than one, Aurora nudged her toe against his hip, none too gently.

"Knock it off, Suzaku," she snapped, attempting to stride off her rage even as every step made her shoulder and spine weep. "Man, I should hit you so hard right now." Not that she could, of course. He could be injured far worse than her, and too brain dead from that crazy revelation to be feeling it. Besides, she was feeling her injuries just fine, and a solid punch would cost her far more than it would be worth. Even if it would make her feel better.

Suzaku raised his head at her bitter words, his expression one of confusion and brain-scrambling shock.

"Why?" he finally managed to murmur. Aurora stared at him savagely for a second before resuming her stilted pacing.

"Why? Why do you think, you asshat? Because we both almost fell to our horrible deaths, splattered against rocks like sludge, and all you can think about is that stupid Geass command. Don't you fucking dare," she snarled when Suzaku barely opened his mouth. "Don't you dare tell me I shouldn't have saved you, that I didn't have to. You cannot imagine the damage I will cause if you dare say that to me right now."

It was slowly filtering through Suzaku's hazed brain that Aurora was genuinely angry, angrier even than when they'd had the fight about the history of his heroin use. Riding on that thought's sluggish tail was the realization that something was wrong with her.

"So why did you?" he asked, still returning to his brain, piece by piece. The fragments were too scattered to urge him to be wise enough to hold his tongue. Aurora rounded on him, her eyes glazed like molten glass while flags of color rode high on her cheekbones.

"Let me think. Because Kendra and I have invested God knows how much time and effort and money to salvage your sorry hide. Because if I stack one more lost life that I could have saved on my soul, it might just crumble under the weight. Did you ever think what would happen to Nunnally if you had your way, hot shot? Can you imagine what it would be like for me to contact the sister I haven't seen in over a decade to inform her that her guardian angel literally slipped through my fingers to plummet to his death? 'Whoops. Sorry,' doesn't quite cover it."

The dreams would be the worst, Aurora knew. She would remember that moment for the rest of her days, when she realized what exactly was happening, the way Suzaku had tumbled over the edge like the void was swallowing him whole. If she hadn't been fast enough, or strong enough... The shudder that ran through her was easily mistaken for cold or anger.

"Because I'm your friend, you moron."

But she didn't sound particularly friendly. She sounded furious. Suzaku didn't protest her veiled accusation that he'd wanted to die; he didn't know the answer himself. And that silence drove Aurora's temper even higher.

"You cowardly son of a bitch," she snarled, the sheer aggression in her tone and face driving up Suzaku's brows, made that much worse by the whisper that delivered it. Unlike her, he didn't yet have the energy to straighten his legs, certain they'd fold underneath him like a new colt's. So he just sat, watching Aurora lunge back and forth like an enraged lioness, the promise of blood in her eyes. "You're so stupidly selfless about everything else except this. Why does it always have to be your way, huh? What makes you so special that you have to take all the blame? How come you get the easy out?" She was gesturing wildly with largely one hand, the implications of which were starting to dawn on him, helped along by the recollection that Aurora wasn't naturally left handed. "Jesus, Suzaku. You know what it's like to be left behind. Why in the world would you wish that on people who care about you, who would be hit hard by losing you? And don't be obtuse enough to think that there's no one like that - you know better than that."

"You're injured," he said frankly, too rattled to respond to her questions and points. Instead, he latched onto the one thing that had become stunningly clear - Aurora had gotten hurt trying to save him. She suddenly froze at his words, staring at him stonily for a long moment.

"I need my phone," she bit out, stomping over to the car. Curious and finally having gathered enough calm to take to his feet, Suzaku lurched up, cautiously trailing after her. The smoke of her temper drifted through the air behind her, a sharp tint to the smell of rain and earth.

With more force than was strictly necessary, Aurora typed out a text to Kendra. It was only one word: Tsaritsyn. It was the site of the bloodiest battle from the massive war over sixty years ago, and the doctor would know exactly what she meant.

Shoving the phone in her pocket, Aurora stalked around the hood of the car to the driver's side. Suzaku, however, loped around the trunk, beating her to it. He latched onto the door handle, looking down at her with a weird expression in his eyes.

"I'll drive," he said quietly.

"Please," Aurora mocked with a roll of her eyes. But he didn't release the door handle, nor did he move out of the way.

"I mean it, Aurora. You'll have trouble steering, and the last thing you need to do is agitate the injury." He quirked his brow a little – yeah, it was ironic. She'd been throwing that crap in his face for months. Now it was her turn.

Aurora scowled, but he was proving oddly impossible to cow. Huffing in resignation, she bad-temperedly tromped to the other side of the car, trying to twist and finagle herself into the passenger seat without whimpering. By the time she got herself buckled in, her vision was a little gray. Taking deep breaths, Aurora tried to resist the urge to drop her head between her knees.

As Suzaku got into the driver's seat, his brain reached its first moment of clarity since before the fall. Old instinct had taken hold, and it was almost habitual to function, to move through the stress and shock. Just do what needed to be done next. And what needed to be done was that Aurora needed to be kept safe. Now that he was paying attention, it was easy to see the way she cradled her arm close to her stomach, the clammy pallor under the color of temper. He had to get her home. Without tossing her around the car, of course.

Concentrating with immense intensity, Suzaku went through the motions he'd learned only a few days ago, carefully, and smoothly, shifting into gear and pulling out onto the road to head back to the house. When it had been his pride and fear on the line, Suzaku had driven horribly. But when Aurora's comfort and care was at stake, the motions and transitions came quietly. Not instinctively - the first few miles required a level of focus he hadn't really used since combat. But he had yet to bounce her against her seat belt, and that was the important part. Apparently what he'd been lacking was the right motivation.

Aurora rested her forehead against the cool, rain-beaded window, turned away from him in a blatant refusal to talk. After her rampage by the tree, Suzaku already had a pretty good idea she'd said what she wanted to say, anyway. The thing now was picking his way through what had happened, and how exactly he felt about it.

The best he could compare it to was a light switch. You go your whole life, and when a switch flips, a light goes on. Then there's a moment when the switch is flipped and no light goes on that your brain just blanks. Eventually you gather yourself up enough to test it, to determine if the bulb is dead or the wire faulty. But his realization had been so huge, his blank moment so monumental upon noticing a lack of the telltale fizzle that had always alerted him that the Geass command was taking over. He'd been so completely floored, it had frozen him like a blast of ice, beyond reaction or comprehension. So he had dangled from Aurora's hold, utterly incapable of understanding what was happening to him. Because it should have been impossible.

"It just doesn't make sense." He hadn't meant to mutter that out loud, but Suzaku was still surprised when Aurora stirred and responded.

"What doesn't?" Her voice was cool and distant. He was a little taken aback by the way his chest ached at the change in tone.

"Lelouch's Geass is impossible to break. It was absolute obedience that only ends upon completion of the order or the target's death. There are those besides myself living under those commands to this day, regardless of when Lelouch died. They never stop. Except..."

"Except for a hard reset," she offered, her voice hollow.

"Like Jeremiah's Geass Canceller," he agreed with a nod. "But I was never exposed to that."

"That's not the only way to reset a brain."

"The heroin withdrawal?" Suzaku guessed. Aurora just shrugged.

"Or a solid blow to the head. But, yeah, that's probably what did it."

There was a silky edge to her voice that made it obvious she'd be more than happy to deliver that blow. Now that Suzaku thought about it, and not Aurora's sudden inclination to smack him, it made a sort of sense. The stress of the withdrawal had reset his memories of Euphie. What was to say the experience hadn't done so to other parts of his brain, as well? And until today, he'd never been in enough danger to test it.

That brought a whole other point to bear. He'd been living for two months without any idea that his life was again his to take. And he hadn't had a clue. Besides the rare, almost rote wish to end his life these days, Suzaku hadn't been driven to walk to the edge of balconies or play any more than necessary with scissors or knives. He'd done it all the time right after Euphie's death, when he'd simply refused to believe that he couldn't follow her into death. He'd tested for a chink or falter in the order, an escape clause or expiration date. But not now. Not here. What did that say about him?

Did he really want to die?

Suzaku almost bobbled the wheel, and focused fiercely to make sure the car stayed smack in the middle of its lane. Once it again steadied, he cautiously approached the thought again. When he'd been hanging there, ribs and arm screaming, the surf pounding far below, Aurora's hand cool and wet from the rain on his wrist and her eyes drilling into his, the shocking quiet ringing through his head, had he wanted her to let go? He didn't know.

Once she'd saved him, a show of magnificent strength that made him want to hug her and quite possible never let go, had Suzaku regretted Aurora's act of immense power and courage? Would it have just been easier, even preferable if she'd failed? He didn't know.

With a rising sense of frustration, Suzaku realized that he didn't know much of anything. Certainly not about himself.

There was a part of him still that stubbornly refused to believe the command was gone, that he was free. With all the wonderful, terrible things it implied. As agonizing as it had been, the command had been as close to immortality as humanly possible once Charles zi Britannia was erased. With it gone, the cliff had given Suzaku his first, tangy taste of mortality in years. He'd been horribly invincible for so long, he hardly knew how to deal with again being merely human.

As they curved around Gallagher and aimed for home, Suzaku snuck glances at Aurora, who was growing paler by the second, her face tight with pain and fury. Even an idiot could figure out that she was immensely angry with him. The real question was, why, exactly?

He was guilty in a sort of second-hand fashion at his complete uselessness during the episode – really, it was embarrassing, life-altering realization notwithstanding. But he'd still put her in danger, caused her injury. Though Suzaku didn't think that was really the root of her anger, even as the shame of it stung him. There was something else that was infuriating Aurora, and he just wasn't getting it. Like a thin layer of mist had covered his brain, and he just couldn't wrap his hands around the thoughts well enough to wrangle them into some sort of submission and understanding. He was being pulled in so many different directions, he couldn't be sure which one deserved, or needed, his attention.

And considering the expression on Aurora's face, he was a little reluctant to ask. Her right arm, the one closest to him, may be injured, but her left one was just as strong and fully capable. As he pulled into the gravel drive, awkwardly rubbing the door against one of the hedges but shifting relatively without incident, Suzaku could hear Ban's welcoming howls through the soft patter of rain. He felt a little bad for the dog – the state of his mama would be drastically different than the one she'd left in. Because of him.

Wincing at the lance of guilt, Suzaku parked largely in the middle of the open area by the front porch, unwilling to try parking by the barn with the precious duchess inside, and thinking it would be better if Aurora had to walk less of a distance. Once he's turned off the ignition, Suzaku hopped out of the car, racing to open the door before she could struggle with it. He beat her to it, pretty much pulling the handle out of her hand. She sat glaring at him through the drizzle, her eyes jagged and sizzling hot in the pale planes of her face.

"Thank you. For saving my life," Suzaku said quietly, more sincere and genuine than he'd ever been when it came to the gift and burden of his own life. He couldn't give her answers, but she deserved his gratitude. Offering his hand to help her out, Suzaku hoped the olive branch would make a difference, even in the slightest. She looked from his face, to his hand, then back again. Finally, she tilted her head in a way that should have translated consideration, but instead just made Suzaku feel small, even though he towered over her.

"That would mean a lot more if you hadn't given up." For the briefest of seconds, the fury drained from her eyes, replaced by a pain and godawful disappointment that made Suzaku want to crumple to his knees before her and beg forgiveness for a crime he hadn't even known he'd committed. Then it was gone, and Aurora was again coldly livid. Gripping the door frame with white, angry knuckles, she heaved herself out of the car without his help, limping to the house like she was escaping something, not returning to something.

More confused than ever, he shut the door and silently trailed after her, careful not to touch or get too close. What could he possible say to that?

Aurora knew that if she didn't get into the house, into her room, in the next sixty seconds, she was going to toss her lunch up onto her shoes. Her shoulder was an anvil, her blood a hammer strike against it with every heartbeat. As soon as she ripped open the front door, Ban immediately stopped howling. It was part of his training, but she could tell by the look on his face that the realization that something was very, very wrong had dawned on him, and he was suddenly scared. Tucking down in a standard stance of submission, he slunk to her side, eyeing Suzaku with curiosity but refusing to move from his spot leaning against her leg. Murmuring nonsense in an attempt to comfort both of them, and largely failing, Aurora lunged up the stairs, the swirling dizziness making it a dangerous, desperate task. Suzaku said something – she had no idea what through the buzzing in her ears – and slammed her bedroom door closed behind her. Without shrugging off her coat or even trying to make it to her bed, she pressed her back against the door and slid down to the floor, dropping her head between her knees as she sucked in huge, shuddering breaths.

Ban sat next to her, draping his head over her back, gently licking her ear in comfort when a shuddering, strangled whimper rattled her whole frame. Finally, Aurora was under control enough to raise her head, dislodging Ban's comforting weight. He gazed solemnly at her for a long moment with his wise, innocent eyes before breaking into a grin and panting his dependably rank breath in her face. With a weak, smiling grimace, she nudged his face away, running her fingers over his ears to compensate.

"Oh, Baby Ban. I thought it was going to be a good day."

He tucked his nose under Aurora's chin, burrowing against her chest in the way he'd done when he'd been about sixty pounds lighter, trying to crawl into her lap. With a groaning laugh, she attempted to shove him away, but the hound was utterly adamant. So she just relaxed as much as she could, the giant dog draped over her, her shoulder still painful enough to make breathing a chore. She was wet, tired, and in a considerable amount of pain. But Aurora couldn't quite find it in herself to push him away. She could say, with absolute certainty, that Bannock would never give up on her. Never break her heart into tiny shards with disappointment. Suddenly, she was petrified to go downstairs, to face what had happened on the cliff edge and what it was doing to her. Her shoulder wasn't important. But her heart? Her heart was in serious, serious trouble. And nothing had ever made her quite so furious.

By the time they'd both dried off and changed clothes, the rain had worsened. Now pounding instead of pattering, it still barely rubbed a notch into the heavy silence that had overtaken the house. Neither party was willing or able to talk, and Ban was in the middle, confused and uncomfortable. In reality, they all felt that way. Aurora sat at the kitchen table with a curtain of simmering fury around her, a forbidding and dangerous animal just waiting for the excuse to strike, staring obstinately at her largely untouched mug of tea. She'd ignored his offer of help earlier, and had snarled at his suggestion that her injury needed attending. So Suzaku stayed at the counter, scrubbing the mud out of his jeans. Since he felt like there was something he had to make up for, he had snagged Aurora's jeans and jacket when she'd tossed them on the floor in the laundry room. They were bundled on the counter along with his coat, waiting their turn. It might have seemed odd for the son of a premier taking a scrub brush to muddy jeans, but he'd spent enough time frantically cleaning his uniform to pass inspection to be surprisingly competent at the chore.

The bang of the front door distracted a miserable Bannock. Aurora hardly moved, but Suzaku approached the doorway, surprised and relieved to see Kendra and Chandler tromp inside, both soaking wet and looking scarily determined. A part of his mind boggled when Kendra opened her coat then shrugged it off, revealing a sizable belly bump that made her look incredibly fertile and a little terrifying. She swept down the hallway, leaving behind mud and spraying water, Chandler making his leisurely way after her, his buddy Ban plastered to his side as he grunted and chattered out his side of the story. As she entered the kitchen in all her maternal grandeur, Kendra's eyes swept over Suzaku and Aurora, the lenses of her glasses slightly misted.

"All right. Who died?"

In lieu of an answer, Aurora just jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards Suzaku. Like adjusting the coordinates on a missile, this sent Kendra immediately aimed towards him, dumping her bag on the ground and running her fingertips over his collarbone.

"Wait, I-"

"What happened?" Kendra demanded sharply. Over her shoulder, he could see Chandler brushing the water from his hair, patting Bannock as he took in the room with quiet, surprisingly sharp eyes. Suzaku looked down at Kendra, and it occurred to him that her aggression was a front for worry.

"Suzaku fell off a cliff." Aurora words broke the air like dry twigs, harsh and apathetic.

Chandler's jaw dropped a little, his eyes gleaming in what could only be described as the expression of an impressed male.

"Seriously?"

Kendra's eyes widened, her fingers suddenly clamping around Suzaku's wrist, betraying her fear and doctorly instincts to check his pulse.

"What?!"

Finally gathering himself, Suzaku rested his palm lightly on Kendra's shoulder.

"I'm fine. I slipped; Aurora saved me. Actually, she's the one who needs your attention."

"No, I don't," Aurora snapped into her tea mug. Kendra took a step away, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Who's hurt worse?"

Simultaneously, they both pointed at each.

"He is."

"She is."

Chandler snorted at their perfectly in-sync words. "You saved him, Aurora? What, you pulled him back over the edge where he helplessly dangled?"

Suzaku almost snorted at Chandler's joking tone, smirking a little when he answered.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, she did."

That kept him quiet for a few seconds, then Chandler looked over at his friend with approving nods and eyes glittering with appreciation.

"Holy crap, Stretch. You some sort of superhero?"

"Shut the fuck up, Chandler." Pointed silence fell in the wake of Aurora's words. They weren't joking; they weren't even sarcastic. They were just this side of vicious, and cuttingly cold. The politician's brow rose a little.

"A pissy superhero," he muttered under his breath. Aurora's outburst had Kendra stepping closer. The blonde still hadn't moved from her determined contemplation of her nastily cold tea. After a few long moments of studying her friend, Kendra spoke.

"Strip." Her eyes went to Suzaku. "Both of you."

Chandler's wolf-whistle competed with Suzaku's splutter.

"What? Why?"

The doctor just rolled her eyes.

"Take off your shirt, you big baby." She nudged Aurora's chair. "You too, grumpy butt."

In silence, they both slid off their shirts. Suzaku shed his long sleeved t-shirt and undershirt with relative ease - his ribs and back ached, and his shoulder was a little sore, but he'd gotten worse from kendo practice. However, Kendra's eyes grew increasingly sharp as Aurora struggled to free herself from her button-down shirt. She hadn't even stripped off her tank top when Chandler's breath hissed through his teeth. Utterly horrified, Suzaku's head felt weightless, the blood drained from it so fast.

Aurora's shoulder was swollen to almost twice its normal size; where it wasn't red and throbbing, it was already turning purple with bruising. The dark splatters blurred all the way out from the point of her shoulder around to her chest, up above her shoulder blade onto her neck, and back towards her ribs and spine.

He'd had no idea it was that bad - how could she be spitting mad with that mess pounding under her jacket? How could she not tell him? Suzaku instinctively made to go to her when Kendra halted him with an upheld hand, her eyes warning. She slowly approached the table, squatting down by Aurora's chair with the slight awkwardness induced by her passenger.

"Rora-"

"I'm fine, Kendra." Aurora had finally looked away from her tea, gazing at the doctor with frighteningly unyielding eyes. Her jaw was like granite, her skin still pale. In reality, the doctor thought she looked like shit, and was had obviously taken a heck of a beating. But something in Aurora's demeanor warned it had nothing do with the possible subluxation she was pretending wasn't a concern. Deciding that Aurora was too pissed to respond well to a firm manner, Kendra gently rested her palm on Aurora's cold cheek.

"Honey."

Tears swam into Aurora's eyes, and Kendra's heart sank. This was bad.

"Let me take care of you."

Finally, she nodded, and Kendra made to stand, Chandler stepping forward to offer his wife his hand. Together, they helped Aurora to her feet, Kendra draping the discarded shirt over the chilled woman's shoulders. Miserably, Aurora looked up at Chandler.

"Sorry for being such a bitch."

Chandler just flicked a finger over her wan cheek as he smiled good-naturedly.

"Aw, sweetheart. Why apologize for something you're so good at?"

Aurora chuckled, the noise a little choked, but nonetheless an improvement over her intense rage. She rose to her toes and pressed a wobbly kiss to his cheek.

"Gee, thanks, Senator." She stepped past them to head back upstairs, her gaze never landing on Suzaku, who watched her leave with drowning concern. The married couple took worried notice of both of them.

"You. Sit," Kendra commanded Suzaku, concerned that any more of her patients would be ridiculous and try to wander around without supervision. "Chan, could you get Suzaku an ice-pack for his ribs, please?"

"Sure thing, sugar plum."

Rolling her eyes at his new, utterly embarrassing endearment for her, Kendra patted his arm before heading after Aurora, knowing that the doofus would try to attempt the stairs without her.

The doctor cursed her meager equipment as they staggered up to the second floor. She had only her basics, not expecting a code omega text to be coming her way today. With the level of swelling she was showing, Kendra was already worried about possible fractures, and wanted to groan at the absence of her x-ray machine. Aurora tipped a little dangerously once they reached the top of the stairs, Kendra subtly muscling her back into balance. The way she frowned made it obvious Kendra had not been as covert as she'd hoped.

Ban, who had been following them hopefully, loosed a pitiful whine when Kendra gently, but swiftly, shut the door in his face. After a moment, she heard the sigh, grunt, and thud signaling Ban had folded himself down outside the door, refusing to budge. This was all typical behavior for the dog whenever Aurora was hurt.

Turning around with a heavy sigh, Kendra set to work, the worry for her friend making her hands shake the faintest bit. Without the ability to x-ray, Kendra had to depend on her experience and Aurora's incredibly high pain tolerance to diagnose what exactly was wrong. As Aurora stripped off her shirts, getting down to her bra this time, Kendra took in the full extent of the damage. Considering she'd dragged at least one hundred sixty five pounds of solid flesh and bone back over a cliff freehand, it wasn't all that surprising. It was much more shocking that she'd managed to do it at all.

After five solid minutes of sweating torture for both of them, as Kendra struggled to figure out through the blood and fluid just how badly Aurora's shoulder was damaged and Aurora worked valiantly to keep the screams and tears locked in her chest, the doctor was millimeters from calling it and taking Aurora to the A&E in Galway. But it only took one incident to make defensive thought habitual, and the consequences tumbled through Kendra's head.

She didn't know what ID Aurora was using, and didn't know how to explain this without including Suzaku, and, of course, bringing him into this mess was impossible. Coming up with a lie on the fly wouldn't be too terribly difficult, but Aurora had already spent almost two hours with her shoulder potentially out of joint. It could still be in the socket, but with major muscular damage that the A&E couldn't really do anything about anyway. Just as her brain was calculating the odds and risks, Aurora heaved a breath.

"I don't think it's dislocated, Kendra."

The doctor wanted to dismiss it as Aurora's habitual minimization of her injuries, but consciously checked herself. Aurora was experienced enough, and hopefully calm enough now, to make those kind of judgment calls.

"OK. But does it feel kind of loose, almost clicky whenever you move it?"

"I'm trying my best not to move it," she said, her smile more of a grimace. "But, yeah, close enough."

OK, Kendra thought to herself again. The likelihood of a dislocation, and the need for an emergency trip to Galway, was dissipating. Nodding, Kendra guided Aurora to lay down flat on her back, carefully manipulating her so that her upper arm was flush against her side and her forearm was laid out at ninety degrees.

"Aurora," Kendra said firmly, speaking in her no-nonsense doctor tone to be certain she had Aurora's full and absolute attention. "Relax."

She huffed, a sarcastic laugh at its most quiet.

"I mean it. Deep breaths, and relax, muscle by muscle." Keeping her hand on Aurora's wrist in preparation, Kendra waited until her friend did as she asked, gradually unclenching muscles tightened by pain and stress. Then, as gently and smoothly as she could, Kendra nudged Aurora's arm up, slowly sliding it over the comforter until her loosely curled fingers pointed towards her head. Although she was quiet and unresisting under her hands, Kendra could see the pain flickering on Aurora's face, no doubt due to the stretch of damaged muscles as opposed to the flexion of her shoulder. Just as she was almost close enough to touch the back of her neck, there was an infinitesimal click Kendra could feel through Aurora's arm.

Aurora didn't really move – it was more her entire body tightened like a fist, very little in her expression changing. Kendra didn't chide her for it as she comfortingly ran a hand down her injured arm. The subluxation seemed to have been pretty minor, so her clenching was actually for the better – it was locking that bone back into place. Kendra had been focused on the bone trauma, but had known since she'd first put eyes on Aurora that the majority of her injuries were muscular.

Kendra stroked Aurora's still-damp hair in silence, comforting both of them as she deliberately unlocked again. Once Aurora was relatively limp on the bed, Kendra straightened, pressing her fingertips into her lower back before sliding them forwards to stroke her palms over her belly. The baby stretched and wriggled, thankfully having been patient enough to wait until after the worst part of his aunt's first aid to get restless. The action drew Aurora's attention, sending the first real smile moving over her face since Kendra had arrived.

"How's the little one doing?" she murmured. Kendra grinned, still unaccustomed to the swelling of love and pride that swamped her every time she even thought of the life inside her.

"Growing like a son of a gun. Swear she'd gonna have her papa's height."

Aurora eyes immediately brightened.

"It's going to be a girl?"

Kendra shrugged, sliding her hand to the bottom of her belly and patting in a comfortable rhythm that was pretty effective at quieting the wee babe down.

"Not sure. I'm positive it's a girl, but Chandler's dead certain it's a boy," she said with a grin.

"Aren't you far enough along to find out?"

Kendra couldn't help her raised brow. Since when was Aurora familiar with prenatal infantile growth?

"Someone's been doing research."

Aurora just shrugged, then winced at the motion.

"Yes, we could find out, but we decided to wait, make it a surprise," Kendra clarified as she helped Aurora slide a hugely baggy sweatshirt over her head, carefully settling it over her wounded shoulder.

"Hell of a surprise," Aurora murmured with a cheeky grin.

"One of the best. Now," Kendra said briskly, returning to the task at hand. "Where is Suzaku's sling?"

The light that had glittered in Aurora's eyes immediately dampened, although nothing else in her expression changed.

"Across the hall in the linen closet."

Tucking away Aurora's reaction for when there was time, Kendra just nodded.

"I'll be right back. You stay there and rest a minute."

Before Aurora had a chance to say anything in return, Kendra strode out, nudging Ban out of the way - she'd nearly forgotten he was there. Since he had an unfortunate tendency to jump on beds, a behavior she knew for a fact was encouraged by Aurora, Kendra snagged his collar before he could weasel into the room and jostle his mistress around. Dragging him after her, Kendra stopped at the stair railing that overlooked the entrance hallway.

"Chandler! Toss me up a few ice packs!" she called down to her husband. After a few faint pops from the freezer door opening and closing, Chandler appeared below, a trio of soft, blue plastic packs in his hands. He lobbed them up to her one at a time, all of which Kendra grabbed with cautious, studied precision. She couldn't snatch them out of the air like a fox the way Aurora could, but she'd be damned if she dropped them. Bannock, who stood at her side with his head through the railing, watched the procedure with vaguely interested eyes. He considered fetch too dumb of a game to bother getting excited about flying things, even if they were food. Which he quickly figured out the cold blue blobs weren't. Once finished, Kendra leaned back over the railing.

"Thanks, babe."

He just smiled at her, then tucked his hands in his pockets.

"How's Stretch doing?"

Kendra just held out her hand palm down, then wiggled it back and forth with a little shrug.

"How's Suzaku?" she returned.

"I'm fine," she heard from the kitchen before Chandler could answer. He grinned in the other man's direction, then looked back up at her.

"You heard the man."

Kendra just nodded with pursed lips, knowing for a fact that Suzaku's personal judgment of well-being was as skewed as Aurora's, if not worse.

"Uh huh. I'll be down in a bit. Put those ice packs back on, Suzaku!"

A gusty sigh confirmed her suspicion, and Chandler looked up at her with a wide, proud grin.

"You're awesome, Doctor."

She just winked at him.

"I know. You're not so bad yourself, Senator." Kendra then turned to root through the linen closet, quickly finding the neatly folded navy blue sling. Carrying her supplies back to Aurora's room, Kendra glared at the dog that tried to nose in after her.

"No, Bannock."

The whine he sent up sounded like she'd just ripped his leg off.

"He's fine," Aurora managed almost airily with a wave of her uninjured hand. Kendra just jutted out her hip.

"He can't come up on the bed. He doesn't know how not to bump. That's the problem with a snuggler," she informed Ban, who stood in the doorway like a condemned prisoner deprived of last visitation rights.

"He'll just lay on his blanket. Right, Ban?"

Kendra had a feeling that she'd be developing that tone in the coming years - that arch, irrefutably warning tone of a mother. Apparently delighted despite his less than stellar greeting, Ban agreeably trotted to his baby blanket, plonking down on it like that was exactly what he'd been wanting to do all along. Kendra just eyed him, perfectly aware he'd be going for the bed first chance he got. The dog just gazed back at her innocently. If he could have, Ban would have whistled. Sighing, she settled down next to her friend to organize her acquirements.

"Only you and Chandler would make yelling at each other so adorable," Aurora observed wryly. Looking up from ace bandages she pulled from her bag, Kendra just let a cocky half-smile move over her mouth.

"Yelling? That was teamwork. It doesn't count as yelling unless fur flies. Speaking of which," Kendra said with what she thought was admirable subtlety as she helped Aurora sit up, cupping the sling around her folded forearm. "What's going on with you and Suzaku?" If she hadn't been touching Aurora, she wouldn't have felt her sudden tension.

"Nothing," she replied coolly.

"You know, I'd believe you if I didn't know you so well. You wouldn't even look at him downstairs, Rora. What really happened?" Even as she talked, Kendra fixed the sling onto Aurora, taking care to adjust the straps so they'd be comfortable.

"Just what he said. We had a good day, and were bored. So we went for a drive. Headed west towards the cliffs. Stopped to stretch our legs, get some fresh air. We talked. Turned to go back, and he slipped. I grabbed him, and yanked him back over. Then we came home."

"If it was all so blasé, why did you send me such a high-priority code? I thought I was going to get here to find one of you sporting a GSW, at the very least."

"You're so sexy when you use acronyms," Aurora teased. It wasn't, of course, enough to deter Kendra. With the sling now settled, she focused on securing an ice pack to Aurora's shoulder, while a part of her brain actively waited for an answer. Finally, Aurora sighed in surrender.

"When I caught him, he bounced off the cliff face. I'm worried about his ribs and shoulder. Not to mention, the impact could have popped something loose."

Kendra just hummed. Aurora was the far more injured of the two, and, objectively, she knew that. So what had made her panic so badly she called in the cavalry? Kendra made agreeable, inviting noises, waiting for Aurora to get to the crux of the problem.

"You know how you warned me that I'd see a suicide attempt from Suzaku?" It was incredibly rare to hear Aurora's voice that small, that sad. Kendra lowered the hands she'd raised to pin the ace bandage in place, gazing at Aurora with smoldering intensity, her eyes almost metallic behind the glint of her glasses.

"It was intentional?" Kendra asked carefully, her voice nearly mechanical. The searing disappointment surprised her. It seemed forever before Aurora sighed and shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. Not the fall, at least."

Silently waiting for her to clarify, Kendra returned to her shoulder.

"But when he was hanging there, he just..." In lieu of a shrug, she waved her hand lamely before dropping her head and pressing her fingers to her forehead, shielding eyes that Kendra suspected had filmed over with tears.

"He just gave up on me."

The way Aurora's voice thickened warned Kendra that she wasn't just approaching an edge; Aurora was dangling over it more precariously than she imagined Suzaku had.

"What do you mean, Rora?" Kendra asked gently, running a calming, soothing hand down Aurora's back still knotted with damaged muscles. Aurora just hunched over more, her right arm curled against her as she dropped her face into her left hand.

"There was... a thing keeping him alive. It wasn't really a reason; it was more of a barrier. He thought it would never go away, and it wasn't just something he hated; he despised it for refusing to let him go. Especially for forcing him to live when losing Euphie gutted him down to the spine."

"He wasn't doing a very good job of living," Kendra pointed out quietly, fighting to keep the question of just what this thing was from leaping to her tongue. Aurora just shook her head.

"It didn't matter. As long as he was alive, he... fulfilled the terms of this contract. The fall, well. It made him realize the contract was null and void. He's free." Aurora raised her head, tears silently dripping down her cheeks.

"What kind of person am I, Kendra? What kind of monster would fear Suzaku's freedom? I'm a terrible fucking person."

Scooting closer, Kendra carefully gathered Aurora in, smoothing the ragged pieces of hair away from her face.

"You're not a terrible person, Aurora. You just want him to be safe. And this... contract kept him safe."

"Maybe," Aurora mumbled into Kendra's shoulder. Finally, she raised her head. "But it was also killing him inside. I knew he'd never be able to move on the way he should as long as that thing had a grip on him."

"And now he has that chance," Kendra said with a nod.

"But will he take it?" Aurora countered quickly, almost desperately. "Or will he finally do what he's wanted to do all along and chuck himself off a building, or take a long bath with a razor blade? God, Kendra. Do you have any idea how easy it would be for Zero to get a hold of a pistol and paint the walls with his brains?" She dropped her face into her hand again.

"I get that it makes you sad and scared. But why are you mad?"

Aurora's shoulders stiffened at Kendra's gentle words. When she raised her head, she glanced away, unable to meet the doctor's eyes. She looked up, blinking rapidly, the tears only strengthened by the surge of fury.

"Because the bastard tapped out," she whispered.

"Come again?"

"He gave up, Kendra! I saw it," she snarled. "I saw the light go out in his eyes. He figured out that the Geass was gone, and saw his chance. He bet on me losing grip, letting him go. Like hell I would. Like hell," she repeated, her snarl fading into sobs. Gathering her up again, Kendra settled in as Aurora began to cry like she'd been shattered, then ruthlessly scattered. She knew this was the shock from earlier manifesting, knew Aurora's reactions were always late and hit her like a bullet train. She tucked away that weird word Aurora had mentioned, sure it sounded vaguely familiar. Now Kendra just held her friend, her sister of the heart, as she cried out all the worry and fear and pain that had been poisoning her over the last hours.

Like a child, Aurora eventually tired herself out. Settling her down under the blankets with a few more ice packs, Kendra took her time getting Aurora as comfortable as possible, the woman miserably silent now that the gale was over. Finally, the doctor dared to speak as her friend curled in on herself, almost as if she was trying to compress whatever was aching so badly inside her into something manageable. Something survivable.

"Have you talked to Suzaku about what happened?"

Aurora averted her eyes, covering the movement by slightly turning her face into the pillow.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Kendra murmured ruefully. "You do know that's what needs to happen, right, Rora?"

She just turned her face further into the pillow, but did eventually nod. The doctor gently massaged Aurora's tense spine, trying to silently encourage even a minute amount of relaxation. When that didn't happen, she switched to the one temple Aurora had left exposed. That didn't get much of a reaction, either, but Aurora's brows did loosen a little.

"Do you want a codeine?" Kendra broached reluctantly. Aurora shook her head, miserable and as pathetic as Kendra had pretty much ever seen her. She was smart enough to know that it had little to do with Aurora's shoulder and everything to do with the situation that had damaged it.

"Do you want half a codeine?" Kendra ventured, worried about Aurora on so many different levels that she couldn't pick just one to focus on. After a long moment, so long that it had Kendra entertaining the unlikely notion that Aurora had fallen asleep, she nodded, her face almost completely squashed into the comfort of the pillow.

With practiced motions, she split the pill and got a glass of water, nudging Aurora over enough to get the medication down. As her patient tossed back the tiny pill with a sharp jerk of her head, Kendra conversationally continued with her medical advice.

"You know the deal with the ice packs, and you'll need to wear the sling for a week."

Aurora set aside the glass with narrowed eyes.

"Two days."

"Five," Kendra bartered with a crisp, adamant tone. Aurora frowned as Kendra continued. "At the very least."

Finally, Aurora sighed, burrowing herself back into the blankets as she muttered her agreement. Illness and injury always tended to make Aurora a little grumpy, but this situation was making her a pouter of magnificent proportions. Kendra could only hope it wasn't a symptom of heartsickness, an ailment she was woefully under skilled to cure. The doctor propped her hip on the bed, rubbing her palms over Aurora's back and the mound of her belly with matching movements. She knew this wouldn't take long.

"I'll never forgive him for this," Aurora muttered, her voice slightly slurred by fatigue, allowed to actually be voiced by the influence of the strong pain killer. "Not after all this. Not when it matters this much, and he just doesn't care."

Kendra didn't know what to say, or if she even could say anything. This was something that would have be repaired between the two of them, and there was nothing an outside party could really do. Aurora's eyes drifted slowly open and closed, and Kendra knew that the drug was already swimming through her bloodstream. She struggled around a little, and eventually met Kendra's eyes.

"Never mind," she said with a small, weak smile, a last ditch effort at cheer. One hand wormed its way out of the blankets, managing to make it no farther than to the top of the blanket. "It's time to pick out names." Her voice was rapidly losing precision and volume, her eyes fluttering as the drowsiness closed in. Kendra just waited her out. "What are your guys' favorites?" Aurora had started to say something else, but it faded away, her eyes gliding closed as the drug sent her drifting into sleep. Gently pressing the back of her fingers against Aurora's forehead, Kendra leaned forward with a small, crooked smile to press a kiss to her friend's hair.

"I'll tell you next time, sweetpea," she murmured, smoothing out the fly-aways at Aurora's temple one last time.

"You heard the lady," Chandler said with a winning smile as he made his way back to the kitchen. "Ice the ribs, ASAP."

Suzaku's face twitched in a way that betrayed an urge to roll his eyes that he managed to control as he snagged one of the packs from where they'd been relegated to the table and pressed it against his right side. Chandler dropped down across from him, the expression on his face a cross between humor and sympathy. It was patently obvious that he'd been on the other end of that good-natured medical command before. And he knew there wasn't much that could successfully be said against it.

"You know that if you don't have that on when she comes down, Kendra's going to hit a level of frightening you've never even considered before, right?"

Suzaku shrugged awkwardly, both of his shoulders now mildly compromised.

"I was in the military. I'm sure I've seen worse."

Chandler just shook his head with a grin at Suzaku's quirked brow.

"You've seen Aurora pissed, right?"

Suzaku nodded, his eyes widening slightly in appreciation of a woman like Aurora infuriated.

"Yeah, take that with an even heavier dose of snark and an ice-cold intellect paired with a ruthless streak. Kendra's subtle, but that almost makes her scarier. So I'd recommend you keep that ice pack on and try to be honest when you tell her what happened."

"Aurora already told you both what happened," he hedged, trying to keep his voice from stiffening. Chandler didn't even try to control his expression as he rolled his eyes.

"Uh huh. And the Rebellion was a disagreement. Massive understatement, my friend. Not to mention, Aurora's giving you the cold shoulder. Which from her, can get positively glacier. To be fair, though, it's never totally unwarranted. So what's got her wrankled?"

Suzaku wanted to shrug again, but he had a feeling Chandler would latch onto the non-answer like a well-bred dog would lock onto a bone. Like a Doberman, maybe – strong and clever. That, and his shoulders were a little sore for such a nonchalant motion.

Suzaku wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, not until the moment he started to speak. And honestly, there wasn't much to tell, not until the questions swirling around his head had answers. Answers he couldn't even begin to grapple with. But it felt good, to hear the events out loud, to try and see them from a point of view not tainted by fear, carefully skirting around the topic of Geass as best he could. Chandler listened quietly, with a patience Suzaku would never had credited him with. When he was done, the politician just eyed him a moment before loosing a long, slow whistle.

"Sounds like you two had a busy day."

"You could say that."

"Did you mean to?" Chandler's casual words didn't immediately grab Suzaku's attention; when they filtered through, however, Suzaku's gaze whipped to the other man's. He didn't look away or shrug. In fact, the relaxed set of his face belied the intensity in his eyes. Finally, Suzaku shook his head.

"No."

Chandler hummed as he sipped the milk he'd ferreted out with relative ease. It was, after all, technically his kitchen.

"Then it's the other bit, then."

Tilting his head slightly in confusion, Suzaku waited for Chandler to elaborate. After slouching down in his chair and lacing his fingers over his belly, the politician watched him with clever, knowing eyes.

"Let me tell you a little about Aurora, and, by extension, Kendra too. That is a pair of women who have fought and struggled and survived practically since the cradle. They've witnessed the dark much more than the light, and both have sacrificed more than their fair share not just to get to where they are now, but just to survive. There are a great many things they can forgive, Aurora especially. It's easy to forgive others when you've done some pretty nasty things yourself. But there is one sin they cannot forgive – and that is the sin of surrender. Giving up is practically blasphemy to Aurora, and it's a sure fire way to piss Kendra off worse than sticking a porcupine up her butt."

In a way, Suzaku had known this, but hearing it spelled out so plainly made a great deal of sense.

"Now, I don't know one way or the other what went on by that cliff side. And frankly, son, it sounds like you don't, either. But I can guarantee you this – Aurora's going to be a viper until you say your piece. Because she thinks you forfeited the game, and there's little quite as infuriating and insulting to her."

"You're saying I should lie?" Suzaku murmured, posing the question cautiously and a little skeptically. Chandler just snorted.

"No, because she'll see through it in seconds and is liable to tear you to shreds. You should be honest; I'm just letting you know what's making her so bloody mad. Mad enough to send a black-code text when a simple phone call would have sufficed."

"That's what brought you two here? A text?" Suzaku asked, shocked that so simple a message would have such support thundering to their aid. Chandler's fingers brushed his breast pocket in what seemed an unconscious gesture. When he saw Suzaku's eyes following the movement, he smiled wryly as he neatly refolded his fingers.

"I quit years ago, but today would be fine day for a smoke. Anyway, yeah. We were coming home from a conference in Edinburgh when Kendra heard from Aurora."

"I thought you couldn't get texts on a plane," Suzaku said with furrowed brows, quickly gathering that the pair had been flying back to London. Chandler just smiled.

"It's all about who you know. And when you know Aurora Sterling, you're more than connected – you're platinum edition."

Too true, Suzaku mused, always slightly puzzled and impressed by Aurora's reach.

"You should have seen the poor pilot's reaction. When Kendra got the text, she sort of just sat there a second. She then proceeded to demand that the pilot re-route to Galway. He rattled off a whole string of excuses. Poor man seemed to lose his train of thought, though, when Kendra informed him that not only was she trained in all the best ways to inflict bodily damage on people who pissed her off, but that she was pretty handy with a scalpel, too. Doesn't have one, but that poor sap didn't know that. Should have known better than to sass the hormone concoction that is a pregnant woman."

Suzaku smiled at the story, but his brain was busily clicking through that information. As entertaining as it was to imagine Kendra calmly threatening a pilot with a non-existent blade, that shouldn't have been enough. A commercially booked craft couldn't just re-route without some sort of threat, like inclement weather. So how did that Andrews manage it? Suzaku rested his chin on his free hand, tapping his cheekbone as considered the mystery of the couple's sudden appearance.

"What, do you play poker with the Minister of Defense every Friday?" Suzaku joked. Chandler just bounced his fingertips against his knuckles once, his jaw moving almost like he was tucking his tongue in his cheek.

"Billiards every other Tuesday, actually."

For a long time, the two men just stared at each other, Chandler looking like he was choking back a smug smile while Suzaku struggled not to goggle. It wasn't that he was unaccustomed to connections of power; after all, he served the empress of the largest empire in the world. He just hadn't expected it from so… normal a source. With the force of a thunderclap, Suzaku realized something.

There was no doubt that Aurora and Kendra's actions had saved his life. But Chandler was equally to thank, simply for his inaction. He'd never appreciated the power the young, ostracized nobleman actually wielded in England. If Chandler had deemed Suzaku too much of a threat to his wife and friend, a few whispered words would have been all it took to throw him to the wolves, keeping those he cared about safe from the threat of Zero's presence. But instead, both Kendra and Chandler had trusted Aurora to do the impossible; to save a ghost. He was still accepting this when Kendra made her steady way down the stairs.

Chandler turned his head in time to see Kendra round the carved newel post, grinning wide in appreciation at the reappearance of his wife. Suzaku was trying to decide if Kendra was humming, or muttering to herself under her breath when her husband greeted her.

"Hi, baby." His gaze then dropped to her stomach as she approached the table, setting her bag down next to Chandler's glass of milk. "And baby."

Kendra rolled her eyes, but tugged on his ear affectionately before turning to her attention to Suzaku. He must have been getting accustomed to her inspections; he hardly flinched when she peeled away the ice pack from his side and set about studiously inspecting him for breaks both new and old. Meanwhile, Chandler spoke like his wife wasn't busy looking over a refugee political figure for any maiming injuries.

"So. How's Aurora doing?"

Kendra just shrugged as she gauged the mild bruising along his ribs, none too gently prodding them for any shifts in bone. Manfully, Suzaku swallowed back the wince that wanted to tip across his face.

"Her shoulder was partially dislocated, but it's all back in place now. She's got some pretty impressive muscle damage in her shoulder, back, and chest, but that's to be expected. All in all, I think she'll be back up to speed in about a week. I'll be lucky if she keeps the sling on that long, though."

Suzaku frowned down at Kendra's bent head.

"A week? Surely it'll take her longer than that to recover?"

Kendra spared him a glance while switching over to his left side.

"For an average person, certainly. But Aurora heals uncommonly fast," she explained as she nudged at his collarbone.

"How'd you keep her upstairs? Chain her to her bed?"

Kendra didn't even look over at her husband's sarcastic tone.

"She's asleep," she answered simply. Chandler's brow quirked.

"And how'd you manage that?"

Rather determinedly, Kendra kept her eyes on Suzaku's shoulder.

"I gave her half a codeine."

Suzaku was almost startled by Chandler's groan.

"Jesus, hun. That's like giving Aurora horse tranquilizer."

Suzaku's eyes flicked back and forth between the couple, trying to comprehend how such a small amount of pain killer could down a healthy, adult woman. Still confused, he carefully snagged Kendra's attention.

"Is Aurora sensitive to drugs?"

She looked up at his briefly before returning to his arm.

"Drugs, alcohol, caffeine. Pretty much anything even slightly recreational hits her about ten times as hard as the average bloke. So half a codeine for her is actually more like five pills. She'll be out the rest of the night, and probably most of tomorrow morning, too. I suppose it might have something to do with her very fast metabolism, but I honestly can't be sure."

"Suzaku has a high metabolism too," Chandler idly observed. Suzaku instantly wondered how he'd come about that particular bit of information. Kendra made a face as she checked the flexion of each of his left arm's joints.

"True, but Suzaku's many injuries have repeatedly exposed him to strong chemicals. In fact, he's harder to drug, and slower to heal, because of it." Apparently satisfied, Kendra straightened, patting his shoulder gently. He couldn't help but notice Kendra was being terribly diplomatic by not mentioning his addiction to heroin. "But that's pretty much irrelevant, because you're fine. A little bruised and banged up, but nothing fatal. Take some good, long hot showers, make sure you're doing your stretches, and get plenty of food and water. You're always a little dehydrated and underweight, anyway."

"Thanks," Suzaku said as he put his shirt back on, Chandler standing to shoulder his wife's medical bag. Suddenly, Suzaku was saying more. It felt like it came out of nowhere, but this rock of unexpressed gratitude had been weighing on him for weeks. He'd been unsure if there was really anything to be grateful for. But apparently, it was just waiting for an opening, and had suddenly found it.

"Both of you. I'm fully aware that I'd be dead right now if not for your help. All of you, Aurora too, have been more than generous. I wanted you to know that I appreciate what you've done. You're good people, and you do good work."

Chandler and Kendra stood frozen, staring at him like he'd started speaking in tongues. Suzaku swallowed, suddenly feeling clumsy and vulnerable. The smile that tipped over Chandler's mouth was the first time Suzaku had ever seen an expression like that on his face; genuine, and calm, and understanding. Kendra, however, looked slightly panicked. She rounded the table as quickly as her bulk would allow, her eyes intense and her brow furrowed.

"Listen up, Suzaku. I'll be back in a week, and if you're in any worse condition than you are now, I'm going to run you over with that beastly car I'm not even allowed to drive. And heaven forbid, if I get another emergency text from Aurora because she'd worried about you or something happens, I will sling you off those cliffs myself. I don't want to hear any bad news – not a broken spine, not a sprained ankle. Not even a hangnail. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Suzaku was so shocked by Kendra's insistent, almost hostile warning, so at a loss for how to respond, he reverted back to his training.

"Yes, ma'am." The quiet, formal tone seemed to do the trick, and Kendra deflated a little. "I'm not going anywhere, Kendra. I just wanted to say thank you," he warily clarified.

"Oh. Well, good," she managed with an awkward nod before striding towards the foyer. Chandler stepped closer, clapping a light, comforting hand against Suzaku's upper back, managing to avoid the myriad spots of mild injury.

"You heard the lady, Suzaku. Keep out of trouble, and we'll be back before you know it."

Nodding, he walked with Chandler to the foyer, feeling like it was his duty to see them off with Aurora was out of commission. As the Andrews bundled into their jackets, Suzaku asked after the baby, the rhythm of small talk unfamiliar, but not impossible. Just as they were about to leave, Kendra decided that she wanted one of the avocadoes she'd spied in the kitchen for the trip back. As she walked away, Chandler just shrugged and murmured something about pregnancy cravings. As he watched her walk away, a thought occurred to Suzaku.

"How are you getting back?"

Chandler just exhaled through his nose, a droll smile twitching around his mouth.

"Well, Kendra threatened to geld the pilot if he didn't wait for us."

Successfully covering the chuckle with a cough, Suzaku matched Chandler's low tone.

"You know he's long gone, right?"

The politician just wrinkled his brow and grinned, silently mouthing, "Oh, yeah."

"That's alright," he then managed in a quiet, mildly strangled voice. "We'll just charter something to get us home. The last thing I want to do is try and put my pregnant wife on a crowded ferry – just think of the casualties, man."

As Kendra returned with the green fruit and a packet of crackers, Suzaku struggled to reconcile Chandler Andrews with the calm power he wielded. It dawned on him that it wasn't the idea of the power itself that was so hard to grasp; it was the idea of it emanating from such casual kindness.

Kendra shocked Suzaku by drawing him into a firm hug, the bump of her belly making his chest tighten as she warmly rubbed his back.

"Take care of yourself, you hear?"

He could only nod as she lightly tugged on a lock of his hair. Chandler firmly shook his hand, smiling more with his eyes than his mouth.

"See you around, mate. Keep an eye on Stretch, yeah?"

"Yeah," Suzaku quietly responded. It was still raining as Chandler opened the door, Kendra turning around for one last bit of advice.

"Try and make sure Aurora keeps that sling on. Five days, at least."

Assuring her that he'd do his best, Suzaku stood in the doorway, watching the Andrews jog out to their rental car, green this time, through the downpour. As they drove away, he raised his hand to return Kendra's wave, watching until the car disappeared. Even then, he stood in the doorway, listening to the rain, contemplating a life without Geass.

Chandler didn't bring up Kendra's little melt-down until they were almost half way through Gallagher. Adjusting the heat, he idled at a red light, picking his moment.

"How come you never promise me bodily harm when I say 'thank you'?"

Kendra just sighed, one hand resting on her belly while she propped her chin on her other palm.

"Because your 'thank you's never sound like verbal suicide notes."

Even as his stomach lurched at the thought, Chandler's face stayed calm.

"It wasn't that bad."

"But it could have been. You saw his face – like someone was squeezing his heart in a fist, and he was managing to breathe through it. There's something they're not telling us."

"You thought so too, huh?"

Kendra didn't answer his question, though. Instead, she asked the one that was killing her friend, the one that had been haunting that house all afternoon, her voice painfully quiet.

"What if he does it, Chan?"

He didn't have to ask who Kendra was talking about, or what she meant. Instead, thankful for the automatic car in a way that would have made Aurora sneer, Chandler reached over and tangled his fingers through his wife's as he accelerated, their joined hands resting over the mound of their child.

"I don't know, baby girl. But that's not our choice. And it's not Aurora's, either."

Her fingers tightened, but Kendra's face remained impassive.

"When she brought him to us, I would have laid heavy odds that he wouldn't survive the month. I hated it, but it was the likely outcome."

"Being a realist sucks," Chandler murmured in a dry tone that almost made her smile.

"Like a freaking vacuum. But he did it. Suzaku survived, and he's healing. It's slow, hard progress, but he's making it."

"I remember, Kendra." And he did. Chandler remembered when Suzaku had looked more dead than alive, completely washed of color, all brittle bone and sharp joints. And he remembered the way Aurora watched Suzaku walk out of the room, her face a picture of hope and love and faith. All that was good in the world mirrored in the eyes of his friend, because of the corpse she'd somehow managed to resurrect back into a man. A complicated man, there was absolutely no doubt. But not one completely beyond redemption. Not the man he'd sat with that afternoon, still a little battered, but undoubtedly improving, even impressive. There was pride there, and humor, compassion and gentleness and fragility. There was immeasurable strength, and boundless heart. The thought that he could throw it all away, the mere possibility of such waste, made Chandler physically ill. A glance at his wife's face made it clear she felt much the same.

"Do you think he'd give up now, after surviving so much?" Kendra's soft question felt like a lance through his gut.

"I don't know. Everyone's got a line; maybe he crossed it a long time ago. Maybe he's inches from it. Maybe he's miles away. But that decision will ultimately be Suzaku's. Let's just hope your tirade put the fear of God in him, and he can manage to hold on. Maybe in the meantime, he'll figure out that's all any of us can do. We're all just managing to hang on."

Kendra raised the hand she held to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"Listen to you," she murmured, the phantom of a smile moving through her eyes. "Let's go home, Chandler. The little one wants to go home."

He looked over at his wife, the tenderness, immense love, and shared heartache plain in his clever eyes.

"Anything for my girls."

Chapter Text

May slipped into June, and with it came days of unpredictable, volatile weather. Sunshine gave way to pounding storms, which were swallowed up by mists to be burned off and leave everything gleaming and drooping from the wet. It felt like the weather was matching Suzaku's moods, the messy stew swirling inside of him.

Without a doubt, the worst of it all was Aurora's avoidance. It wasn't overt, like ignoring him when he talked to her or refusing to meet his gaze, but it quickly made Suzaku realize how integrated she'd become in his life. He now ran alone, often ate alone. She wasn't there, walking down the hallway with that easy, ground-eating stride, or to his left, swiftly tearing through yet another book with only the soft whisper of pages brushing against one another and her breathing as an indicator of her presence. Whenever Aurora looked at him now, there was an intangible something missing from her gaze, like she'd walled off a part of herself she'd always allowed him to see. And he couldn't say for sure if she was leaving rooms before he entered or avoiding rooms he was already in, because even injured, Aurora was as stealthy as he 'd retreated from him, as surely as if she'd packed up and left. Suzaku could only thank Chandler for explaining what was making Aurora so upset, because he probably never would have figured it out on his own. Suzaku wasn't sure if he should ask, and Aurora certainly wasn't volunteering the information. Even knowing what was at the core of her behavior, he didn't know how to fix it. Because she wanted something from him Suzaku wasn't even sure he was capable of giving.

The truth. What a sticky, lethal concept.

At first, it was the fear. Suzaku had spent a solid hour in the bathroom the day after the episode on the cliffs, struggling not to pass out from hyperventilating. He'd been getting out of the shower when he'd slipped a little. The heel of his foot had only scooted to the adjacent tile, but it was enough to send the acid splash of adrenaline burning along his pulse points. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, it faded. But there was no echo, no lingering singe, that had always warned him the Geass command was waiting, roosting in the wings of his mind, just anticipating for everything to go to hell and fly madly into the fray.

He felt like he'd been stripped naked and sprayed with a fire hose, leaving him raw and quivering. Staggering to the sink, Suzaku gripped the white porcelain with trembling fingers, staring at the haze of his reflection in the steamed mirror. Just a ghost, a phantom. Sucking in the moist, steamy air, he tried to calm the enormous, irrational fear welling up inside him like a flood. Striving for smooth, deep breaths, Suzaku attempted to quench the torrent that had his knees shaking and his shoulders shivering. When that didn't work, he sought out the cause, the catalyst.

It took a moment, but Suzaku realized he was afraid. Afraid for his life, afraid for what he had become, what he would become, because of Geass. It had always infuriated him, the unnaturalness of Geass, its ability to twist lives and souls beyond the fabric of their design. He was never meant to become this, this twitching, heaving mess of a man. Geass had done that to him, and he wasn't sure what he would be without it At least without the heroin he could say he was a healthier person. It was frightening, how deeply Geass had ensnared him, numbed him. Addicted Suzaku more thoroughly than arguably one of the most addictive substances on the planet.

And now he was without. Like the callouses and scabs of years of abuse had been ripped away, leaving tender, fragile flesh exposed, paper-thin and intensely painful. Not to mention, it was completely terrifying. Eventually, Suzaku had managed to breathe, to keep on his feet through the storm inside his own head, long enough for it to abate. When the fear just pressed against his throat instead of choking him, Suzaku had fumbled through drying off, dressing. He didn't dare shave, not when his hands shook this badly. But he was king at going through the motions, moving through the emotion. Even if he felt like a whimpering child, Suzaku would be damned if he couldn't make it to his room, the mask of his face utterly implacable. Eventually, the sensation faded enough to allow him to function. It was a powerful memory, though, and stayed on his mind for days.

It left him with a lot to think about. How he'd been held hostage by the Geass command, and how, even after years of hating it, he'd come to psychologically depend on it. Like he was suffering Stockholm Syndrome to a brand of magic. And wasn't that completely ridiculous.

So ridiculous, that it made him mad. Mad enough to shove him out of the house the next day on a run he made alone. He missed Aurora, missed her running at his side with a strong, leonine stride. But Suzaku was angry enough to not dwell on the loss – instead, he ran out the fury, letting his legs move over ground faster and longer than was necessarily wise. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't seem to outpace the rage that was coiling inside him like venom.

He'd forgotten the music player, so there was no song to pick to at least give his anger form and frame. Suzaku knew he was pushing himself too hard, possibly undoing all the careful work that had been done, but he was too enraged to find it in himself to care. Finally, his blood was surging hot against his skin, and his lungs felt tinny, like the linings had been scraped with sandpaper. Still, Suzaku didn't stop. Not until his muscles were scorched and his bones trembling. Gasping in air, which felt thin and liquid, he braced his palms against his knees, his head bowed as he struggled with the simple task of breathing.

It took a few moments for him to realize that he stood under the shade of an ash tree. Suzaku slowly straightened, his eyes angrily passing over the trunk and branches like it was to blame for the monsoon of things wrong with him. His fist whipped out and bounced off the bark before he consciously controlled the action. The snap of pain on his knuckles sharpened a slowly fraying focus, and he stared at the oozing wounds on the ridges of bone.

Instead of knocking Suzaku out of his funk, reminding him of how silly this all was and that he should remain in control, he felt something rising in him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Bloodlust.

It wasn't the clever calculation of a hunter, or even the wary instinct of a survivor. It was a buried drive written in the marrow of his bones. To destroy, to kill. To win. He didn't know what he was fighting against, and he couldn't bring himself to care. Practically vibrating as he fought to remain still, some part of Suzaku's mind, not yet stained with the crimson haze that was taking him over, even leaking into his vision, tried to throttle back, tried to engage the flickering humanity inside him.

Finally, even that was doused under the red tide in his brain, and Suzaku loosed a snarl that had a nearby rabbit freezing instinctively. Because it knew the sound of a predator, primed and ruthless. He attacked the tree, for no other reason than it was simply there. He tore off the moss that coated its trunk like he was ripping off skin, snapping any branches he could reach, breaking even sizable ones into pieces just because the sound reminded Suzaku of cracking bone. He slaughtered a nearby bush, heedless as the limbs and thorns tore at him. The smell of his own blood pushed him into a frenzy, and he tackled a tall hedge, tearing it apart with his bare hands.

The vegetation didn't give up without a fight, but Suzaku couldn't even bring himself to think; at best, he could only feel. And it felt good, violently good, to watch something break under his hands, disintegrate under his own power. He'd never cared for this side of himself, this darkness that gleefully gorged itself on destruction. But now, Suzaku gripped it tight with both bleeding hands and let it take him for a ride.

Because he could do this again. His mind was again solely his own, one he only shared with his personal ghosts. And he was angry, unspeakably angry, about what had been taken from him for the sake of his own life. Choice – that most sacred of human rights had been stolen from Suzkau with a single word. And that incited a fury that burned through his veins like magma. At Lelouch, himself, the universe as a whole. He couldn't help the rage that soared through him, roiling and red-hot, when he thought of the path his life had taken, the tight collar and merciless leash of Geass yanking him in a direction he never would have chosen. Never imagined or wanted or honestly tolerated.

So he broke things the way he'd been broken. Exposed cracks that hid under the bark and leaves, the fissures that weakened the whole before they gave under pressure. The way the ruptures in him had widened and fractured under the weight of fate and time. He was so angry that he was wrecked, so mad that the best parts of him had been smashed against the altar of "right."

He felt it, that explosion of emotion, in every part of him. From the tips of his torn fingers to the roots of his clenched teeth. From the pit of his stomach to the spaces in his spine. From the damaged remnants of his shoulder and arm to the old aches in his ribs and back. Every inch of Suzaku was alive with an anger that seemed woven into his DNA.

But, like all raging fires, it eventually burned out, leaving Suzaku standing in the middle of a field surrounded by the collateral damage of his outburst, stinging, bleeding hands fisted at his sides, panting violently. The shards of the tree and bushes littered the ground, enough soil disturbed to hint that something powerful and damaging had taken place here, obvious evidence of his own mental instability. As his vision cleared and thoughts again filtered through his brain, Suzaku surveyed the scene with bemused, disappointed eyes.

Stumbling a little, Suzaku blindly turned, the only thought flickering through his brain that he wanted to go home. Wanted to see Aurora. Wanted to go somewhere things made sense, where it didn't seem like his skull was going to explode. It felt as if his nerves were coated in ash, still shuddering and flinching from the lingering heat. As he walked past the tree, Suzaku stopped. He was reluctant to look, reluctant to face what he'd so recklessly harmed.

The tree was definitely missing some branches. He must have jumped for a few, because there were broken stumps on the trunk much higher than the nine foot reach he had at best. But the tree was old and tall, with plenty of healthy trunk between the crown and the area Suzaku had ravaged. Patting the bark that had bitten him back, he murmured the only apology he could make right now, knowing that what he still needed to say to Aurora was too unformed to be true, which was the very least she deserved.

Suzaku made his way back, much slower than how he'd headed out. He was exhausted, but still thrumming from the high of his fury, more awake than he'd been in days. It was sharper than any heroin, swiftly burning through his system and leaving him tired and trembling in its wake. Not at all like the lethargy that had engulfed him after a hit, leaving him sluggish and soft for up to a week. Until the nightmares started edging in again, and the shaking and the pain and the grief began coloring the edges of his vision.

But it felt almost inhuman, being this aware and sharp and sore, both inside and out. So focused on the turmoil in his mind, he could barely feel the pain in his hands and wrists. Mechanically jumping the ancient wall at the base of the hill behind the house, Suzaku found himself up the steps and in the kitchen without conscious thought. Like a cat, there seemed to be some mechanism deep in his brain taking him home.

He cranked the water on hot and thrust his hands under the spray, hissing through his teeth and nearly swearing when every cut and scrape from the tips of his fingers to almost halfway up his forearms made themselves furiously known. Always a glutton for punishment and ever eager to take his lumps, Suzaku pumped a big dollop of liquid soap onto his palm and, after a deep breath, began to lather. It burned like hellfire, but with gritted teeth and ruthless motions, he cleaned the wounds he'd stupidly inflicted on himself. He did what needed to be done, and finally adjusted the water so it ran cool, a sudden, blessed relief on his abused skin.

Suzaku was wiping his hands dry on paper towels when Aurora walked into the kitchen. He couldn't help it – his eyes ran over her instinctively, wincing at the sling that had once caged him and now trapped her. She was pale, but the circles under her eyes were fading. Even though she wouldn't tell him, Suzaku was too well experienced with the miserable process of healing to believe that she'd been sleeping well, or even at all. And even though she looked like she was physically improving, Aurora's eyes were still fundamentally blank whenever she looked at him.

But this time, her eyes dropped to his hands, and her brows furrowed as she abruptly stopped, something flickering in her eyes like lightning – there and gone, almost too fast to truly see, left with only the afterimage of the flash. Aurora took a step closer before halting herself, her free hand moving like she meant to reach out to him, but then checked the action.

"What happened?"

Who was this stranger, Suzaku wondered, who spoke to him like she was miles away even as she stood almost within reach? Where was the vibrant, kind woman who would have rushed forward, taking his hands in her warm ones, grinning at him even as she eyed him in concern? She probably would have said something clever, something that would have made him smile even as she patched him up, her gentle silence eventually digging the dumb truth of it out of him. Suzaku balled the paper towels in his fist, squeezing until the blood leeched from his knuckles and the cuts on his hand burned like little stars.

"Nothing. Just something stupid."

Aurora didn't say anything in response, and Suzaku headed towards the hall, struck by a sudden desire to touch her, to reach her. But he did nothing of the sort, and walked past her, jogging up the stairs, ignoring the ache of overtaxed muscles. He showered and changed, dabbing some disinfectant into the worse of the scratches before heading to the study. He paused at the top of the stairs; Aurora's voice floated up from the kitchen, quiet murmurings to Ban unknowingly filled with comfort and heart. It was stupid that he missed her, that he was jealous of a dog she loved unequivocally. So Suzaku just continued down the hallway, and closed himself in the study.

Hours later, he was still there, sitting on the bench tucked beneath the recessed window, gazing out at the night. Even though it was nearing midnight, the sun's color still echoed on the western horizon. Stars glimmered to life, and the moon, almost perfectly cut in half, was nearing the apex of the sky. And Suzaku had come to a realization.

If he'd had it his way, he'd be dead right now. Either by his own hand or such extreme recklessness that not even his odd brand of luck could yank him out of it. It wasn't a possibility, a maybe, or a what if – his own shattered soul would have been as fatal as a lethal injection. The thought of it, the certainty of it, had been living in him since the break of his command. It had made him afraid. It had made him angry. And now, it sank its talons into Suzaku, and dragged him down, into a darkness that had just been waiting for the perfect moment to soak into his heart.

It lasted for days. This morbidity he'd secretly harbored for years, nearly a decade, came out in full force. It saturated every inch of his brain, every inch of his skin. Oddly enough, it felt like a relief. Relieved to finally drop the façade of being OK, to admit to himself that it had all been wrong, and hard, and practically impossible to face. To understand that it shouldn't have happened that way, to wallow in the brutality of it all. For the first time in, well, forever, Suzaku didn't try to fight it off, didn't try to rise above it or move through it. The darkness passed through him like fog and he settled in.

The feeling wasn't the same as after Galway. He'd just been sleepy and unmotivated then, almost like he was pleasantly drunk. Now, everything felt like a macabre joke, the ripples of his violent attack on the tree still occasionally slipping through him, like when scraping off the stubble that for some reason made him hatefully irritated. Whenever he slipped past Aurora, he had a feeling that she knew something was wrong, and was enormously conflicted. She hadn't forgiven him, but a part of her, a part he thought she herself didn't fully understand, wanted to help. Wanted to fix what was wrong, or at least share the burden. But this wasn't her burden to carry, or even understand. This was his battle, and his alone.

Suzaku felt almost proprietary about his despair. His loss, his pain, his grief. Almost greedily, he gathered it around himself like a cloak, the reality of it all, always pushed at arm's length in order to survive, pressing in until he felt as if he was inhaling it. Fucking Geass ran on a loop through his head like a track stuck on repeat. It was strangely eloquent in its simplicity – what else was there to say? Every shade of dark emotion moved through him, tinged by the charcoal stink of depressed misery. But through every surprising, bitter answer, there was the still the lingering question: Did he want to die?

Finally, a week to the day after that rainy moment on the cliffs, Suzaku couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stay in that house another minute. It was warm, but overcast, the clouds trapping in the heat from the earlier sun like a blanket. Slipping from the house, Suzaku flicked through the ring of keys he'd palmed after breakfast, heading out before Aurora woke up. He may have been low, but he certainly wasn't low enough, or stupid enough, to think about driving Natasha. But he could handle that lame rental car.

Well, he could handle it, but badly. He certainly wasn't as horrible as the day he'd learned, but without the motivation, he was back to grinding gears, expecting a response from the car that it simply couldn't manage. The hissing black mass inside, gaining ground in him like a tumor, receded a little as Suzaku mangled his way up to a respectable speed. Or maybe he was just driving too fast for the ugliness to keep up. Either way, that tiny crack in his personal prison allowed other thoughts, thoughts not lacquered with anguish, to trickle in. Like how the last time he'd driven this way, the ocean had mesmerized him, calling to something in him, calming it like a lullaby. How he'd been even more fascinated by Aurora, the effervescent shine of her drawing his eye almost without fail. She wasn't like fireworks; she was too smooth, too flexible for that sharp display. More like a reflection of fireworks on a lake. Suzaku blinked a little at the flowery comparison, telling himself that was ridiculous. But his mental wordplay was without heat, for the first time in days.

He could see why Aurora liked driving so much. Besides the control, the speed and power, there was a sort of spellbinding rhythm of feeling the pavement speed by through your hands, watching the lines flicker past like moments in time. It wasn't necessarily Suzaku's favorite thing, but the grip of unease started to loosen. Like before, he hugged the coast. Because he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

It took longer than when Aurora had driven, no doubt due to his inept handling. But eventually, Suzaku pulled over next to that grubby oak tree, still defiant and determined in the face of its solitude. For a minute, he just stood there, hands thrust in his pockets, idly jingling the keys, as he eyed the tree. Gaze passing over the branches and sturdy trunk, he took in the gangly roots. Wind and rain had softened the marks, but Suzaku thought he could still see the gouge in the earth where Aurora had shoved her lower leg under the largest of the far-flung roots. Calculating the distance to the divot in the edge where it had all played out, reconstructing the scenario in his head, he couldn't help the wince. God, she could have broken herself in half with that stunt.

With halting, hesitant steps, Suzaku moved closer, the animal in him testing the ground more than the miserable man. The wind today was soft, almost playful. Nothing from the sea was ever apologetic, but it seemed like it was reminding him of its unaccountability for his brush with death. It wasn't the sea's fault. It came to Suzaku then that what had happened here wasn't anyone's fault, not even his own. Just the perfect storm of circumstances that had nearly gotten him, and Aurora, killed in the process. As he edged closer to that breathless drop, shuffling more than stepping, because he was well aware of how faulty this ground was, Suzaku let his lungs fill with the moist air, heady with salt, flavored with far horizons. Finally, his toes a scant few inches from the edge, Suzaku leaned slightly forward, gazing down at the rocks and unforgiving surf that could have been his grave. He just stood there, and really looked.

Time passed, and Suzaku might as well have been made from stone. A statue, perilously poised over a shuddering precipice. Something in him, long left cold and hard in a permafrost that had gripped him since entirely too young an age, shifted. Just enough to crack its shell, like the fractures that compromised a lake's sheet of ice at the end of winter. Slowly leaning back, then slowly stepping back, Suzaku accepted an impossible truth.

He didn't want to die.

He waited for the firestorm, for the raging hurt that would tear him to shreds at that simple fact. It ached a little, this noble, foolish need fading under the the weight of that long, hard look at water and rock. Aurora's angry questions from that day seemed to resonate from the cliffs. Everyone had the morbid thought of how those close to you would react upon news of your death. Suzaku imagined now, more honestly than he would have guessed, how it would affect those in his inner circle if he let those rocks far below snap his bones like sticks. How Nunnally would be forced to mourn the loss of yet another brother, now left utterly alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. How Kendra would blame herself for the lack, certain that if she'd been smarter, this could have all been avoided. How Chandler would shoulder the weight of his girls' grief, because they were his, and he couldn't let them take it all on themselves.

How Aurora would never forgive herself for the failure, would silently tear herself to shreds at the loss of a friend, someone she had solemnly sheltered under her shield. Suzaku halved then transposed the enormous weight of his pain at the loss of Euphemia between those four people and knew, that even divided among them, he would be cruel and selfish to knowingly inflict that level of hurt on those who deserved so much better. He couldn't do it, not to them. Not to Aurora. He would never meaningfully be the cause of another dirge she would sing on his behalf. He had to survive, if for no other reason than to avert such needless tragedy. Not his death, but the intense agony to such a good friend. Another thought slipped through that tiny opening, blooming in his brain with a sad brightness.

There was a part of him that grieved at the loss of the Geass command. Not for himself. But because, however intangible, that had been his last personal link to Lelouch. What he had felt for the man, long dead and irreversibly gone, was impossible to fully describe, completely quantify. But, at the core of it all, through the worst of betrayals and crowning achievements, Lelouch had been Suzaku's best friend. And now, the piece of Lelouch that had been lodged in his mind was gone. He had hated the order more than he could ever fully understand, but, for maybe the first and last time, he allowed himself to grieve for a lost friend.

When the wave of emotions fell back, Suzaku was embarrassed to find his cheeks wet. Dashing his face dry on his sleeve, he cleared his throat, and again looked out, back to Nunnally. As soon as he was well, he would return to her side. To watch out for her, to protect her. It was becoming painfully clear, however, that he would be leaving much more than he would have estimated behind.

It wasn't instantly obvious, but during the drive back to the house, Suzaku felt… lighter. Like the weight of the Geass command and the emotions that had been bulwarked behind it had slowly slid off his shoulders. There was still more than enough for him to carry, but that weight, at least, was evaporating from his skin like water. There were still drops, tendrils that clung to him, doubts that couldn't be fully dislodged. But the boulder of it had been shattered and cleared, piece by piece. It wasn't immediate, but triumph, a luxury Suzaku all too rarely afforded himself, slowly dawned.

Suzaku risked taking his hand from the gear shift for a moment, slipping his fingers into his pocket to run it over what he'd grabbed, more by whim then design, before leaving that morning. He had parked, none too well, and was striding for the house when the front door suddenly banged open.

"Oh, my God! Suzaku!" Aurora, eyes wet and wide with fear, bolted out of the house, stumbling a little on the porch stairs as she raced towards him at a remarkable, reckless speed, colliding into Suzaku with enough force to make him stagger. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, more in a bid to keep them both on their feet than anything else. Aurora's arms were vised around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Puzzled and shocked speechless at the display, he cautiously raised a hand, cradling the side of her head in his palm to carefully tilt her chin up. She didn't release him, not an inch, but she did eventually concede to the pressure, her silvery eyes shining with tears and her breath hitching like she'd run miles over rocky ground.

"Aurora, what-"

"I didn't see you at breakfast, and when I got out of the shower, I saw that the car was gone. I thought you…" Miserably, she trailed off, shaking her head as she dropped it back to his shoulder. Of course. Aurora had thought he'd gone to finish what she believed he'd started a week ago. A little guilty and surprised at them both, Suzaku settled his arms more comfortably around her, hushing the shivers that ran through her like electric shocks, rubbing his hands along Aurora's back to try and calm her fear. She was shaking, so obviously holding herself together by only a thinning thread. Panicked and terrified, because she thought she'd finally lost him, after everything. He didn't like this, didn't like how he'd made Aurora feel this way. Finally, though, Suzaku could set it right.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her damp hair, still redolent with the smell of raspberries and vanilla. She just shook her head again, and tightened her arms around him. "I am," he insisted, leaning back slightly so that he could see her. So that she would know he was serious. "I needed a little time to think, to make some decisions. What happened last week, Aurora. It was an accident. Every moment of it. I shouldn't have let you think otherwise, but I couldn't say for sure."

"And you can now?" she murmured, her voice husky with unshed tears, or helpless screams, sounding a little doubtful. Clinging to the triumph that had guided him home, Suzaku nodded.

"Yes. I can. And I can promise you something else, too. No matter where we go from here, I won't give up. I can't promise that I'll succeed. But I will swear to you that I'll try."

With a small sound that seemed dangerously close to a sob, Aurora tightened her arms around his neck. Feeling the way she trembled, Suzaku soothed and lulled as best he knew how, finally coaxing her back into the house and onto the sofa in the parlor. Ban was pacing when Suzaku went to the kitchen to get Aurora a glass of water, obviously agitated by her anxiety. He returned and knelt at her feet, where she watched him with fast, sharp eyes as she sipped the water.

"You're sure…" she began.

"I'm sure," Suzaku replied quickly, trying to put every ounce of assurance that he carried into those words. It wasn't very much, but it seemed to be just enough for the both of them to believe it. Seeing the way Aurora kept eyeing him like she was waiting for him to dissolve into thin air, he tried to lighten the mood.

"You didn't call Kendra yet, did you? I've still got a couple of hours before my 'no emergency' cut-off. And she'll be pissed if she sees you without your sling."

Aurora shook her head, the smile flickering over her face but not quite taking to her eyes.

"No, not yet. You had another fifteen minutes before I was putting in a call to the army, though. And my end date for the sling was two days ago."

He laughed, mostly just to put a smile on her face. It worked, sort of.

"Hey," he murmured, winding a lock of wet hair that had escaped her hastily scraped back ponytail around his finger, then letting it slide free. He was embarrassed by the impulsive gesture, but just swallowed and continued. "I'm sorry I worried you. That wasn't my intention, and I'll do my best to see to it that it never happens again."

Aurora chuckled before nudging his shoulder.

"I don't know, Suzaku – you worry me just by breathing."

Suzaku just laughed, sounding sarcastically insulted.

"You worry about my breathing?" he teased with an arched brow.

"I worry about all of you."

"Well," Suzaku said with a sigh as he stood, "consider yourself off the clock for a little while."

Aurora, however, didn't respond. She was too busy staring at the pocket watch she'd bought for him in Galway, now nestled in his palm as Suzaku made a show of marking the time. The brass casing glowed like a setting sun, and Aurora sucked in a slow, unsteady breath.

"You're wearing it," she whispered. He looked over at her as he closed the casing and slid it back into his pocket. A smile quietly moved over his face.

"Yeah. It seemed like it was time."

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, something unnamable stirring in her gaze.

"I'm glad."

Chapter Text

Scales were a challenge with charcoal – Suzaku made this realization about halfway through the drawing of an Asian dragon. He'd been exposed to enough of his native mythology for it to be a prevalent theme in his imagination. The dragon was aggressively masculine, stark in charcoal. It was turning out well enough, but if he wanted to get any more detailed, it might call for more skill than he had. He tilted his head first one way, then the other. Neither angle suddenly resolved the drawing into completion, so he simply set it aside. Moira had mentioned during her introductory lecture that day in Galway that sometimes pieces had to sit, marinate a little. Let the thought settle into the medium, soak into your brain.

His disciplined, goal-oriented nature struggled against leaving a piece unfinished, but Suzaku had a gut feeling that he'd screw it up if he pushed it any harder. Forcing himself to stand and walk away, Suzaku washed his hands of the black dust, turning the image over and over in his mind like the way he used to play with a baseball when deep in thought as a boy. The kitchen was saturated in light, the offering of a warm, uncharacteristically dry day. The only reason he hadn't transplanted his work outside was the fitful breeze. It was strong enough to be dragging distant clouds in its wake, and Suzaku didn't feel like babysitting restless paper.

Instead, he'd contented himself by throwing open the doors and windows, the sheer, lacy curtains rippling in the air currents. Ban snoozed on the stoop outside, his legs splayed out far enough to dangle over the edges of the steps, cushioned by one of his countless dog beds. The sheer number of them had puzzled Suzaku enough to eventually spur him into asking Aurora the reason. She'd explained that Ban's lean build meant his joints, and the thin skin covering them, were easily bruised. He'd start losing patches of hair if his sleeping conditions weren't posh enough. Even now, Suzaku looked at the dog, and just shook his head with a wry smile. Spoiled brat.

Pushing open the screen door and settling on the top step next to the dog, he patted Ban's muscular rump, earning him a lazily opened eye, quickly shut again. A breath of air ruffled Suzaku's hair like an affectionate hand, and he tipped his face back, letting his eyes drift close with a long, slow inhale that only ached a little. The warmth slowly seeped into his muscles, dripping into his bones. It was a nice day. The past few days had been nice, too.

A portion of his brain clenched. Ready for the other shoe to drop, for the peace to disintegrate like the fantasy it was. For the crashing blow that would shatter everything and send him tumbling back into the skeletal reality he knew too well.

Suzaku knew he couldn't push it back; it was too strong, too well ingrained in his mind to be completely rid of it. But he dug his heels in, refusing to let the angry fatalism that came to him far too easily drag him in a direction he wasn't ready to go. Eyes still closed, brow a little furrowed, fingers tight but shy of fists, he made the conscious choice not to torture himself with fear of a future he had no immediate control over.

Things could go terribly wrong. He knew that, better than most. But Suzaku was learning that there was no point in ruining what he had with the possibility of what he could lose. And right now, he had a pretty day, a quiet kitchen, good paper and even better pencils. He had an idea, and he had time. And he was a moron to look for more, good or bad. With one last pat on Bannock's giant ribcage, Suzaku stood and strode back into the kitchen.

Flipping to a new page, he started in on another dragon. But as he roughed in the bones of it, he knew this one wasn't black. No, this one was blue.

He spent a solid hour working on the drawing. It was as different from the first as possible while still portraying the same general species. This second dragon was more influenced by western interpretations, with strong, streamlined wings. Sleek and sinuous, it was gracefully dangerous. The pencil set included six different shades of blue, and he worked through all of them. Aurora had taken the music player with her, so the only sound faint in the warm air was the fervent scratch of pencil against paper. The image grabbed Suzaku by the throat, and held tight as it began to really flesh out. He could almost hear the whoosh of leathery wings as she swept by, silver horns and spikes gleaming lethally in the soft light. Because, yeah, this magnificent beast was female. Still aggressive, still deadly. But beautiful.

Just finishing the delicate veins in her bat-like wings, Suzaku was distracted by a loud bang from the garage, followed by a distant string of cursing that didn't sound like Standard. It was lyrical, and furious. He stood and went to the door, noticing that Ban had levered himself upright, ears high and eyes trained on the garage where his mama had disappeared that morning. He followed the dog's gaze to the source of the bang in time to see Aurora stride out of the dim interior. She paused just outside the door, propping one hand on her hip as she turned her face skyward. Staying like that for a bit, Aurora spun on her heel, pacing briefly before stopping again and stomping her foot in a way that betrayed impatience.

Suzaku started towards her, already down the steps by the time she looked at her hand, sighed heavily, and turned to the house. They crossed paths in the flower beds, Aurora's grim, irritated smile doing nothing to appease Suzaku's worry, or his curiosity.

"What happened?"

By way of answer, she held up her right hand, revealing the three-inch long gash across her knuckles and delicate tendons, steadily streaming blood.

"Natasha's being a little grumpy. The gorgeous bitch bit me," she murmured with an odd fondness in her voice. Whatever she was going to say next was cut off when Suzaku snatched her hand, cradling her long, grimy fingers in a careful, implacable grip as he inspected the wound on the back of her hand. There was a tinny humming in his ears at the sight of blood on her soft skin, so Suzaku forced himself to be analytical, and assess the damage. It was a lengthy gash, but relatively straight. Not deep enough to need stitches. And not too inundated with grease or dirt, a good bit of luck since it appeared by the state of her hands, clothing, and face that Aurora had spent the morning elbows deep in the Corvette's innards. But as her blood dripped over his fingers and splashed against the sea of petals at their feet, Suzaku felt a surge of emotion spiral through his veins, something he'd been certain he'd choked into silence, neglected thoroughly enough to never have it move through him with such power again.

The urge, the need, the call to protect. So, before he could control himself enough to stop, he was dragging a spluttering, protesting Aurora back to the kitchen. Ban watched with wide eyes, fumbling to his feet as Suzaku strode, and Aurora was hauled, up the steps and to the sink. The warm water, brusquely adjusted to the right temperature while Suzaku pressed his fingers to the wound to staunch the blood, soon turned pink when he pulled Aurora's hand under the stream. Her protests had been more instinctive than meaningful, and as the warm water cleared away the worst of it, she gazed at him with tilted, narrowed eyes.

"It's alright, Suzaku," she murmured. "It's not a big deal."

He just spared her a short glare before returning his attention to the cut. Aurora's laugh almost made him smile, but he controlled the twitch of his face enough not to encourage her. Girl could stand to be more careful, he thought as he thoroughly worked soap into the wound. Her wince was largely controlled, and she nudged him with her elbow, still trapped in Suzaku's hold.

"I don't like being manhandled, you know." Aurora's tone may be light, but she wasn't kidding in the slightest.

"It needs to be cleaned," he replied adamantly, still peering closely at the back of her hand. The thought longingly crossed her mind that if he applied that determination, that focus and power and patience, to more carnal pursuits, it wouldn't take much to have his partner melting into a puddle of quivering flesh. And if the passing wish to be that puddle crossed her mind, no hint of it flickered across her face.

Finally, Suzaku seemed satisfied that her injury had been cleaned enough to prevent even the most insidious of gangrene, and slapped the water off. Folding a paper towel into quarters, he pressed it against the back of her hand, crimson slowly blooming across the stark white. Pinning her with green eyes that simultaneously reminded Aurora that Suzaku was a soldier at the core and loosened her knees like warming honey, he commanded her to stay before heading upstairs, no doubt retrieving the first aid kit from the bathroom. They both had more than enough experience with the kit, more of an arsenal stored in a hefty box than the usual flimsy white case, to know exactly where it was.

Sharing a glance with Ban, who stood on the porch watching the proceedings with mild interest, having not quite been fast enough to follow in the wake of Suzaku's charge into the house with her in tow, Aurora sighed as she dutifully applied pressure. When the fluttering of paper caught her attention as she wandered over to the fridge, Aurora paused when she caught sight of Suzaku's art supplies on the table. Even his chaos of creation somehow maintained a militant order. A few pencils may be scattered, but the reserves were neatly set side by side, waiting to be called into action. She smiled a little at the quirk before catching sight of his works in progress. Her smile faded, and Aurora halted in a contemplative stillness.

When Suzaku trotted back into the kitchen, she was still standing by the table. Her hair, initially bundled back earlier, had been dismantled enough over the course of the morning to shield her face, her head tipped down to gaze at his drawings. It was only upon seeing her staring at the pictures that Suzaku realized he'd neglected to gather up his work before rushing out to see what was the matter. Too late now, he reminded himself.

Taking her hand, Suzaku set the first aid kit on the table by his drawings. At the first brush of his fingers against hers, Aurora's eyes swung to his, a small shift of her head sliding the curtain of hair back, revealing her face. Revealing her eyes, gone dark with something Suzaku sensed, but couldn't quite name. She smiled, but the expression seemed weak in comparison to what swam in the blue of her gaze, patinaed by silver.

"They're lovely." Aurora's voice was husky, and she had to clear her throat to loosen the sand in it. Suzaku didn't answer – he tugged her down into the end chair, angling away from the papers and pencils, nudging them back out of harm's way once he took a seat beside her. As he opened the kit and began assembling what he needed, Aurora's injured hand still in his, Suzaku thought of what she'd said. It took him a moment to realize she'd been referring to both drawings. The blue one, he was rather satisfied with. But that black one… it was still missing something. An element of energy that he knew it lacked, but didn't know how to fix. Ducking his head to watch the wound as he carefully pulled the towel away, he finally acknowledged Aurora's compliment.

"Thank you. I think the blue one's coming out quite well. I don't know about the black one, though," Suzaku said softly as he prepared the medical tape for butterfly bandages. He could feel Aurora's shrug through the slender muscles in her hand, and spared her a glance. She was looking around him at the picture of the black dragon, left unfinished and bleak.

"I like the black one."

He just hummed in dissatisfaction, returning her shrug with one of his own, carefully applying antiseptic. She didn't even grimace, just thrummed the fingers of her uninjured hand on the table. Suzaku pressed the edges of the cut together and taped it closed. Aurora's eyes flickered a little, her only reaction to the sting, but she continued without inflection in her voice.

"It has power. Just needs a bit of color."

Once the square of gauze was centered over the wound and he began the repetitive task of winding the bandage around her hand, Suzaku finally looked up at her fully. The corner of his mouth helplessly curled up at the suggestion, made with an ease that displayed her ignorance of working with imagination transferred to paper. But perhaps Aurora had a point.

"Maybe. Any ideas?"

She propped her chin on her palm as they both watched him bind her hand. It was only now that the gash was comfortably out of sight that Suzaku could appreciate the fine fingers trusted to his hold. At first glance, they were the hands of a noblewoman, lithe and long and delicate. But even now, he could see the knuckles being covered by bandages were strong and faintly tattered with scars. There was the occasional ridge of callouses on her palm, softened by care but perpetuated by labor. These were the hands of a woman who could fight, who could mend and work and heal. The thought slowly started to dissolve the steel-cabled tension he'd been carefully directing into his task. It had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit seeing Aurora hurt, even if it was just a simple cut on her hand.

"How about red?" she suggested as Suzaku taped the tail of the bandage. He sat back as she inspected his work, considering the palette in his head.

"I don't know. Common color for a dragon."

"Traditional, not common," Aurora corrected with a smile. "Nothing wrong with traditional. Nice job, by the way. Pretty nifty field dressing. Couldn't have done much better myself. Thanks."

"No problem," he said quietly, still thinking over the picture in his head, considering and dismissing color after color. Yet, after her suggestion, Suzaku kept coming back to a crimson dragon. Maybe the idea had merit.

"What happened, anyway?" he asked before Aurora could scoot her chair back and trot back out to the garage. In that way, she was almost like a child. Grudgingly sitting through a mending only to scamper back out to trouble as soon as the hold on her was loosed.

"Just giving the duchess a little TLC. One of the bolts gave me a little trouble, and my wrench slipped."

Suzaku had to smile – who would have thought that a Britannian princess would be a gearhead?

"Is it a waste of breath to ask that you be careful?"

She smiled, the sweetness and mischief in it making the air wheeze out of his suddenly tight lungs.

"Yes, but it's an adorable, very appreciated waste." Finally, she did stand, brushing her fingers through his hair in a manner of thanks, he guessed. The breath of touch, however, had his guts tightening in a way that was almost… pleasant. "Thanks again. I'll be back around dinner time." With that, she was gone, a fairy queen gone back to fawn over her steed. Ban trotted after her, the two of them conversing in low words and throaty woofs as they walked through the beds of blooms to the grand old barn-turned-garage, the red paint having long ago worn to a stately silver. Suzaku sat, slowly blinking at the echo of her. A red dragon, huh?

He pulled the page of his first drawing close, studying it with critical eyes. He wasn't sure it could be salvaged, not in its entirety. But maybe, in a way, it could be reborn. Setting aside his blue dragon, nearly finished and spectacular in her ferocity, he started again. He used the general form of the first drawing, the skeleton of the picture transferring rather well. There were changes he made besides the color he planned. But they were for the better. Even though some were a bit of a challenge to finesse, Aurora was right. There was something about a red dragon, in flight for freedom and fire.

That night, when Suzaku dreamed, he found himself somewhere he'd never imagined he would be again. He was in his old HBSR body armor.

It had been years since he'd strapped the plating to his limbs, but he doubted the sensation of it would ever truly slip from his memory, not when it had been so ingrained in his adolescence. The crack in his left upper arm plate that made it wiggle whenever his bicep flexed; the straps to his knee plates that were far too long, and had to be tied to take up the slack, the knots lightly digging into the tendons in the back of his knees; the smell of metal and plastic and sweat that would seep into his lungs after any length of time wearing his helmet. He held his rifle with practiced competence, the blind repetition of a muscle well-conditioned.

His orders were to sweep the premises. They came through his coms in the robotic female voice that reminded him of his mother at the worse moments. It was against regs to sweep an area alone; something he'd gotten in trouble for on a regular basis. But here and now, that rule seemed irrelevant. Suzaku had his orders, and he was utterly alone. As he turned the corner of the hallway, it became shockingly clear where he was instantly.

It was the Britannian palace. Not the one currently occupied by Nunnally standing as the official seat of the empire, but the palace in Pendragon that Lelouch and his siblings, including his half-sister, had known since birth. Suzaku had spent enough time there during his tenure as the Knight of Zero to recognize the rich, floral silk wallpaper, that gilt mirror with the cherub scrollwork, a side table that was easily two hundred years old adorned by leaves, waxed within an inch of its life to a manic shine.

As he came to the first doorway to his right, Suzaku roughly shouldered it open, immediately scanning the corners, moving clear of the fatal funnel as he'd been trained. It was directly apparent that the room, opulent in the way only old wealth could be, was empty. What was equally glaring was the fact that it hadn't always been. Blood smeared the walls, occasional hand prints making it obvious that someone in the last grips of desperation had braced trembling palms to the walls, only to slide down as their legs gave way. The splatters on the window in blood from an arterial spray glittered like black stars, speckling the pale blue damask curtains in constellations of ink. At least three fatally large pools of blood cooled on the wood paneled floor. There was no sign of gunfire, and it was impossible to tell if cordite lingered through the choking blanket of blood in the air.

He tried not to let it in, tried to keep the facts from penetrating beyond their impartial truth. Merely catalogued the likely number of casualties, confirmed that the room had been cleared after scanning it one last time, then continued his sweep. But as Suzaku slammed open door after door after door, it started to sink in, started to freeze along the inner curve of his spine, branching out along his ribs like he'd swallowed death's tears. There was nothing to find here. Nothing but the echo of death and the ugly exhaust of it spraying elegant silk couches and ivory piano keys. What exactly was he looking for? What was the point?

Yet another door, heavy and carved like all the rest, banged open under his determined assault. But, finally, this room wasn't empty. A lone figure stood by the window, solemnly gazing out into the rainstorm light while habit had Suzaku training his rifle on the corners, searching out a threat even as the single occupant stood still as a frightened doe.

It was only when she turned somber eyes to him that Suzaku realized it was Aurora. The breathless recognition burst through his chest like a meteor, burning both his pain and his bones in its wake.

She didn't look the way he'd ever seen her, but she was unmistakable. Those big, luminous eyes were heavily darkened, that pretty, clever mouth slicked in a purple so dusky it was almost black. Her umber hair wasn't exploding out of it bounds or tumbling over her shoulders as was its delighted norm – instead, it had been tamed into a brutal, golden twist high on the back of her head, not a single hair fraying out of place. She looked magnificent, yet austere.

The dress she wore was of the same vein. It was the color of midnight, the faintest hint of blue saving it from funereal black. It fell to the floor in silken waves, rippling like winter oceans around a body he knew beat warm, but somehow now looked carved from granite. The bodice was low, tight, and severe, her long sleeves adhering strictly to her muscles, ending in antiquated points over her neatly laced fingers. She wore no jewelry, not when the fabric of the gown itself faintly sparkled, ice-frosted steel. She was a princess crafted from the ashes of battles and broken hearts, her face distant and regal and pale.

Even as she coolly gazed at him, there was no change in expression. Clicking on the safety of his rifle, Suzaku lowered it, wondering why she was still looking at him from behind a mask of beautiful indifference. Then, because he was watching her so fervently, he saw the expression streak through her eyes, there and gone. It was so fast, he almost didn't see it, but he felt it in his bones. She was afraid of him. It finally dawned on Suzaku that he was still wearing his helmet.

Hurriedly, he reached up and disengaged it, not noticing when he dropped it to the floor that it was Zero's mask instead of the helmet of an Honorary Britannian soldier. But he didn't spare the orb of metal and plastic a second glance – he was already striding forward, arms outstretched for Aurora, driven and desperate to touch her, to hold her. His rifle fell unnoticed to the floor with a thud, a weapon forgotten in the face of tenderness. It felt like it had been decades since he'd felt the silk of her skin, the sunburst of her vivid warmth. And Suzaku needed her more than he needed air; like his heart, his brain, would implode from the starvation of her.

Her expression had cracked like antique glass when she caught sight of his face. Eager, evanescent joy overtook Aurora's eyes, lighting them as if the sun had burst through the clouds over a snowy field. She raced for him, the sudden animation of her form changing her dress from an adornment into a cage. She was no longer a princess of ice and stone; she was a queen, held captive, refusing to submit, waiting in a tower for a knight of worth to find her.

They tangled together like vines, Suzaku enchanted by the passionate, exquisite woman he held in his arms. She pressed to him without inhibition, her painted face buried against his neck as her arms locked around him. Suzaku gathered her close, breathing in the smell of cold lilies, slowly being overshadowed by the scent of sun-warmed cherry blossoms. It was natural, then, perfect, even inevitable, when her face turned to his, and their mouths met.

That press of lips erupted in Suzaku's system like a nuclear bomb. Molten fire raced through his blood, screamed along his nerves. It felt like his brain was melting through his ears, and the only clear thought that could pound its way through his neurons was that he wanted Aurora. All of her, every inch she would yield, he would take.

His inexperience left the details vague at best. But that didn't dim Suzaku's extravagant need for Aurora, or the wild lust that choked him like gas fumes. She was more than good, kissing him with the skill to leave him trembling and panting for her. Without really knowing what the hell he was doing, Suzaku loosened his hold on Aurora enough to reach down, hooking his fingers around the refined tendons at the back of her knees. In the way of dreams, she knew what he wanted before he had to say, and she hiked herself up, wrapping her long legs around his waist. Supporting her and moving on brutal, animal instinct, Suzaku rammed her back against the wall, colliding like comets, the sound she made into his mouth not a whimper, but an eager growl that made Suzaku want to snarl and lick.

More because he wanted it than because he could actually manage it, her gown loosened, sliding off strong shoulders and baring what seemed like acres of tantalizingly delicate, pale skin. Driving his fingers through her sternly coiffed hair, Suzaku loosened the array, sending it tumbling down over her shoulders and collarbone the way he liked, moving over his palms like sunshine. Digging her fingers in between his plates of armor, Aurora peeled them off him like a shell, revealing something hot and fragile. She was soft and sweet and beautifully strong, and Suzaku wanted her with a ferocity he didn't even know lived inside him.

So he took her. That gorgeous, dark gown flowed between and around them like water, and Aurora went pliant and stunning under him. The specifics were lost to his innocence, but the overwhelming desire held him like a hot fist. Instinct informed what he had no knowledge of, and as they reached a vicious fever pitch, Aurora wrapped herself close, and, her breath stuttering, she whispered in his ear.

"I order you, Suzaku."

Her words slammed Suzaku out of the dream more effectively than a scream directly in his ear. He woke with his breath heaving, overheated and the images from the dream firmly stamped on the inside of his eyelids. Flinging back the blankets, he closed his eyes at the wash of cool air, trying desperately to ignore the raging erection that was currently disfiguring his pajama pants.

After almost a year without even a hint of arousal, Suzaku had assumed that the urge had all but left him. Of course, the current evidence claimed otherwise. The extent of his sexual knowledge provincial at best, he'd learned the same way most young men he'd known had learned – porn magazines passed around the barracks until the pages lost their gloss and went thin from countless fingers turning them. Suzaku distinctly remembered when the first one had been shoved into his hands at fifteen. Curious and slightly horrified, he'd cautiously flicked through until his body's reaction became apparent. That had spooked him badly enough to throw the magazine away, piss off his comrades, and eventually earn Suzaku the title of the regiment's prude; he didn't care for porn, didn't fuck anything he could get his hands on during leave, and didn't engage in the rampant discussions about the guys' sexual prowess. This regularly led to the thugs of the brigade questioning his masculinity until he'd been forced to defend his honor with his fists, something that had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he'd been unwilling to be with a woman simply to stave off some rough teasing. Perhaps his broad traditional streak made the idea of intercourse more important to him than most of the other males in his acquaintance.

To Suzaku's mind, sex was also a risky mystery. Which was unnecessary to take when he could take care of himself, and avoid courting unwanted pregnancies or disease. He'd never met anyone he was willing to take the gamble for. Until, of course, Euphemia.

That thought did what the cold air couldn't; he was so appalled by his betrayal of Euphie that it killed his erection, leaving Suzaku feeling cold and uncomfortable. Why had he dreamt of Aurora, not Euphie? The specifics started to fade, but the glaring fact remained that the woman he'd fucked hadn't been the one he loved, the one he'd sacrificed everything, even his soul for.

It had been the one who saved him, who challenged him. The one who still lived. Suzaku pushed himself up, sitting on his bed with his fingers spearing through his hair, none of the comfort and ease blooming from the touch when it came from himself. Not like when Aurora did it. Grinding the heel of his hand against his temple, Suzaku demanded, forced, himself to forget how badly he'd wanted her in the dream. How having her had done things for his heart and mind that three years of relative peace hadn't even been able to touch.

Not that it mattered, he sternly told himself, but that hadn't even really been her. Aurora didn't dress like that, didn't stand waiting to be rescued. No, she would have hacked her way out, emerging triumphant with a cheeky grin before disappearing like a phantom. He hadn't noticed it while having her against a wall, hazed by want, but the dream Aurora lacked the faint freckles, gold dust scattered where the sun had kissed her skin, that she bore in the waking world. She hadn't been real; the mercurial woman who worked on cars and saw dragons in color, not stark black – she was real. And the memory of Euphie, his crucible and crux, that was real. Things that defined him. That controlled entities as insane and impossible as sexual desire.

Besides, the lifestyle of a monk suited Suzaku. Kept him out of the trouble that seemed to gravitate to his more human needs. Better to be removed than involved. Better to be hungry than dying. But as he laid back down, with the ghost of lips on his own and wild, freed beauty in his grasp, Suzaku didn't feel that much better. Not when his gut clutched at the ancient dilemma of duty versus desire. Both as far from him as the moon, bearded by wispy clouds, that turned his curtains opalescent.

Chapter Text

Something was up with Suzaku.

Aurora was sure of it. She just had no idea what, exactly. He'd been acting oddly. The pictures were finished, and he'd done a beautiful job. Everything else seemed to be moving along at a usual pace, nothing out of the ordinary to throw off his stride. Nothing he was telling her, at least.

What was really weird was the way he'd started acting around her. She'd been making breakfast when he trotted down, looking a little worse for wear after what should have been a full night's sleep. In the kitchen doorway frame, however, he'd frozen, still in the process of scrubbing his newly washed hair out of his eyes. Aurora had turned to say good morning, but the greeting had died on her lips. He was staring at her shirt.

If it were any other guy, she would think he was staring at her breasts, which were only slightly enhanced by the cut of the top. But his eyes moved over the entirety of it, as if the color or shape had taken him aback. Although what was offensive about silky dark navy with a little glimmer at the hem, she had no idea. It was nothing extravagant or overtly sexy, nothing to completely capture his attention. And, of course, this was Suzaku, who apparently liked to forget on a regular basis that his system was thrumming with that horny little devil known as testosterone. What was weirdest of all was when he finally met her eyes, Suzaku did something quite bizarre

He blushed, ducked his head, and marched to his seat like Aurora had caught him with his hand down his pants. Because of her shirt? She looked down at herself as he clumsily sat – no, her boobs were not on wild display, nor was there a giant blotch of flour or some other stain to catch his eye. She wanted to ask him, but took pity of him considering the beet red color of his face, and did her best to behave normally. Because he certainly wasn't.

Aurora thought it was a bizarre, singular incident. Something had tripped into Suzaku's brain long enough to humiliate him, and should trip right back out soon enough. But it didn't. He was quieter than usual, awkward around her, and seemed to swing between guilty, sad, and mortified. If it was just the embarrassment her presence had suddenly started to elicit, it would almost be funny. As if, after all this time, Suzaku had suddenly realized Aurora was a female and capable of sex appeal.

But it was more than that. Whenever she noticed Suzaku drawing, he was always drawing the same thing: Euphemia. It was so consistent, Aurora almost had to wonder if Suzaku was trying to reinforce fading memories, to capture images that could have been softened by time. Like he was still holding fast to something he was afraid could slip out of his fingers if he even slightly softened his grip. Aurora couldn't blame him, but it was… frustrating. To watch him so willingly submit to the torture her memory caused him. To see Suzaku cling to the guilt that was strangling him, slowly leeching him of life the way a bound limb was gradually destroyed by oxygen starvation. And the choice was either to hack it off or to let it kill him.

Maybe she was being a bit extreme, Aurora tried to reason with herself as she carted a pile of blankets back upstairs. They were normally stored in the window seat in the study, and she'd decided the other day that they'd benefit from a good washing. Maybe this last burst of desperation to hang onto Euphemia's memory was a natural part of the grieving process, and it would lessen to a more manageable state with a little time. But as Aurora headed down the hall, she slowed at the sight of the sight of the closed study door.

Just as she started to turn back downstairs, she heard soft, simple guitar chords humming behind the closed door. Aurora recognized the strains instantly, her heart clenching in a sort of habitual reaction to the song. It was a sad melody sung by an old classic, the last single he released before his death. Slowly stepping closer, Aurora could make out the haunting lyrics, the tired admission of a broken man's self-destruction, and the simple wish to feel that drove the downward spiral. When she could make out Suzaku's voice, trembling but timbered and determined, raised in song, she closed her eyes against the welling tears. When he sang of being alone in the end, she couldn't help it – Aurora pressed her hand to the door, a silent, impossible offer of aid that was as ineffective as it was hopeless.

Amidst the inheritance of dirt empires and the laments of the damage done to others, Aurora pressed her spine to the door frame, careful to not alert Suzaku to her presence. The sounds she heard through the door felt like a confession, one given to saintly wood and stone. It felt almost criminal to disturb it. So she silently slid to the floor, clutching the blankets to her chest as she drew her knees up, surrounded by the stains of time. As she heard him ask his sweetest friend what he'd become, Aurora tipped her head back against the wall as tears silently slipped down her cheeks, passing over her beating pulse as she hurt for everything in Suzaku that she couldn't change, and couldn't heal. For the path that he'd walked so terribly alone, and his enduring need to push everyone who held out a hand away.

She couldn't know that as Suzaku sang along to starting again, to keeping himself, to finding a way, he sat in an almost perfect mirror to Aurora; back to the wall by the door, head tipped back. Tears trailing down over his cheekbones, awash in memories and mourning.

Suzaku didn't know what he was looking for. Catharsis, maybe. Absolution, perhaps. No matter how little he deserved it, the desperate, lonely child in him still yearned for it. He hadn't seen Aurora since before breakfast that morning, which was just as well. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she offered the warm sympathy or quiet understanding ingrained in her bones. There were a few options; laugh in her face, burst into tears – that would firmly erase whatever self-esteem he had left –, or scream until he vomited up his lungs. Of course, that all felt entirely possible even without the catalyst of her presence, so Suzaku decided that he would be better served outside, away from the woman and dog that his overwhelming, self-inflicted guilt could harm.

And since his brain felt so utterly incapable of forming emotions or thoughts on its own with any sort of coherence, he took the music player and headphones along. This time, once he started to walk, he didn't let anything stop him. He climbed over walls, clambered up rocks, muscled his way through groves of trees. Suzaku had no idea where he was going, figured that if he hit the sea, he'd gone far enough. He didn't even know if he was heading west. The music pounded into his eardrums, a mild abuse that felt good. Ever since the somber song that morning, so perfectly encompassing his struggles and sorrows, he'd felt as if it was a mistake to let that music player go. Like the song had given voice to an aspect of him he hadn't even known was struggling to speak, and something important would always be silenced if he stopped now.

Aurora's music collection was vast, but Suzaku had Rivelz to thank for the fraction of songs that he'd already known. By now, though, he'd been listening to her playlists long enough to start picking out favorites of his own, easily memorized and weirdly enjoyable to sing. Not to mention, singing along seemed to mitigate the urge to rip his own heart out at his shameless treachery to Euphie's memory. God, what was wrong with him? He could still see her, the image of Aurora flushed and panting overlaying what he saw in real-time.

As the list moved to the next track and drums pounded into his ears, Suzaku felt his face screw up into an expression he couldn't control. And without Aurora here to worry, he didn't have to try and control it, afraid that it would worry her. Because even though he wasn't exactly sure how his face had contorted, Suzaku knew that it was elementally a grimace of pain. Pain welling up through his guts into his lungs to squeeze his throat, a well-meaning fist.

In a last ditch effort to loosen his larynx enough to allow oxygen to seep through, Suzaku started to sing. At first, he could do little more than wheeze along with the song beating into his ears, paired with the pounding of his heart. His determined march trailed to a stiff halt in the middle of a field, the cup of wildly green grass waving around him like mermaid's hair. Blindly, Suzaku stared at the stalks caressing his ankles, the words to the song weakly spilling out of his mouth gradually softening muscles gone oak-hard.

His voice gained strength, though, as Suzaku sang of far-away heavens now that someone had gone away. He plopped down a little suddenly in the grass, a show of lingering care with the gift of flowers at a grave drifting into the air. But not even black roses or Hail Marys could bring back what was lost. Moving to the words more instinctively than consciously, Suzaku flung his hands up into the air, tipping his head back and screwing his eyes shut, promising to trade places if he could in a wild declaration to an absorbent sky.

Bouncing his palms off his knees and swaying with the cold, stinging world left behind now that she'd gone away, Suzaku poured all that gut-deep guilt into the words, clenching his eyes against the striking scenery. Instead, Euphie filled his sight, every image he'd managed to salvage from the ravages of time and his own failing mind passing over the insides of his eyelids like frames to a film. Chest aching as he threw open the doors to memories he kept safely tucked away, Suzaku saw Euphemia again in any way he could. In all the ways he had left.

Eventually, though, the final, lingering guitar chord sounded in his ears. Blindly, Suzaku reached up, tugging the ear buds out before the next track could start. Something was welling up through his lungs, something that felt more insane than tears. Trying to choke it back was like trying to stop a freight train with tissue paper, though, and eventually it barreled free.

The scream tore out of him like a wild animal from a trap, leaving a spray of damage in the wake of its desperate bid to escape. He'd used to do this as a child; scream his frustrations to the impartial sky when alone, giving vent to emotion he couldn't otherwise express or continue to bear. But that habit had been strangled out of Suzaku by the time of his father's death. Now, though, he unconsciously resurrected the urge with a determined vengeance.

The scream rattled the nearby trees and stones, shooting its way up into the stratosphere. And it flew in the form of Euphemia's name.

It felt like it could go on forever. But, even when he'd been at peak condition, Suzaku's lungs couldn't have handled the strain eternally. Eventually fading to a shaky wheeze, he sucked in all the air he'd forcefully evacuated, returning to himself enough to find his fingers clenched around the grass like he planned to draw swords from the soil, tears dripping down his cheeks to dot his jeans.

Finding himself quite suddenly tired and replete and empty, Suzaku flopped back on the grass, throwing his good arm over his eyes. He told himself it was to block out the sun's glare, but it was also to wipe away tears he didn't want to admit even existed. He stayed that way for a while, enjoying the cool brush of grass and sweet warmth from the sun, even as the dirt made the seat of his jeans and the spine of his shirt damp. Suzaku didn't know how much time had passed when he felt more than heard the thud of approaching footsteps.

He didn't move, though – not when the faint hint of sakura floated through air that never otherwise carried the scent of such blossoms. As Aurora sat down next to him, he shifted his arm just enough to squint at her through the crook of his arm. Reaching over, she paused the music player he'd neglected before propping her elbow against an updrawn knee, managing to watch him without actually watching him in a way he was sure was uniquely a skill of hers. Her tumble of golden hair had been woven into a braid, but that didn't really help. Not when the desire to muss it flamed through Suzaku at inopportune moments. Not when that pretty dark blue shirt dredged up memories of pliant flesh dewed with sweat. But that had to stop. If for no other reason than the remainder of his tattered sanity just couldn't take it.

Slowly, Aurora leaned back, until she lay at his side, her hands laced over her stomach, the grass just tall enough to hide them. Because the dragging silence made Suzaku want to twitch, he spoke first.

"How did you find me?" He lifted his arm just enough to glance over at her in time to see her tilt her head towards him, her brows ever so slightly raised. Stupid question when he was screaming at the sky like an asylum patient.

"I take it you're not feeling so hot," she said in lieu of an answer.

"I wasn't," he managed, his rough voice manifesting his rampant abuse of it earlier.

"How about now?"

Suzaku shrugged as he finally gathered his brain enough to examine himself mentally. No magic fixes. No reversion to his personal version of innocence or good health. But maybe he didn't feel quite so… horrific. Guilt-ridden. Horse-whipped.

"Can you tell me what was wigging you out earlier?" Her voice, like her question, was gentle. That paired with the dream sent heat flooding to Suzaku's cheekbones as he dug his forearm into his eye sockets harder, stars sparking against velvety black. No way in hell was he telling her about the unbidden fantasy that had taken over his brain like a disease.

"Nothing. Nothing important, anyway," he eventually said. Her lingering silence had him tensing, so he risked a glance at her. Aurora had rolled her head towards him, those penetrating eyes trained on him like drills. Suzaku quickly looked away before they could dig the truth out of him.

"It's not a big deal. Trust me." He didn't know why he said that second sentence. It came out of his mouth casually enough, but it rang in his head like a bell. Like a plea. Lowering his arm to his side, Suzaku looked over, reluctantly vulnerable but needing to see her reaction more than he wanted to admit. Surrounded by a forest of grass, her eyes looked like perfect skies. She searched his gaze with an intensity that dug down into his bones. Finally, though, she nodded.

"OK."

That simple, trusting response softened everything that had gone unconsciously tense in him. Aurora looked back up to the sky, presenting her classic profile to Suzaku before he remembered he wasn't interested in her that way, and trained his eyes on the harmless spread of blue that arched over them.

It should have been silent, as neither of them were talking. But it wasn't. The grass whispered with the wind's voice, the leaves of the trees singing much better than Suzaku ever could. And as they relaxed, his and Aurora's breathing fell into the same soft tempo. Eyes drifting closed, the sun bloomed pink flowers against his eyelids. He'd almost fallen asleep when a warm breath fanned over his face. Floored by the fact that Aurora would do something so audacious, something he wasn't necessarily sure he could refuse, Suzaku's eyelids whipped open.

The eyes looking into his, however, weren't blue. They were dark brown, and delightedly laughing. Ban snuffled his face and hair before panting with a wolf-like grin, the blast of dog breath nearly driving Suzaku deeper into the dirt. Managing to meld the shove with a pat, he directed the dog to his much more understanding mother. Her laughing growl of complaint, however, didn't paint her as very understanding. Looking over in time to see Aurora wrestle her dog's butt away to keep him from plopping it down practically on her face, Ban adjusted with a beleaguered expression, his head almost draped over Aurora's shoulder while his tail tickled Suzaku's ear. Their chuckles were muffled by palms, as if they were reluctant to break the atmosphere. He felt, maybe for the first time since his dream, that perhaps he'd imagined everything. Aurora was his friend, a person of incredible trust. Who else could he just be with in this kind of tranquil comfort?

But the quiet couldn't last forever. Aurora was the one to break it, almost breathlessly soft.

"Vivienne."

"What?" Suzaku croaked, looking over in time to see a single tear track down her temple to slide into her hair.

"That was Euphie's middle name."

Speechlessly, he met Aurora's eyes, misted and pained, absorbing the information into a bruised heart. For all that he'd used Euphie as a framework for his existence, Suzaku hadn't known that tiny fact about her. He clutched the knowledge close, an intimacy that was only glaring in its absence once he'd been given it.

Euphemia Vivienne li Britannia. It was beautiful. It suited her.

And like her half-sister, it carried the tradition of Arthurian middle names. Even from a very young age, the Lady of the Lake had always been one of Suzaku's favorite characters to the old legends. How ironic that the love of his life would bear one of the versions of the Avalon queen's name.

He reached up to pat Ban's rump, because he felt like he could die from the wave of loneliness that swept through him, and Suzaku was too much of a coward to reach for Aurora. Because it wasn't ironic. It was achingly, brutally sad. God, he missed her. So fucking much.

Chapter Text

By the time a few days had passed, Suzaku was sure he'd stamped out any insane inclinations before they'd taken root. He even managed to convince himself that the dream had never happened, that his heart's alignments remained exactly the way they'd always fallen. Perhaps he was still reluctant to revisit memories of Euphemia, but maybe he wasn't so militant in holding them off. He was even starting to feel… normal. As normal as he could ever hope to feel. And a sense of control was slowly trickling back, so welcome that Suzaku hefted it like armor.

The rain from earlier that morning had burned off, leaving the air fresh and crisp. Aurora had wandered off about an hour ago, leaving Suzaku to his own means. While he didn't normally mind it, and could keep himself entertained alone perfectly well, thank you very much, he did feel a little at odd ends after lunch. Ban was staring out the kitchen screen door, his ears half-cocked and his tail very slowly wagging back and forth in a steady metronome of nerve and bone. Taking pity on the dog, Suzaku snagged a pear before opening the door.

"Shall we?" he asked the hound, who arrowed outside without a second glance. Galloping out onto the grass, he spun on his haunches in three delighted circles, yipping and rooing like he was singing. Apparently, Ban was feeling dandy, and had just been waiting to be released. Suzaku laughed at his antics, playing with the dog in a way that, although never taught, came naturally to him. A false start would send Ban manically running in one direction. Once he realized that he wasn't being chased, however, he'd pivot with bizarre speed and come racing past, whizzing by Suzaku's legs with maybe a few inches to spare. With a puppy, it would have been funny; but when it was a dog within sneezing distance of a hundred pounds, it was a little more intense. Occasionally, if he pulled a wicked turn in tight, Ban's bony tail rapped against his calf like a whip. Seconds later, he'd come roaring back. When he came to a panting stop, he only waited for a few words from Suzaku before another fake lunge set Ban off, rocket-fast and clumsily eager.

Some light mock wrestling had them play-growling in unison, the hound's eyes lit with a happy, almost crazed glee. Like a child, he thought, Bannock played hard, and with zero regret. Suzaku had been like that, once.

With his green rain boots and yellow bucket, Suzaku would tramp out into whatever wilderness could be found on the Kururugi estate. There wasn't much, but he dug up whatever he could find, most of the time with his bare hands. The maid he'd precociously decided he was in love with at the tender age of three had proclaimed him King Frog-Catcher of All Japan. Even as a toddler, he'd been fast, and dogged, two important qualities when it came to corralling amphibians.

The moment his lessons ended, he was aimed for the door. His nanny used to bemoan that he didn't need to so much as breathe and he'd become splattered in mud. There were trees to climb, dirt to dig, forts to build. Long before he'd ever trained with Todoh, Suzaku had faced down countless hordes, shining sword in hand, cutting through foes like a song. Of course, his sword had been a knobby stick, but the battles in his head had been very real. And always fought alone.

His brothers had been in each other's confidences since the womb. Part and parcel for a pair of twins, apparently, even if they were fraternal. That paired with Suzaku's much more independent, straightforward personality didn't inspire much in the way of brotherly love. And even from a very young age, Jirou and Saburou had been their father's sons, picking up indirect cues from Genbu as to how to behave towards their older brother. And Genbu had never really cared for Suzaku.

Stroking the panting, striped dog in the Irish sunshine, Suzaku came to that stunning realization. As his brain clicked through memories, the source of it became clear. Then again, maybe he'd always known it, but never truly wanted to admit it. His mother, Tora, was a Yoshino by birth, as was her younger sister, Kyoko, who was Kaguya's mother. They hailed from the main branch of a well-bred family that had held power in Japan for centuries, one of the Six Houses of Kyoto. One of the reasons the family was so stable, however, was because it had brokered good will with Britannia on a regular basis. And one of the easiest way to cement that good will was through marriage.

Suzaku wasn't pure Japanese; far from. He was close to a quarter Britannian by blood, but unlike his brothers, who had looked like miniature Genbus practically since birth, Suzaku manifested the impurity physically – he had his grandfather's eyes. His mother's were green, too, but more truly hazel. Simpler, easier to forgive. Suzaku, however, carried the stamp of Britannia, bright and impossible to miss, in his face. It wasn't all that uncommon. There were hardly any families left in Japan that were purely Japanese – it just so happened that the Kururugis had been one of them. Until Suzaku's birth had tarnished that title.

Marrying Tora had been a sound political choice – she was well-bred, well-trained, well turned out. But it grated against a core of hatred towards Britannia that Genbu had nursed long before the threat of invasion had ever became something remotely resembling reality. She was obedient, though, and respectably fertile. Suzaku, however, had the unfortunate luck to be the obnoxiously colored first-born, the hard-headed failure that couldn't listen, couldn't display even a modicum of discipline, and couldn't master any of the respected Japanese arts. He was thin as a reed, a delicacy his father believed was proof of the weakness of Britannian bloodlines. But, perhaps worst of all, Suzaku was like his father; opinionated, bone-deep stubborn, and the one thing he truly failed at was learning how to keep his opinion, often far too brutally honest, to himself. All this made him a very easy target for Genbu's displeasure. In a last ditch effort, Suzaku was sent to Todoh when his brothers were leaving toddlerhood, where, through a brutal training regiment, he managed to prove that he had something of value. He was a fighter, a warrior.

He should have known better, but seeking praise from his father had been like trying to make a rock bleed. Genbu's general lack of reaction to Suzaku's success drove him harder, pushed him farther. Not just with Todoh, but with all of his studies. Any skill it was felt a political figure's son should know, Suzaku tackled it ferociously with a single-minded determination that shaped his personality for the rest of his life. He even bowed to the order of his betrothal to Kaguya, even if the thought made the eight year old boy want to howl. There had to be some way to earn his father's respect, to secure his attention. And the harder he tried, the more short-tempered and aggressive he became. Suzaku had no excuse for his behavior, but it had contributed to why he'd been so ugly with Lelouch in the early days of their acquaintance. Though he hadn't been able to hold out long. And even his innocent, trusting friendship with Lelouch and Nunnally had become another aspect of Suzaku for his father to disapprove of. Hostages were tolerated, not befriended.

There was no excuse for his sin of patricide, but even Suzaku could admit that it would have been much harder to kill his father, even in a fit of frightened, desperate anger, if Genbu had shown him even a flicker of genuine interest beyond the ways Suzaku could further his father's ministry. And a ten year old couldn't do much, which translated to a hell of being politely ignored. Because whatever Genbu did, his dutiful wife and favored sons emulated. It was no surprise really that Suzaku had clung so desperately to their royal hostages; his own family had slowly and steadily ostracized him under his father's leadership. Even after Genbu's death, Suzaku's remaining family had remained loyal to their late patriarch.

It had been Kirihara, not his mother, who had orchestrated the cover-up that had saved Suzaku's young life. The final insult had been when he'd joined the Honorary Britannian Service in a recklessly drastic attempt to atone for what he'd done. Upon his return that night to the family estate, he'd found the grounds deserted, the house echoingly empty. There hadn't even been a note. It was only later that Suzaku found out his mother and brothers had left the country using Tora's maiden name. He'd been so numb, it had taken him months to realize that he hardly knew them well enough to miss.

The last thing his mother had ever said to him was, "You killed Japan's only chance of victory. You shame me, Suzaku, and your lineage."

Suzaku came back to himself in stages, blinking against the sun as the feeling of cold slowly flaked off his skin. It was an old sensation – the feeling of his family's disapproval, the weight of their disappointment that dragged him to his knees, the supplication and begging from years of reparations doing nothing to diminish his sins. But he was tired of it; tired of feeding his contrition with his family's disinterest and disapprobation. So Suzaku gritted his teeth, dragging ragged breaths through his nose until the feeling faded, his skin relaxing and his stomach eventually settling.

Ban had apparently run himself out; he sprawled, exhausted and resplendent as a smoky tiger, out in the grass, his broad ribs heaving up and down like a blacksmith's bellows. Shaking himself free of his depressing thoughts of his version of family with a determined force, Suzaku focused on Aurora's goofy dog. But just as he walked over, Bannock took one look at him, lunged up to his feet, shook off any lingering clumps of dirt and blades of grass, trotted in one happy circle around Suzaku, then pranced away. Watching him go with laughing perplexity, the sound a little rough in his throat, it was only when the dog stopped and looked back at him expectantly that Suzaku realized he was being led. Where, he wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain it would be a merry chase.

Biting into the pear he'd forgotten about, Suzaku followed Ban with more faith than he showed the majority of the human beings in his acquaintance. Together, they investigated the bushes that ringed the house like a shaggy necklace, tiny white blossoms strung along the branches like pearls. Ban flushed two rabbits, who had to be chased to his version of the perimeter before the hound felt like he'd done the job sufficiently. Suzaku tried to repair the flowers the dog trampled in his initial launch, with mixed results. He explained to Bannock that he wasn't afraid to tell Aurora who had mucked up the blooms, but the dog seemed totally unrepentant.

After a few failed attempts, Suzaku resigned himself that Ban was a complete failure at the game of fetch. He could lift weights if he wanted to exercise his arm, which was all the more he was doing by throwing sticks for Ban to retrieve. He'd just watch them sail over his head, then look back at Suzaku with an indulgent expression. Like he thought the silly human was being rather cute. Apparently, only fast prey and tasty food would motivate Bannock to utilize his incredible, inherent speed.

So instead, they slowly made their way around the house, stopping and inspecting the grounds the way Ban insisted, as if he'd never seen it all before. Idly, Suzaku trailed after him, munching on his pear and watching the clouds skip across the sky. There was a sweet breeze humming through the hills; that's what he thought it was at first, the breeze. But as he and Ban approached the southern edge of the house, he was able to make out faint strains of music.

As they rounded the corner, Suzaku managed to recognize the notes, and pinpoint the source. The studio's windows were wide open, letting the song bleed into the air outside. Moving closer, he struggled between leaving it be or catching Aurora's attention. He inched close enough to hear the song clearly, realizing that he'd guessed the tune correctly. That proximity resulted in something he hadn't necessarily intended; it angled Suzaku just right to see the bank of mirrors covering one wall of the studio, but still obscured him from view within the room. In the mirrors, he could see Aurora. Drawn to a stop, he just took her in, as he so rarely allowed himself after his disturbing dream.

Suzaku had only seen her like this a few times before – lean and lithe like a panther in black leggings and a snug tank top, this one the color of the violets bobbing their heads in the sun to his right. Most of the time her braids were comfortable, just snug enough to keep the thick banks of golden hair out of her face. But this was the most severe he'd ever seen Aurora's hair, sternly woven and tightly under control. Her black athletic shoes were minimal – they weren't designed for hard runs, but pin-point athletics.

Shaking her hands loose, rolling her shoulders, and bouncing on her toes like she was jumping an invisible rope, Aurora lightly swayed in time with the opening notes of the song. At the first word – We – she suddenly snapped to attention, her body curling like a wave into a stance that was somehow both graceful and electric. As Aurora moved her body in time to the music, Suzaku finally comprehended what she'd told him all along. It wasn't just that Aurora could dance or that she was skilled at it; Aurora loved to dance. As she exploded with the flaming intensity of the song into heightened motion, Suzaku felt the epiphany bloom not just through his mind, but deep in his bones and blood. It was more than her technique, polished to a diamond shine; it was the instance of her heart made manifest.

And, God, she was amazing. Smooth and supple with the trembling high notes, wicked fast and creatively flexible in the valleys of pounding bass, she became this vessel of emotion, of poetry given physical form. Aurora burned like the lyrics described, a moving tongue of flame that drew the eye, igniting admiration and passion just by watching her move. And how she moved. Aurora displayed a unique combination of polished training and edgy instinct. There was a sinuous glide to her muscles, a swing to her hips that was somehow primitively sensual even amidst her smooth style. She was a dancer first, but there was absolutely no doubt that she was also a woman. An exquisitely beautiful woman.

Suzaku could see now why Aurora cultivated her athleticism – it was to help calm her, yes, but she needed it, needed her body to respond like lightning not to protect her life, but to supplement her soul. Because she didn't just sway and turn; she leaped and twisted, displaying a natural physical ability that rivaled anyone else's Suzaku had ever seen. Probably even his own. Because he knew, without the embarrassment of even trying, that he could never do what Aurora did in the studio, never move with such eager elegance and power to something as human as music. Even as she slowed to the delicate a cappella, tracing the back of her right finger over her left jawline, she was now refined and poised. Stretching up, raising her hands and pulling her entire body into an agile, powerful line, Aurora was water waiting to tumble, held in a brief moment of breathless measure.

The music ended, and Aurora dropped to one knee, her head curled down, the air humming in the wake of all that movement and sound. Still somewhat shell-shocked, Suzaku nearly jumped when the song, still not over, suddenly swept high again, Aurora following the swell of sound by springing out of her crouch, curling back in a series of handsprings that echoed the music's beat. She moved almost too fast to see, fast enough to have Suzaku's breath shortening unconsciously in reaction to the heightened pace. Twirling just shy of a ballerina's rigid perfection, eventually Aurora spun herself down to the floor, her long legs forming artistic triangles as she leaned back on her palm, eyes demurely downcast as the last twinkling notes faded away.

The rhythmic softness was already bleeding from her frame; Suzaku could almost see her returning to herself, see the thoughts of a drink of water, a towel, and the next track tripping through a brain that had just been consumed by the music and the way she could move to it. Still immersed in the magic of it, self-preservation flared in Suzaku's brain just as Aurora was raising her head. Any moment now, her eyes would meet his in the mirror, and he would be seen standing outside the windows of the studio like a mute moron, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open, floored by Aurora's performance. Before anything else could occur to him, Suzaku took a giant step back, taking him out of the mirror's line of sight.

As soon as Aurora disappeared from his vision, Suzaku became aware of himself in pieces. Considering he'd been standing still, he was breathing entirely too hard. And though Ireland's sun was gentle, soft even in the height of summer, he was flushed, his skin overheated and stretched tight. Creeping in like kudzu in damp June heat, Suzaku struggled against the desire to touch Aurora, to feel the pound of her blood under his fingertips. Angry and frustrated, certain that he'd rid himself of such thoughts, he glanced down at his hand.

And saw the pear, not even half eaten, brutally crushed in his fist, juice dripping from between his knuckles as the fruit oozed through his clenched fingers.

Suzaku felt the panic stinging his nerves, the animal in him lunging against its chains. Because he still wanted, more than he could understand, to know what Aurora tasted like. He imagined it would be something like caramel – sweet as candy, a little salted from sweat. Muscles locked so tight, wound so taut from restrained need, his fingers creaked when Suzaku forced his hand open, the mangled carcass of the pear falling with a splat to the grass. Ban's obliging tongue started to clean his fingers, making him jump, nudged out of his whirling confusion.

Swiping his tongue over Suzaku's palm one last time, Ban had apparently had his fill. Rubbing his head against Suzaku's thigh, the dog yawned, dropped down into a deep stretch, then trotted away. Watching the hound, coat gleaming like steel in the sun, slip around the house's corner rounded by a drain pipe, he forced a sigh out of clenched lungs. Then, because he could hear the next track starting in the studio, Suzaku cut a quick escape, spinning on his heel to follow Bannock to relative safety. Although he was unsure how he could find any refuge from his own urges. Where the hell were they coming from?

And how could he get rid of them?

Kendra was late.

Kendra was never late.

Suzaku really had no idea what time to expect her, but Aurora did. And, despite dancing herself into near exhaustion, she was twitchy, watching the doors more than whatever she was doing with her hands. Confused by the out-of-character behavior for both women, Suzaku tried to content himself with a book. But by the time Aurora had dropped a potato in the sink with a loud bang for the fourth time, an echoing thud he could make out even in the parlor, he set down the book, which he was struggling to engage with enough as it was, and massaged the bridge of his nose. Suzaku could feel the tension gathering there like a knotted muscle, for too many reasons to really make sense of.

Kendra was running late, which was making Aurora upset.

Aurora was upset, which was making her clumsy.

And if Aurora was clumsy, she tended to make a great deal more noise than her norm.

When yet another potato she was peeling squirted out of her hand to smack against the sink wall like a wet fist, Suzaku leaned his head back against the chair with a windy sigh. He'd learned the hard way that straight avoidance of Aurora did not end well; she was tenacious, sensitive, and entirely too clever to successfully duck completely. So Suzaku had instead opted for a milder distance; if he kept her within earshot, he could both lessen her suspicion and his discomfort. Because she was driving him bloody crazy.

All he could do was hope Kendra would arrive soon; she was being uncharacteristically uncooperative in that regard, however. Checking his watch for the third time in half an hour, Suzaku tried not to sigh. Because under all the niggling irritations, he was starting to get worried. Worried that someone in Kendra's condition was schlepping across an ocean and a country to check on him. Maybe this could be his last appointment. Maybe Aurora knew an underground doctor here in Ireland that she could blackmail into obedience – it wasn't that impossible of a supposition. He carried enough weighty guilt without burdening a pregnant woman with his care, especially when he was rapidly approaching a point when he would no longer need it. At least, he hoped he was.

Suzaku was struggling to logically argue that thought to its end when the porch creaked, Ban's answering gallop to the door dependable as the sunrise. He stood and turned in time to see Kendra enter, looking pale and immensely exhausted. His guilt coated his guts like hot tar.

"Suzaku, could you be a dear and grab my bag from the car, please?" Her voice was quiet, a little breathless.

"Absolutely." And with that, the panicked male was off like a shot. Wiping her hands on a towel, Aurora met Kendra in the hallway, zeroing in on her less than stellar condition.

"What's up, pretty mama?" she murmured, her caring demeanor and soft pass of her palm over Kendra's hair sending the doctor's brows winging up.

"Nothing much. Just a headache of colossal portion that I haven't managed to shake for four days, heartburn that is searing its way up to my eyeballs. Oh, and I lost my lunch at four different points along the way. Just the joys of pregnancy." Even as she spoke in her patented cynical tone, Kendra rubbed her mound of a stomach, which had distinctly expanded since her last visit. "Little one's just been in a bad mood for the last couple of days."

"Not… restless?" Aurora carefully broached. Five months was right on the border of fifty percent infant survival rate. If Kendra went into labor now…

"No, no. She's not coming anytime soon. Just grumpy as all get out."

"What in the world do we have to be grumpy about?" Aurora murmured, aiming her question at her friend's belly, relieved but still not completely without concern at her friend's reassurances.

"A lot of growing happening right now. Got to be hard on her."

"Hard on you, too. Why don't you sit down before you fall down, Kendra?"

Huffing her hair out of her face, Kendra tried for a glare, but exhaustion made it fall desperately short.

"Fine. Five minutes. Then Suzaku has an appointment I need to see to."

Aurora just hummed as she escorted her friend to the couch, promising to return with some water. By the time she came back from the kitchen, Kendra was plopped sideways on the deep sofa, sound asleep, her glasses dangling from her fingers by one of the arms. Turning as the door opened to admit Suzaku, still a little spooked, Aurora set the water and the doctor's glasses on the small table by the couch and put her finger to her lips. After settling a blanket over Kendra once she'd carefully hefted her legs up onto the cushions and removed her shoes, Aurora jerked her head towards the kitchen. Setting down the bag by the umbrella stand, Suzaku silently followed her, his wide eyes seemingly plastered on Kendra's sleeping form for as long as he was able to keep her in sight.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Suzaku stepped closer, crowding Aurora in a way that she had a suspicion he had no idea he was doing. It brought him close enough for her to catch the hint of soap and shaving cream on his skin, to see the gold sparks in his green eyes fringed by thick, coal black lashes. Aurora swallowed, and demanded that she keep her mind from such silly things. Lovely, silly things.

"What's wrong? Is Kendra alright? She doesn't look good – she didn't look like that the last time we saw her."

"Building a person is tough work. All that material has to come from somewhere – babies just don't magically pop into being without some sacrifice. Kendra should be fine once she gets a nap in." At least, Aurora hoped she would be. Something, maybe a woman's intuition, maybe desperate hope, whispered that the little Andrews wouldn't be making an early appearance any time soon. Suzaku seemed to relax as he absorbed what she said. But Aurora could tell almost to the second when he realized how close they were standing; his eyes blinked wide, and he shrunk back, looking a little stung. Feeling insulted despite her best efforts to reason his reaction away, Aurora turned neatly towards the sink, aiming her attention away from her worry for Kendra and her irritation with Suzaku. Stupid, but what was his problem?

His problem was that she smelled gorgeous – like springtime and sunshine. Like all things sweet and warm and bright. Aurora unknowingly triggered scent memories of his childhood; cherry petals falling in banks of delicate, snow-like pink. Of Lelouch staring open-mouthed at his first Japanese spring, Nunnally giggling as Suzaku filled her outstretched palms with handfuls of soft petals. He wondered if Aurora's mouth would be as soft before remembering all the ways that idea wasn't just bad – it would be damaging.

So he took refuge at the kitchen table, quietly greeting Ban as he walked through his recent thoughts, and tried to delete all of them, passing the white brush of his determination over each longing until his mind was a blank slate. But no matter how many coats he swiped over them, the ghosts, outlines of needs that he had no idea what to do with, still lingered.

"I'll go check on Kendra," he murmured, standing and fleeing to the hallway before Aurora had a chance to say anything in response. Striding down the hallway, Suzaku paused at the doorway to the parlor. Because there was apparently no need to check on Kendra; she had a guardian already. Bannock had slipped away and now stood by the couch, watching the sleeping doctor with scarily aware eyes. After a morning spent playing the clown, Ban stood by Kendra like a silent, somber shadow.

He stepped closer to the couch, and Suzaku opened his mouth to call the dog away so he didn't disturb Kendra, who looked fatigued and undeniably pregnant. But the dog just lightly snuffled Kendra's outstretched fingertips before slowly lowering himself down to the ground, laying his head down on his paws, his ears slightly lifted and his eyes wide with attention. If he didn't know better, Suzaku would say that Bannock was safeguarding the expectant mother in her vulnerable state. He looked very noble, and terribly wise.

Recalling through a haze of pain, Suzaku was pretty certain there were lingering memories of Bannock standing watch over him during his early days at the cottage, lying next to his bed like a sentry, peering at him over the edge of the mattress with those intent, liquid eyes. Even raising the call when he woke up twisting with a bone-deep agony and a thirst that seemed to evaporate his blood. It was an ugly time he had no interest in remembering, but Bannock's patient presence had left an impression.

As had Aurora's.

He heard her, careful, quiet steps as she crept up next to him and peered over his shoulder. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Suzaku turned his head, studying her from a disconcertingly close distance. She wore stars on her ears – glittering, faintly blue stones at her lobes that held fragile silver chains supporting twinkling gems, calling attention to her long throat and the curve to her collarbone. His fingertips itched, so he shoved the offending digits into the pockets of his jeans in defense.

But her soft scent was inescapable, and Suzaku was battling back increasingly heated urges when Kendra sighed. It was a tiny sound, but in the trembling quiet, it tore through the strands of Suzaku's quivering, unwilling thoughts like a prizefighter's punch. Bannock levered himself up, greeting the awakening doctor with small, snuffling kisses. Kendra had just pushed herself up, rubbing her fingertips over her closed eyelids, when Aurora snagged Suzaku's arm and yanked him after her, slipping down the hallway back into the kitchen.

"But-!" he protested in a whisper.

"Kendra does not like to be fussed over. Much prefers to do the fussing. Frankly, we were lucky to have her behave as long as she did. Hush, here she comes." Aurora spun away, quickly busying herself with the mess of potatoes in the sink. Suzaku had only a second to realize he looked awkwardly out of place just standing in the kitchen, and curse Aurora for leaving him high and dry.

He turned in time to see Kendra come shuffling down the hall, in the process of tugging a hair tie free from her mane of gypsy-dark hair. She yawned, digging her fingertips into her lower back as she peered at Suzaku with slightly narrowed eyes from behind lopsided glasses.

"I'm fine," she muttered, almost curtly.

"I… didn't say anything. I mean, of course you are." Suzaku knew he was floundering – he didn't need Kendra's feline eyes and raised brows to tell him that. He stole a glance at Aurora, but she was still innocently scrubbing potatoes. "You look great," he blurted out belatedly. Kendra just tilted her head and looked at him disparagingly.

"You're adorable." Without moving, she slid her eyes over to her blond friend. "Stop torturing your potatoes, Rora. I know you're the captain of the nanny brigade."

Aurora, who had been scrubbing the spud in her hand like it was due for inspection, slowed, then turned, leaning back against the counter, trying to look cool and unaffected. Oddly enough for her, she was largely failing.

"Can you blame us, Kendra? You were looking a little rough around the edges. We just wanted to make sure you were OK."

Kendra humphed, looking immensely unimpressed. Slowly sitting at the table, waving Suzaku away when he jerked forward to help, the doctor began to work her hair into a thick braid. Offering a small smile when Aurora retrieved her water from the parlor, Kendra gestured across the table, watching Suzaku move with a carefully cataloguing gaze as he obeyed and sat down on the other side of the table.

She peered at him as her fingers wove inky black strands of hair in a smooth rhythm, an enormous diamond flanked by sizable emeralds sparking from its gold seat on her left ring finger. Suzaku recalled how Aurora had told him the ring was Chandler's great-grandmother's – too valuable and tempting to be worn in a place like London, but Kendra took any other opportunity when she could wear it safely. It suited her; a little old-fashioned, magnificent and powerful.

Briskly winding a black band around the end of the dense tail, Kendra settled back, resting her left hand on her belly as she sipped her water. Suzaku mirrored her shift in posture unconsciously, his eyes drawn to the flash of stones crowning her womb. He tentatively called on powers of observation that had been deadened over the last few years, considering possibly reproducing the picture Kendra made. Tired, penetrating eyes behind vintage-style glasses, a thick braid draped over her shoulder, her slim hand, almost too delicate to bear the massive ring it bore, draped protectively over the baby. While she usually wore simple blouses with classic lines and dark slacks easy to clean that wouldn't show stains, Kendra was now wearing a gray hoodie a little too big for her and jeans that were baggy enough to not strain across her stomach.

Before he could control it, Suzaku's gaze slid to Aurora. If he was looking for someone who looked as different from the expectant mother as possible, he need go no further. And it wasn't glamour compared to informal; Aurora was wearing jeans too, albeit significantly less baggy. The soft, worn plaid shirt matched her eyes – blue shot through with silver, dulled to a misty gray by washing and time, rolled up to the elbows. Messily pulled up in a half ponytail, the rest of her slightly damp hair tumbled around her shoulders, matching the gold chain and pendant of a Druid's sun, moon, and tree that hung around her neck.

Kendra cleared her throat, and Suzaku's eyes swung back to her, realizing with a spreading dread that he'd been caught staring. Quite obviously, too. Terrific.

Her expression was largely unreadable, which Suzaku could both appreciate and feel alarm dripping down his spine in reaction to the doctor's sphinx-like face. Finally, though, Kendra tilted her head towards the hallway, her face softening.

"Shall we?"

Suzaku didn't even bother to nod – he was at her side, taking the hand she'd flung out into space to off-balance her bulk as Kendra hefted herself up. The doctor just pinned him with an odd little look that was almost approving before swinging her eyes to Aurora.

"When we come back down, I want to take a look at that nasty nip Natasha gave you. I trust you've bandaged it up snug?"

If Kendra's expression reminded him of a sphinx, Aurora's smile definitely had shades of impish mischief.

"Suzaku bandaged it up for me. It's as good as you or I could have managed."

He couldn't quite tell if she was lauding him or throwing him under the bus. Kendra just sniffed at both him and Aurora as they strolled out of the kitchen and down the hallway arm in arm. It wasn't disapproving, necessarily, merely the mark of withheld verdict.

"I suppose I'll be the judge of that. Best give me room, Suzaku. I'm still not quite used to the added bulk. And if you could grab my bag, I'd much appreciate it." Latching those slim hands, strong, trained, and marked by the manic sparkle of her ring, onto the railings on either side of her, Kendra began the task of industriously hauling herself up the stairs. Suzaku opened his mouth to offer moving their appointment somewhere downstairs, but reconsidered. Kendra was in what could be politely termed an interesting mood, and could all too easily turn fierce if he wounded her pride. Suzaku could appreciate that – he knew a thing or two about bruised pride. So he merely snagged her bag and shadowed her studious progress up the stairs, ready to spring into action at the slightest misstep.

But Kendra got herself to the second level without incident. She turned and studied Suzaku as he joined her, a very soft hum sounding in her throat. Readjusting her glasses, Kendra held out her hand for her bag, which Suzaku reluctantly handed to her.

"Why don't we chat in the study?"

"Er, alright." Suzaku was taken aback – why the change in location? Was something wrong?

"Nothing's wrong," Kendra said as they headed to the other side of the house. Suzaku twitched; that perceptiveness she shared with Aurora, and sometimes exceeded, was disconcerting at best. "But you've been here for over two months, and I want your bedroom to feel like yours, not some hospital room that I can tramp into without pause. Boundaries are healthy, and freely granted privacy is incredibly important, both as a stepping stone and a sign of faith. Besides, our talks from now on will be largely focused on your psychological health, and that's better conducted on something a little closer to neutral ground, while still private."

Delightful, Suzaku thought, trying not to be sour. Discussion about his emotional well-being usually made him slide helplessly into a state of fight-or-flight, especially with people who carried letters after their names like banners of authority. Kendra, however, was not some military doctor easily held off with rank and understated discouragement. This could be unpleasant.

However, Suzaku schooled his face, something he was gradually relearning to do ever since coming to Ireland. For years, he'd been free to react facially without pause or concern; no one knew how Zero's face might twist given any situation. His only tell was his voice, which Suzaku had learned to strictly control. Now, however, things had tilted into an opposite set of social cues. His face gave away more that his words to these exceptionally observant women. Even Chandler could read him more clearly by the look in his eye and the way he spoke instead of what was actually said.

Following the doctor to the study, he hung back in the doorway as she set down her bag on the desk amidst his neatly catalogued drawings and supplies. Clearly, Suzaku pictured his quiet dissolution into tears and murmured songs exactly here only a day or two ago. It took him a moment before he managed to struggle past the memory of his own phantom.

"Where do you normally sit?" Kendra's question surprised him, both out of his internal struggle and by the oddness of the subject.

"Beg pardon?" Suzaku managed.

"You normally sit here, right?" she said, gesturing to the desk below the window. The doctor softly laughed at Suzaku's taken-aback nod.

"These are obviously not Aurora's work, and the volume of them tell me you've spent a significant amount of time here. I want you to be comfortable, Suzaku."

Still, he didn't advance to the chair she'd been talking about.

"What about you? Would the sofa be best? Do you want a cushion?"

Kendra shook her head with a little chuckle at his slightly frantic questions.

"Lord, no. If I sit down in that thing, I'll never get out. This will work nicely," she murmured as she rested a hand on the back of the rocking chair tucked in the corner next to the book shelves. It took Suzaku a moment to recognize it – it was the chair where Aurora had spent so much time at his bedside during his first days here. He hadn't noticed when it had been moved out of his room, only that Aurora wasn't there as much as she used to be. Before he could move to help, Kendra dragged the chair closer and plopped down, busily scratching something in a notebook, a thick manila folder balanced on her thighs. Slowly, Suzaku took his usual seat, spinning so that he fully faced the doctor. As she continued to swiftly write, he murmured the first polite thing that came to mind.

"How do you know those drawings aren't Aurora's?"

Kendra looked up without tilting her head, peering at him over the rims of her glasses, a small, knowing smile moving across her mouth.

"Because they're very lovely, and Aurora draws like a badly distracted toddler."

Suzaku couldn't help the heat the seeped across his cheekbones and down his neck at the compliment, glad when her gaze dropped back down to whatever it was she was writing.

"Now, then," she finally said, waggling her fingers in a come-here gesture. "Let's get your vitals, and we'll see how you're doing."

Scooting his chair closer, Suzaku patiently waited through the now-familiar process of Kendra checking his pulse, lungs, lymph nodes, and eyes. It was almost soothing to give her the breaths she asked for, to feel her firm fingers gently probing under his jaw and down his throat. Once her stethoscope was looped over her neck again, she used those dexterous fingers to assess his arm and shoulder, asking for rotations and stretches that he could do with only the faintest twinges of pain.

"Looking good. You could still use a few more pounds, but I'm chalking that up to your natural build. You've never been particularly beefy, have you?"

Suzaku shook his head, the random echo of Lelouch's old moniker for him – "the exercise nut" – bouncing through his brain. Until people saw him in action, they'd never believed it.

"It also has to do with your lost musculature, which you can start regaining back." Kendra reluctantly smiled when she caught the glint in his eye. "Yes, you can start exercising again. I'll talk to Aurora about a regiment for you. No sparring or hard contact yet, but I'm sure we'll figure out something. Make sure to keep up with the protein in your diet, and don't forget the water. You're still borderline dehydrated, and your kidneys need all the help they can get. Don't let up until you're peeing like a racehorse." Kendra said it with such deadpan ease, Suzaku felt the embarrassment peak and die before it ever even flickered across his face. "Now, then. How's your appetite?"

Suzaku shrugged, but Kendra's patient silence spurred him into elaborating.

"Better. It's not what it used to be, but I can usually finish whatever's put in front of me without difficulty."

"Still not really seeking it out on your own too much, though, right?" The doctor read between the lines like he'd actually said it out loud. Suzaku shook his head.

"It's about fifty-fifty right now."

She nodded, noting something on her pad.

"Fair enough. How about sleep? Still having nightmares, or worse?"

He shook his head, trying to formulate the way to speak truthfully without revealing the humiliating issues he was blindly grappling with.

"No more nightmares, not really. I usually get a decent amount of sleep." Suzaku must not have hit the right note at the end of his sentence, because Kendra still just patiently peered at him, her pen slowly pulled through her fingers, round and round.

"But I…" The words trickled out of him tightly, his lungs snug against his trachea. "I've been having these…. dreams." When he didn't continue, Kendra spoke quietly.

"What kind of dreams?"

God, how could he say this without sounding like some insane pervert? Because he had to tell somebody. It wasn't going away, and it felt like layers of Suzaku's brain were peeling away every time the impulses flared, which was entirely too often for comfort.

"Erotic ones," he finally managed just shy of a whisper, feeling the blush sizzle across the bridge of his nose. Kendra's face, however, remained completely impassive.

"What's upsetting you about them?"

A better question would be what wasn't, but Suzaku tried to find a way to get at the root without tipping his hand.

"I don't like having them at all, but the, uh, subject is uncomfortable."

Kendra just stared at him for a long moment, her leonine eyes tracing over his face like she was drawing a map of his expressions. Cautiously, he blinked, at a loss to guess what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers.

"You're dreaming about having sex with Aurora, aren't you?"

Suzaku just gaped at the doctor, who had spoken with such cool certainty, it took his brain a moment to catch up and surrender to utter humiliation.

"I… um…" He was startled when Kendra's features softened into a calming smile.

"It's OK, Suzaku. Honestly, I'm relieved."

If Suzaku hadn't already been sitting, his ass would have plopped to the floor. His lids shot wide, and he eyed Kendra like she was from another planet.

"What!?" he finally managed to choke out. Reaching forward, she patted his boneless hand, her mouth still a little crooked.

"This is better news than I was expecting. I imagine you're a little confused right now."

Mechanically, he nodded, still trying to figure out how the conversation had been so completely derailed when he thought he'd been exerting some form of control over the subject.

"There's actually a few reasons. One is that this is the evidence I was waiting for that the heroin has fully evacuated your entire system. The blush of a heroin high feels similar to orgasm, and the drug rides the same pathways in the brain that normally communicate sex drive and pleasure, so your system loses the need, and sometimes the ability, to feel those natural urges. When it's administered synthetically, your body no longer produces it naturally." She may have been speaking with the cool-blooded professionalism of a lecturing professor, but Suzaku still wanted to bury his face in his hands and bang his head off the desk. This was hatefully mortifying. He kept still, however, and forced himself to carefully listen.

"You may have noticed that you've hardly been aroused, whether willingly or not, since you started using."

Suzaku slowly nodded.

"Yes, but…"

Kendra's eyes narrowed on him with hawk-like intensity.

"It preceded the heroin?"

Reluctantly, he nodded again, feeling as though the skin of his face was about to burst into flame. Kendra, however looked triumphant.

"I figured. Which brings me to my second reason. You're coming out of hibernation." She said it so proudly, Suzaku almost felt his mouth twitch.

"Last I checked, I'm not a bear."

The weak joke didn't deter Kendra in the slightest, though. She bulldozed on.

"You might as well be. People with PTSD are proven to have lower, sometimes non-existent sex drives. When your body and mind go into survival mode, sex is that the last thing you're worrying about. And arousal of any kind, not just sexual, forces you to come out of the safe, numb shell you've become ensconced in. It hasn't been easy, but I'm delighted to inform you, Suzaku, that your shell has officially cracked. Which also means other behaviors might start to manifest as well, now that the blanketing symptoms are fading."

That… wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear. Kendra must have seen the disconcerted look on his face, because she continued, in a slightly gentler tone.

"Now, if you were healthy, either a high or low sex drive wouldn't be cause for concern. After all, you are a twenty year old man – being horny over pretty much nothing is practically your duty. However, that's not the case for everybody. I mean, I'm demisexual."

Noticing Suzaku's blank expression at the foreign word, she elaborated with a small chuckle.

"I thought I was asexual for most of my life. Aurora doesn't know that's why it took me so long to decide whether or not I wanted to marry Chandler; he was different, and that was exciting, and scary. My husband is the only person, male, female, or otherwise, that I've ever been attracted to. Since I'm healthy, it's just a matter of how my brain is wired. You, my friend, have been anything but healthy. So it was a bit more concerning."

"I can appreciate all that, but…" Suzaku's face screwed up. "Why do I have to think about Aurora that way?"

Kendra shrugged.

"Man, who wouldn't? Even I can see that she's a stunning woman. You'd have to be deeply, thoroughly gay, or completely unaffected by women as a gender, to not appreciate how magnificent she is. In fact, knowing you're at least somewhat heterosexual, I'd be worried if you didn't find her attractive. At the very least accounting for your taste." Her lightly teasing tone, however, did nothing to alleviate the guilt that still hung round his neck like a yoke. Her expression melted into seriousness when she caught sight of his eyes. "Oh. I see." Kendra sighed hugely. "I can't tell you why your subconscious has latched onto Aurora as opposed to… someone else. It may be as simple as a matter of proximity and exposure. You two have been spending a lot of time together."

"And it makes life damn uncomfortable. Especially when certain thoughts just pop into my head like napalm. I can't even talk to her without thinking about… stuff, and I can just tell by her face that she either thinks I'm an idiot or relapsing." Suzaku blinked at the bitter words that all but burst out of his mouth unchecked. Kendra slowly nodded.

"I can tell you that's not what Aurora's thinking. All I can say is that there's nothing wrong with what you feel; what matters is how you act on it." Before she even finished speaking, Suzaku was already shaking his head.

"Oh, no. I can't do anything about this. I can't even begin to tell you all the reasons."

"I don't need you to. I appreciate enough of them, and am glad that I don't have to warn you away from acting on them. It sounds callous, but I don't want to see either of you hurt because you got involved in something that can't last."

That made Suzaku pause; he'd known it objectively, but hearing it voiced by someone he trusted hurt worse than expected. Least of all because it reminded Suzaku that his remaining seconds in Ireland were grains of sand, trickling swiftly through the neck of an hourglass.

"I still feel, well, guilty," Suzaku eventually managed through the emotion wrapping a sticky hand around his throat.

"I don't think you have anything to feel guilty about, Suzaku. No, I don't," she repeated when he opened his mouth to protest. "What you're feeling is natural, healthy, and pretty much unstoppable. What I care about is whether or not you'll treat Aurora with respect and courtesy, regardless of how this all plays out. That's what matters, at the end of the day. So my prescription is to stop beating yourself up over something that you can't control and exert yourself over something you can actually command; your behavior, towards both yourself and Aurora. Feeling desire doesn't make you bad. It simply means you're human."

He hadn't said anything in response when Kendra continued.

"And I swear, if you say feeling human is bad, I'm going to clock you."

The laughter that burst out of Suzaku was a little wild, but largely pure.

"No, I wasn't going to say that. Just that feeling human is… messy. And frightening."

Kendra just smiled slyly and tapped the end of her pen against her cheek.

"Welcome to the club, handsome. Any other questions?"

Mutely, Suzaku shook his head, trying to digest what Kendra had said. She'd said nothing about how to fix it or stop his attraction to Aurora, but that wasn't what was most striking. It had been the tone of understanding and lack of judgment, something that until recently, had been all but foreign in Suzaku's life.

"Good," she said crisply, tugging him from his puzzled, circling introspection. "There's something I wanted to discuss with you. This," she said, holding up the manila folder that had been resting on her lap, "is your medical file. It never mentions your name, only the patient number the system at my clinic automatically assigned you. And it's the complete detailing of your injuries and treatments. When you go back to Britannia, I want you to take it with you."

Slowly reaching forward to take the proffered folder, Suzaku locked eyes with the doctor.

"It is not my professional recommendation that you should return yet. There is some lingering weakness and fragility that could get you killed in combat. I know that Zero is largely a diplomatic figure, but someone's gunning for you, and I can't in good conscience send you back any less than fully operational."

Even as his guilt screamed that he get his sorry hide to Britannia this very instant, logic demanded that he listen to the medical genius who had saved his life with rather provincial equipment. And, perhaps, there was a small part of him that wasn't ready to give up what he'd found here. It frightened him to think that he might never be ready.

Flipping the cover open, Suzaku scanned the documents. Words like "hemorrhaging," "hypothermic," and "muscular disintegration" leapt off the page – the phrases "extremely chemically dependent" and "long-term critical condition" impressed on him just the kind of dangerously bad shape he'd been in, too injured to really remember. True to her word, Kendra never once mentioned him by name or title, simply "Patient #081010." The numbers were neatly printed in black pen along the small tab at the top of the folder.

"I've spoken to Aurora, and included a list of doctors she feels can be trusted to follow up with your care if there's none already on the royal Britannian payroll. That of course means that few of them are licensed, and more than one might have a malpractice claim on their records, but it ensures their silence." Kendra had included copies of his x-rays through every stage of healing, and it brought back a wave of anxiety to see the ghostly mess of his arm and shoulder as it had been only a few short weeks ago. He flipped through every page even as his nerves ratcheted tighter. By all rights, he should be dead. And that wasn't a relief, or a cause for frustration as it had once been. Now, he just felt vaguely ill. But he pressed on, and only flipped it closed when he'd dutifully scanned the last page, a sheet on his recommended nutrition. The bare bones of it was iron, calcium, and water.

Silently, he handed it back to her. Standing with a determined heft, she gestured for Suzaku to follow her. He stood as well, and as she approached the bookcase, he assumed she was simply going to slide it onto one of the shelves. Instead, she started grabbing books – thick, heavy medical textbooks bound in maroon leather – and moving them to an empty spot on another shelf. Suzaku helped her move the entire series before he realized what her target was; in the wall, previously hidden by all the big, boring books, was a safe. Glancing over her shoulder, Kendra started to twirl the lock.

"The combination's 3-7-20-0-1. March 7th, 2001. Aurora's birthday. She hates us using something so easy, but considering there's no longer any existing records of her birthday, we figured it was safe enough."

Suzaku gazed at Kendra a little uncertainly, confused as to why she was telling him this. The lock clicked, and the lever clanked as Kendra turned it and swung open the door. Setting in his medical file, she shuffled around for a moment, and Suzaku cautiously craned his head to see inside. There were at least half a dozen files in there, along with four small wooden boxes and what looked like a couple jeweler's bags. Withdrawing one of the boxes, she handed it to him, giving a small nod when he looked at her apprehensively. Flipping the lid open, he blinked in shock.

Nestled inside the plain little pine box was what could only be described as a treasure trove of get out of jail free cards. There were both English and Irish driver's licenses for him, using a picture that he had no idea even existed and names that, while different, both played on the S.K. configuration of initials. There was a passport – yet another S.K. name – this time hailing him as a native of Australia. Conveniently neutral, believably close to his home territory. There were three different credit cards, each a different metallic color. Gold, silver, and black, each tied to a different ID. There was also a scrap of paper that felt extremely flimsy in texture, and Suzaku realized it was meant to easily dissolve in water or fire. On it, four phone numbers were neatly printed.

"The passport is the best one to use – the name has diplomatic immunity tied to it in case you get into a jam. Each of the cards have $10,000 on them," Suzaku nearly bobbled the box as his eyes widened, "which should get you back home safely. That paper has one of Aurora's emergency phone numbers, me and Chandler's cells, and the private line of the English Minister of Defense. Just tell him you're a friend of Chandler Andrews if you can't reach any of us. And if you get caught with that paper, burn it, throw it in some water, or eat it. Won't hurt you beyond getting a little fiber in your system."

"How…?" Suzaku murmured, stunned by the extravagant show of generosity, care, and, honestly, paranoia. Kendra just shrugged, tucking her hands in the kangaroo pocket of the hoodie.

"Aurora has a bizarre obsession with fake ID's. Maybe it's a hazard of the trade. The fact that each of us have a go box, and that our detailed medical histories are all secreted away in here certainly is." She jerked her head towards the safe, and Suzaku realized that the other boxes were for Aurora and her friends. "There's another version of this at the clinic, which Aurora insisted on. Hard to argue with a woman who's seen as much shit as she has. I figure better safe than sorry. Aurora's first present to the growing baby Andrews will probably be a go box all their own." Her quirk of a smile softened the frankly disturbing thought, her palms patting her belly inside the shelter of the pocket.

"I don't need $10,000 to get back to Britannia," Suzaku protested, still overwhelmed. Closing the lid on the box, he handed it back to the doctor. As Kendra returned it to its mates, she leveled a sharp look at him.

"If you're being smart, you will. You can't just stroll into Shannon Airport and ask for a ticket to Aurelius. Ireland is neutral, but crazy stuff can happen on airplanes."

Unbidden, the image of Kendra coolly threatening an unsuspecting pilot to suddenly fly to Ireland flashed into Suzaku's head, and he struggled to kill the smile. After all, this was serious.

"Anyway, you're going to have to be creative. Any waves can ripple back to the people who tried to kill you, then all my hard work will have been for nothing. And that will tick me off like you wouldn't believe," she warned with a hard finger drilled into his chest. Suzaku nodded quickly – he believed her, this little mother with eyes like coins from a treasure chest, and a stern mind that hid a soft heart.

Moving on sudden instinct, Suzaku gathered her up in a soft hug as he whispered his thanks. He felt her go stiff with shock, and almost released her, already regretting overstepping his bounds, when Kendra returned his hold. She sighed, and Suzaku felt the press of the child growing in her womb against his stomach. He suddenly wished, fervently and with all he had, that the baby would be safe and well, that it knew, unequivocally and without pause, that it was loved. Because Kendra, her husband, and her friend would all give this wee babe the very thing Suzaku had hungered for all his life. The certainty of love.

And even he, a strange, temporary blip on Aurora and the Andrews' radar, loved the little guy, even though he would never see the baby laugh or cry. Because time, never his ally, was quickly running out. This strange dream of warm Irish days and good, solid people would end all too soon. And his days with this family, with the lovely woman patiently waiting for him downstairs, were numbered. Straightening, Suzaku gazed down at Kendra, memorizing the plump, well-bred lines of her face.

"You're a good lad," she murmured in a rare show of softness, patting his cheek before turning to repack her bag. Watching the straight line of her spine, he thought, "And you're an amazing lady." But he knew she would be as uncomfortable receiving the compliment as he would be in giving it. So instead, he politely took her bag, and escorted her down the stairs. Aurora fussed over her friend in that patented, subtle way of hers, convincing her to rest and eat before Kendra could quite catch on that she was being, as she called it, "shamelessly babied." Suzaku watched how Aurora stood by her friend's side, resting her hand on her hip before heartily laughing at something the doctor muttered.

The sound skipped across his skin, and Suzaku realized that he'd been a coward. Afraid of what Aurora awoke in him. When the cold reality was he didn't have time to be afraid. All too soon, he'd return to his limbo of living behind Zero's mask, and all this would be a memory. And he would hate himself more than ever for the rest of his days if he sacrificed his remaining time with Aurora to his stumbling pride. Even if he disgraced himself beyond all redemption, he was going to remain her friend. Until the bitter end.

Chapter Text

Ireland's famous rains appeared the next day in full force. It was impossible to tell the sun's position in the sky, the cloud cover was so thick, a massive, soupy swirl of iron and pewter and bone stretching from horizon to horizon. Mist and fog clung to anything and everything; trees, rocks, blades of grass, the weave of fabric. Banks of moisture rolled in like a silent army, cutting the field of vision down to fifteen feet at best. In the morning, the cool blankets swamped the land, greedily swallowing sound and light as if they were its favorite meals. As the day progressed, the moisture became more aggressive. Dew dotted the windows, the tiny gems of water growing heavier and heavier until they trailed down the glass panes like tears. Finally, around lunch, the clouds eased open their gates, and it began to softly drizzle.

Suzaku, however, had other things on his mind besides the decidedly wet weather.

He was standing in the studio, which was something he'd been yearning to do since he'd first set foot in there. The faintest give beneath his feet brought back memories of bamboo sparring floors in the dojo of his mentor. The flexibility was designed to avoid broken bones when you hit the floor, but it didn't make the falls bruise any less. And Todoh did like to send Suzaku flying when he'd been especially cocky or stubborn. He hadn't really needed to beat the attitude out of his pupil when the floor did it for him. In the early days, it had happened more than he would like to admit.

Sparring, however, was not the reason he was here, much to his disappointment. Kendra's word was law in this matter, and she hadn't yet deemed him ready. She had, however, cleared him for another sort of activity. It was the activity Aurora and Kendra had decided on that was making his chest tighten with nerves, his palms the slightest bit damp. Because this was going to suck. Thoroughly.

The pair of women had decided that the best way to ease him into contact combat was, of all things, dancing. And Aurora was delighted.

When she'd informed him over lunch of her plans, he'd struggled to keep the horror from flashing in his eyes. He'd never been terribly fond of the sport, but he now knew the immense skill of his designated partner. And Suzaku suddenly understood with aching familiarity how fresh recruits had felt when matched against him initially out of boot camp. Because he'd earned a name for himself, and it was something of a punishment to be paired with Private Kururugi your first day in unit training. Only the best, or the worst, got thrown his way. Now, it was his turn to be thrown to the proverbial wolves. The jolt of inadequacy made his guts strain like stretched rubber bands.

His partner, on the other hand, could hardly contain her excitement.

Her skirt, which appeared to be a simple black affair falling to her knees, seemed utterly ordinary when she was still. As soon as Aurora moved, however, it bounced and belled around her legs with a flirty energy. It almost made this whole prospect worthwhile to see how it would flow around Aurora when she danced. Almost. Her top, pretty but sturdy, was caught somewhere between royal blue and jewel green, tailored to her feminine figure while managing to maintain its comfort. And even though his knowledge was limited, Suzaku knew enough to recognize the vintage-style black heels she wore were specifically designed for this hobby. In other words, Aurora was prepared and eager for the afternoon's endeavor.

In direct contrast, Suzaku felt a little green. His fists tried to burrow deeper in the pockets of his black jeans, but had long ago been shoved as far as they would go. Struggling between the urge to hunch his shoulders or keep them straight as his earlier training had demanded, he kept his eyes on the mirrors. An excuse to keep his gaze away from Aurora directly, while carefully watching her movements.

Because what could he say? Both women had decided dancing would be a perfect way to transition Suzaku through his recovery to his ultimate goal. He'd foolishly assumed that since he was working his way towards combat, he would be equally acquainted with all other aspects of his rehabilitation. But this was Aurora he was talking about. He should have known better.

She'd already lectured him about all the benefits of dance earlier with the fervor of the passionate. Or obsessed, but passionate sounded less derogatory. Strengthening bone and muscle without damage to his joints; toning his entire body; improving posture and balance, stamina and flexibility; the list went on. In theory, it sounded great. In practice, he wasn't so sure. Because it had been over a decade since he'd been dragged into ballroom dancing, and the very last thing he wanted was to look like a fool in front of Aurora. Although, come to think of it, he'd already crossed that bridge, laced it with explosives, and blown it sky high. For some reason, that didn't really make him feel any better.

Aurora was scrolling through her playlists, the look on her face betraying just how seriously she was taking all this. Was that better or worse? Because his attitude was as pessimistic as the weather, Suzaku leaned towards the latter.

Finally, Aurora seemed to decide on a song that met her expectations. Suzaku doubted he would be so lucky. She settled the player in the cradle of the dock, but quickly punched Pause before turning to him. Cutting her thumbs through the hair above her ears and back along her skull, Aurora scraped her hair into place, the half tail a glittering fall over the slightly darker remainder that waved down her back. Once satisfied, she brought her left hand forward and pulled the hair tie around her wrist off with her teeth. That flash of white at the vulnerably soft, pale skin of her wrist made Suzaku's heart pound like the thunder he could almost feel in the floor, booming miles away. But he swallowed the panic, and repeated what Kendra had said, which was quickly becoming a mantra he clung to whenever arousal weaseled out of his control.

Didn't matter what he felt; what mattered was how he acted. So, wrestling that tingling stir in his gut into an emotional headlock, Suzaku kept his eyes on his wildly skilled teacher, trying to prepare himself to be completely humiliated. That was pretty effective at dousing the need sparkling through his blood.

"I want you to do me a favor, Suzaku."

Taking a deep breath, he met her gaze, and realized with a slightly sinking sensation that Aurora had been watching him with those raptor eyes, the color of cool water and lightning. Eyes that could tear the best of poker faces to shreds, which didn't bode well for his less than polished one. Suprisingly, her mouth crooked, softening the intensity of her expression.

"Relax," she said with laughing exasperation. Yeah, easier said than done. But Suzaku refused to whine. So he marshalled his confidence, what tatters were left of it, and straightened, even though his posture was already painfully erect. After all, he'd been taught by Todoh the miracle worker; he should be used to being miserably outclassed.

"I know you have some training. No politician's son doesn't know how to at least stumble his way through a foxtrot. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. Remember, this is supposed to be fun."

Right. Fun. But that didn't sink into his brain very organically; in fact, the thought bounced around like a chilly marble. So instead, Suzaku twisted it into the idea of a test. He had to get through this to get to sparring. That, he could do. Sometimes, it seemed like his life had been nothing more than a series of tests, one challenge after the other. As if he were constantly trying to prove his worth, his suffering always judged to determine if it was enough to balance the scales.

Shaking off the creeping cold that spread at the thought, Suzaku grimly nodded. Aurora turned to start the music, and he almost jumped at the abrupt blast of trumpets. She faced towards him with a happy grin, and Suzaku dragged in a deep breath, then stepped up, taking her hand and waist in a firm grip. Outside, the rain began to fall in earnest, pattering against the windows like the thrum of fingers, almost in time with the music. The slight shift in her hand stopped him before he could begin dragging her over the floor in a march that was his inevitable version of a paired dance. Aurora's mouth crooked, brought close enough for him to notice how her bottom lip was slightly plumper than the top and the deep pink of rose petals. Frantically clearing his throat, it took a moment to absorb what she was saying.

"I'm not going anywhere, Suzaku. You don't have to hang on so hard." Pointedly, she glanced at their joined hands. He followed her eyes, and saw that he was gripping her hand hard enough to grind the knuckles together. Horrified, he immediately softened his grip, until their skin was barely brushing. She firmed her grip slightly, warm, soft skin, accented by whorls of callouses, against his, and he followed suit. Now their hands were comfortably clasped, the soft, easy press of the pads of her fingertips against the back of Suzaku's hand making blood beat through his veins with the bright rhythm of the song. He was cognitive enough, though, to soften his grip on her waist so he didn't crush her ribs.

She still reached down to his left hand; it wasn't to adjust the pressure of his grip, though. It was to slide his hand up her side until his palm pressed to her shoulder blade. Suzaku wondered if blushes could strangle him as one blazed across his skin. Imagine that as a cause of death: embarrassment asphyxiation. None of that, of course, erased the feel of her sliding under his palm, or the soft tickle of her hair against the backs of his fingers. Didn't matter; it was how he acted. His attention came snapping back when Aurora's hand landed on the point of his shoulder. For the first time all day, her gaze pinned him with utter seriousness.

"If your arm or shoulder start to hurt, you tell me, ASAP. No exceptions." She waited for him to nod at her adamant words. "Good. Now, let's take it easy. Nothing fancy. Just a little sway." Her mouth quirked, and Suzaku realized it was because she'd echoed the song. Heaving in a deep breath, he did as Aurora asked.

He swayed. Stiffly, yes, but he moved, eventually the rhythm of the music beating its way through the static in his skull. Determined to prove himself and get this over with, Suzaku stepped out, old memories tentatively resurfacing that directed his muscles into the first set of foxtrot steps. Even though his movements lacked the confidence and grace that his dance instructor had shrieked about – she'd had the voice and eyes of a vulture – Aurora followed him smoothly, her eyes locked on him even as she moved like his shadow. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Suzaku realized it was a struggle to look away when she was gazing at him so intently, her hand warm and strong in his grasp, her body's heat just a whisper he could barely feel. It was her scent, he eventually realized. It bridged the space that still remained between them, tantalizing him with the knowledge that the slightest tug would have her pressed against him. But not only was that a bad idea, it was rude.

His nerves put up a fight, but he managed to drag his eyes away, in time to realize they'd already crossed the floor and were nearing a wall. Grappling through his memories, Suzaku executed a rusty turn. Even though she had no idea where he was aiming her, Aurora followed with a supple curl of muscle and a graceful swing of her legs, her balance managing to polish his less than stellar direction. He risked a glance in the mirrors, and realized that they didn't look… off. It was largely due to Aurora's skill, her ability to extrapolate what he did into something elegant. Curiosity bloomed, and Suzaku couldn't help but wonder just how good she was.

He stepped back, spinning on his heel faster than any other move he'd made thus far. Careful to keep her supported and close, Suzaku watched to see how well Aurora would follow. She stayed with him like they were magnetized, and he could feel the brush of her skirt against his legs as it flared through the spin. She followed his every bend and twist, staying in time with him using what seemed to be an almost preternatural sense of where he would go next. Something warm nudged against the back of his sternum, and Suzaku caught a flash in Aurora's eyes. It took a moment to realize that it hadn't been the distant lightning; it was interest, and challenge.

She tipped back, an agile curve of her spine, bending like a flower, just like the lyrics said. Suzaku worked to keep his stance balanced, his grip on her steady enough to prove he wouldn't let Aurora topple backwards. When she straightened, the flush to her skin and the sparkle in her eyes nearly driving the breath from his lungs, Suzaku moved forward, unconsciously stepping faster to keep pace with the music, and Aurora's daring. She easily mirrored him, and the real dance began.

He may have been meaning to meet her challenge head on, but Suzaku's skills were still that of an ambitious child, and he made the occasional stumble or misstep. But even then, Aurora swung or stepped, somehow transmuting his mistake into a maneuver seemingly done on purpose. At one point, he even made a wrong turn, and she managed to make the brief separation of their alignments look artful. When they rebounded back together, like two halves pulled apart and clicking into place again, the music briefly stopped, and the air in Suzaku's lungs seemed to evaporate, because there Aurora was, face tipped up to his with a tiny, clever smile curving the edge of her mouth, her lean, long body mere inches away. Because he knew, with a certainty that seeped into his marrow, that he would never again in his life meet a woman this beautiful, this intelligent, this interesting. And even as his heart leaned forward, Suzaku stiffened his spine, schooling his grip so it didn't tighten uncomfortably on her again. Some things, he knew – better than most – simply weren't meant.

So, as the horns burst high again, he moved, and she followed. The ache, the yearning, was buried deep in the darkness still stitched through him, and Suzaku turned his considerable focus to the task at hand. They were nearly three quarters of the way through the song before he realized that he'd done exactly what Aurora had asked.

He was having fun.

A grin teased his cheeks, and he twirled Aurora around, watching her eyes light like suns, blazing with delight as her hair and skirt swirled out before she returned to his grasp. She seemed to take that as a sign she could turn up the heat and added a little extravagance to her steps and turns. Suzaku could feel the way she came scorchingly to life in his hands, his fingertips faintly tingling, as if simply touching her was electric. He'd suffer through any dance lesson if he got to experience the way energy crackled off Aurora when she moved like this. He vaguely realized with the fringes of his attention that the storm had worsened, the howl of wind and rain matching the rage of his beating heart.

As she moved faster and trickier, Suzaku felt like dead weight dragging her down, and tried to keep up. She flashed him a look he couldn't quite interpret and adjusted her pace to better reflect what he could manage. As the song hit its climatic end, Aurora hopped and danced out the final beats, the silence following the last crack of her heels against the wood floor sweeping through the air and pressing them close, their breaths mingling as they lightly panted. Not even a bomb going off could have torn their eyes away from one another, nor the extravagant rumble of thunder that faintly rattled the wall of mirrors.

Finally, though, Suzaku remembered where exactly he stood in more ways than one, and that he was entirely too close to Aurora for comfort. Clearing his throat, he dropped his hand from her back, softening his hold on her hand, but unable to truly let it go as he stepped back. Their fingers shifted, almost threading through each other as Aurora watched him, her eyes deeper than he could fathom as she watched him with an expression he couldn't quite analyze. Eventually, when the silence stretched thin enough to quiver like a tightened bowstring, she smiled, and gently pulled her hand from his as she turned towards the music player. Some part of his mind not absorbed in the line of her spine and legs realized that the rain had exhausted itself back down to a quiet drizzle, tame for the time being. In its absence, the beating of his heart seemed to echo in his ears.

"You were awesome! Acting like I was dragging you to detention when you've got moves like that." She tsked her tongue, a teasing exclamation point to her joy. "You'll be raring to go in no time."

Again, a smile flickered across his mouth without conscious command, and that warmth sliding between his ribs brightened at her easy praise.

"Thanks. I guess I was intimidated. You're… incredible."

She tilted her head, the expression swimming in the depths of her eyes burning like pride as a thoroughly feminine smile tipped across her pretty mouth.

"Aw, thanks, Suzaku. You're a good lead, so it was easier than I expected. Again?" She held out her hand in invitation, and already the next song was starting. He gazed at her palm and long, supple fingers. His eyes met hers again, and the rain light brightened the silver in Aurora's irises until they seemed to shine. He took her hand in his, and he allowed himself one tiny moment to imagine taking holding, and never letting go. But Suzaku allowed their hands to shift into the appropriate grip, moving into the sphere of her scent, willingly submitting to the torture of touching her but never quite holding her.

"Sure."

Chapter Text

Years of kendo and other various martial arts practices had been endured with stoic tolerance, honing Suzaku's body into a lethal amalgam of danger and control. One day of dancing, however, had reduced him to a rusty, aching mess.

He came to this puzzling realization the next morning when he stood up out of bed. Muscles he didn't remember having squealed, his joints creaking in sore protest to the unnecessary strain of moving. He didn't really sit back down – he more toppled. So stunned by his body's general poor condition, Suzaku flopped backwards, throwing his arm over his forehead with a wince. This was ridiculous.

Though, to be fair, he reminded himself with a struggle, he and Aurora hadn't quite known when to quit yesterday; a classic example of what happened when two Type A personalities locked onto a mutual task. The half hour lesson had doubled, then stretched, then lengthened, until they only realized how much time had passed when the rain stopped. The clocks had been clear – the pair had been at it for almost four hours. They'd cheerfully stretched, then wolfed down dinner. Suzaku entertained himself with some sketches, and Aurora spent the better part of the rest of the evening first coaxing Ban out from under Suzaku's bed where the final round of bone-rattling thunder had driven him, then making up for the frightening afternoon with cuddling.

While Suzaku had sprawled in one of the arm chairs in the parlor – not exactly dignified, but he'd felt loose and indefinably smug – he'd watched as Aurora stroked and rubbed, alternating between cooing to her dog and playing with him. At first, he'd just studied their antics, smiling as the rough sketches started to change, from studies of human motion and stance to the anatomy of a person or dog tussling on the floor. He'd just roughed out the blocks of a portrait involving the two when Bannock had scrambled up, trotted over, and laid his head in Suzaku's lap. Aurora, who had been laying on the floor toodling across his ribs like they were piano keys, simply rolled over supine and laced her fingers over her stomach, tilting her head back to watch them. Even upside down, she laughed when the dog started to burble and roo, and it took Suzaku a couple of seconds to figure out he was being invited to join them.

Feeling foolish and vaguely embarrassed, he eventually heeded to the dog's command, shutting his sketchbook and sliding down to the rug. Bannock pranced in delight, then collapsed between them with ecstatic glee. As Suzaku played with his ears, dancing his fingertips over the silky fur to his forehead and jaw, Aurora propped her head on his massively muscled flank, using his own long whip of a tail to tickle his paws. Instead of appearing annoyed, Bannock patiently twitched away every time with a benign expression, appearing utterly content and soaking up the attention like a giant gray sponge.

When the dog stretched, it was an immense pull of muscle, arching his spine up and his head back, his broad claws flexed as he extended his legs straight as swords. Suzaku was surprised, and pleased, when Bannock returned from the stretch and plopped his head onto his lap. Eventually, the hound fell asleep, and although it felt like a bowling ball cradled on his thighs, Suzaku wouldn't have shifted him for the world. He and Aurora began to talk, quietly, of normal things. The weather, chores that needed to be done, the O'Tooles' crops and sheep, which flowers were blooming, and would soon bloom, in the gardens.

It was normal, beautifully so. It had been a long time since he'd ever felt so rested, so comforted and relaxed. When he'd fallen into the rhythm and ease of family. If he ever had at all. But the peace, of course, couldn't last. Ban awoke from his snooze raring to play, and everyone had to participate in the wrestling and tumbling that followed. By the end of it, all three were sprawled on the floor, panting and weakly laughing. Well, Ban didn't laugh, but his wide, lolling grin came close.

It had been a good night, the way a stew was good food. Simple, solid; reassuringly warm and tenderly sweet. Suzaku had collapsed into bed and slept like an exhausted toddler, without a single dream; nightmare, suggestive, or otherwise.

Reality, of course, had to nose its sorry way in. Wriggling his way back up to his feet, Suzaku forced himself to sink into a modified version of the stretches Aurora had been yanking him through for over a month. It took longer than he was hoping, and he was man enough to admit in the privacy of his room that he whimpered. Several times. But he managed to shuffle his way to the shower and through his morning routine, having downgraded to quiet groans by the time he was ready to pull on his clothes. Forgoing the more casual t-shirt, Suzaku decided that a button-down wouldn't require quite the gymnastics to get into. Besides, he remembered that Aurora seemed especially fond of the dark forest-green one.

Frowning at the realization that such a thought had even floated through his brain as he made his way laboriously down the stairs, Suzaku was nearly in the kitchen before he identified a sound he couldn't quite make out. Aurora was humming.

He stopped in the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the jamb with a half wince as he took her in. She looked like a fairy queen, Suzaku thought. Gilded and lovely, Aurora's lilting hum seemed to vibrate through the air as she prepared breakfast. Her brown dress should have been boring – it nipped in at her waist, fell to her knees, and besides a few frills and delicate capped sleeves, seemed relatively plain. Until she moved.

Suzaku realized that it had been made in such a way that whenever the light caught it, the fabric shimmered along accent points. His stomach tightened, remembering the way navy cloth had glimmered like a night sky over well-loved skin, but pushed the thought away. This was no dark princess – this was Titania, joy and power and life bound within satiny skin and hair that glowed like amber when the sun caught it. Initially, he thought she was barefoot, but closer inspection as she cooked on light feet revealed that she wore vintage stocking, the black seam up the back of her calves drawing attention to the shapely line of her long legs.

No, no, no, Suzaku reminded himself as eggs sizzled and the smell of thick, dark bread toasting filled the air. Behave, dammit. Because this sight was too pretty to lose to baser instincts. So he watched quietly as she bounced from dish to dish, tending to the meal in the midst of her morning glow. Who needed food, Suzaku thought a little dreamily, when this woman was around?

"Jesus!" Aurora whipped around to get something out of the fridge, and finally caught sight of him, jolting like she'd been electrocuted. He didn't miss the way her hand tightened around the knife she'd been slicing fruit with, nor the way she'd shifted from a cutting hold to one better suited to throwing. Suzaku was just glad she'd recognized him soon enough to restrain herself. His brows raised, but otherwise Suzaku managed to school his response to her sudden reaction.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

Aurora just made a noise of dubious acquiescence with a quirking smile at his apology before resuming her path to get milk.

"Sure you didn't. You must be feeling good, if your ninja skills are returning in full force."

Suzaku just laughed as he got down glasses, selecting and pouring orange juice for himself and the cranberry mix Aurora preferred.

"You're confusing me with Sayoko," he said as he capped the jugs and returned them to the fridge, stepping over to hand Aurora's drink to her. Before he could take a sip, she tapped the rim of her glass against his with a mischievous grin.

"Sayoko Shinazaki, right? Hard to believe there's someone out there with more stealth than you," she teased around a sip of juice as she adjusted the eggs. Suzaku smiled into his glass.

"Or you."

She rolled her eyes, more at herself than him, he had learned, discernable by the severity of her expression. He could relate – they were a pair that was always infinitely harder on themselves than others.

"Wouldn't know it by my showing this morning. That's what I get for making so much noise."

And yet, Suzaku could still make out the slightest melody emanating from her, an undertone of happiness she couldn't quite help.

"You do seem quite cheerful this morning," he observed as she plucked toast out and stacked it on a plate. Falling into an obliging rhythm she'd only recently allowed him to establish, Suzaku set about buttering the bread as Aurora finished the eggs.

"Of course I am! God, you have no idea how long it's been since I've had a decent paired dance workout. And with a solid lead, no less. You've got impressive chops, good sir." Her words were a pleasant surprise, but nowhere near as shocking as the playful hip bump that nearly had him dropping toast on the floor. Even as Ban patiently looked on from his bed, waiting for exactly that occurrence to happen. Suzaku swallowed while he recovered, trying to order his thoughts again from where that little nudge had sent them scrambling. Finally, though, he manage to clear his throat and respond with some semblance of intelligence.

"Thanks." Well, it wasn't eloquent, but at least it was something. "You were stunning." Better, but still foolishly star-struck. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone dance like that. As if you were reading my mind." Technically true, but he sounded like some wide-eyed school boy. If Aurora noticed his sudden lack of conversational skills, however, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she just laughed, shook back that mane of honey-colored hair, and carried the plate of magnificent-smelling scrambled eggs to the table. Knowing Aurora, there would be significantly more than yolk and egg whites in the mix.

"Aren't you a smooth talker?" Aurora teased over her shoulder. He joined her at the table as she started scooping eggs onto her plate, nervy at her fluttering lashes and playful praise. "I'm vain enough to admit that some of it is natural talent, but my instructor also drilled me within an inch of my life. If I was more than a millisecond behind the count, then I was dragging ass. He was exacting, incredibly arrogant, and cursed like a sailor in some dialect of Ukranian. But he was also beautiful, clever, and a very, very skilled teacher. He made me good, and taught me to love it."

"What was his name?" Suzaku didn't really expect to recognize the man's name; he was more interesting in keeping up a conversation topic that lit Aurora up the way dancing did. She sparkled, more than her dress or hair, like an internal glow seeped through her skin.

"Yuriy Lysenko. He could have been ten years older than me, he could have been thirty years older than me. He was one of those men that appear sort of ageless. Even George didn't know any real specifics about him except that Yuriy was one of, if not the, best, both as a teacher and as a performer. He'd tolerated nothing less for his protégé. I actually competed with Yuriy once during a case. It was… like magic," Aurora murmured, her eyes going misty with time as she looked back on a memory too grand to simply explain. As he ate – truly delicious eggs, well spiced and laced with cheese, potatoes, and sausage – Suzaku considered his own memories as he watched her face.

It wasn't so different from his relationship with Todoh and the arts the man had so relentlessly taught him. It had been twisted, nearly ruined, by what they'd both been forced to do in the Rebellions. But once, he'd felt the same way about kendo and martial arts as Aurora did about dance. He'd given up blade work when he'd enlisted with the Honorary Britannian militia, simply because it hadn't been applicable. But distance allowed Suzaku the clarity to realize he missed it. Not just the clash of bokkens, but the honest effort of sparring, the catharsis of a good match, even one he lost. The sense of immense victory when he could finally hold his own against someone as skilled as Major Todoh, as he'd been known in Suzaku's youth.

Aurora blinked as she spread peach jam over her toast, bringing both of them out of their reveries. "But no dancing today, not for either of us."

Suzaku was a little surprised to find himself vaguely disappointed, considering how reluctant he'd been yesterday.

"We're both too out of practice, and I'd just as soon avoid nursing a pulled ligament, or something worse." The mild glare she threw his way made Suzaku feel chastised, even though he done nothing wrong.

"So what do you plan to do today?" he asked, looking to distract Aurora from her bulldog-tenacious protection of his health, which was becoming less and less relevant every day. There was a part of Suzaku that couldn't bring himself to mind being fussed over, though, even as his pride puffed in indignation.

"Some errands in Gallagher. Poke around the shops, stop by the pub. Nothing exciting."

Suzaku was briefly distracted by the flash of white teeth piercing soft bread, so he missed her next sentence. He had to blink and corral his thoughts before managing to ask her to repeat it.

"I asked if you wanted to come with me," Aurora repeated, a small tilt to her mouth as she took a bite of cantaloupe, insouciantly resting her elbows on the table. Checking the urge to simply agree because it was her asking, Suzaku remembered how the morning had been an episode of wincing and groaning, and then he tried to imagine keeping up with Aurora's enthusiastic exploits around town. Any other time, he'd enjoy it; now, she'd run him into the ground with hardly any effort. Even as he shifted to stretch out his legs and cross his ankles, Suzaku's muscles wept like small, cranky children. She must have seen the refusal on his face before he even opened his mouth to speak.

"You don't have to come with me on my errands. What about bringing a sketchbook, parking it on a bench, and seeing where your pencil takes you?"

Suzaku considered as he took a measured bite of toast, settling back into his chair. Now why would Aurora ask if he wanted to accompany her if he wouldn't actually be accompanying her? What was the point?

Examining her, the way the sun plucked jeweled gleams from her otherwise ordinary hair and how she sat slightly forward, Suzaku could make out of the corner of his eye one of her legs lazily swinging. Catching that soft, now-familiar scent – did she bathe in cherry blossoms? – Suzaku lightly cursed himself a dolt at the click of epiphany. Clearly, he'd been spending way too much time with Britannia's more cynical members of the high court. She wasn't asking for herself; she was asking for him. Asking Suzaku if he wanted a chance to get out of the house, a chance to privately decompress after an immense amount of time spent in the company of the same small cast.

Now that he considered it, the opportunity did sound quite tempting. The weather was pulling itself out of its damp haze, and it promised to at least be reasonably warm, and perhaps a little sunny. How could he say no?

She did that to him, Suzaku reflected later as they slid into Natasha's sleek interior, which, now that he was healthy and marginally less spooked, he could thoroughly appreciate. There was something about Aurora, that strange combination of soft and strong, bright and gentle, that melted his reserves. Maybe it was her honesty, or her humor, or the titanic weight she carried inside that he could feel mirrored in himself. Whatever it was, he'd have to be careful. Because the woman could talk him into damn near anything. Just like Euphie.

If he'd been driving, Suzaku would have instinctively stomped on the brakes as the thought ricocheted through his head, bouncing off the inside of his skull with the power to chip bone. Luckily, Aurora's three inch pumps, matte blue leather adorned at the toes and heels with overlays of patterned white, didn't budge so much as an inch from the pedals. She did glance over at him, though, when he defensively slapped his hand on the dash, bracing against the seat like he could wedge himself in place. Suzaku could just make out the lift of her brows over the edge of her sunglasses.

"You OK? Did you forget something?"

"No," Suzaku managed with what he thought was impressive aplomb. "Just remembered something. Never mind." Relieved when she didn't pursue it any farther, Suzaku pulled his hand back to his lap, slowly balling it into a brutal fist. Oh, yes, he remembered. He remembered how losing Euphie had mutilated him into something Suzaku couldn't even recognize any more. And it was sinking in that, very soon, he would lose Aurora. Not to death, but to time and distance. Would he still know himself, after rediscovering what he'd thought long ago incinerated, when he again donned Zero's mask?

He'd retreated into that battlefield of a brain again; Aurora could practically see the change ripple through Suzaku's muscles. It happened less and less often as of late, but there were still times when his thoughts seemed to tear free from his control, leaving a bloody smear in their wake that, had he been by himself, would have left Suzaku shaking. But, with a discipline that bordered on superhuman, Suzaku silently wrestled himself under control. Aurora wanted to ask, but couldn't quite bring herself to. She firmly believed that the guy needed to open up more, but there were times when extracting painful information was more destructive than helpful. Kendra had mentioned the conundrum more than once when discussing surgery options or more aggressive treatments: Was the possible benefit worth the inevitable damage?

Not this time.

However, she couldn't just leave Suzaku to whatever was jerking him around inside his head. Playfully revving Natasha's impressive engine, Aurora took the next turn at a swift pace, the car's primal growl slowly dragging Suzaku out of his personal mess. They were passing the local church when she finally managed to get a smile out of him as she reached the punchline of the silly story detailing the first time she'd ever taken Natasha over one hundred miles per hour. He just grinned and shook his head at her marked lack of judgment when it came to her magnificently irrational car.

Suzaku was about to speak when something outside the car caught his attention. Instinctively, Aurora slowed, downshifting as he silently inspected the quiet, quaint streets.

"Here. Could you stop here?"

Aurora drew to a quick stop, watching Suzaku more closely than the scenery that had drawn his eye. A cursory glance showed a whitewashed bench sheltered under an oak tree, much more full and staid that its brother on the cliff that had saved their lives. The stones of the walk were swept clean, the bench positioned in such a way to afford a view of what would be considered the heart of downtown Gallagher. Traffic was mild, but interesting. Suzaku looked back at her as he gathered up his sketchbook and a small black bag holding his pencils.

"This'll be fine."

Aurora just nodded, pleased and warmed by the steady certainty in Suzaku's voice. He swung out of the car, walking towards the bench with what could only be described as a marching stride. After waving goodbye, Aurora pulled away and waited at a right turn, propping her elbow on the window sill as she pressed two fingers against her temple, watching Suzaku in the rear view mirror.

In another life, she would have pursued Suzaku like a wolf hunting down a stag. His build was rounding that last bend to recovery, no longer jagged and gaunt with abuse. Now, he stood straight and strong, his shoulders broad and hips almost impossibly lean. Those long legs cut over towards the bench with a sure, confident stride, the dark green shirt briefly tightening against his chest and biceps as he set the sketchbook down and twisted to look around him.

Oh, yes. With chiseled features and thick chestnut hair, stunning eyes and almost girlish lashes, he was a handsome specimen. If Aurora had set her sights on him before her retirement, she wouldn't have stopped until she'd had him, repeatedly and thoroughly. Luckily, she was older, and wiser, capable of significantly more developed self-control. Because seducing Suzaku Kururugi was only something an incredibly foolish, or incredibly heartless, woman would carry out.

Then it was a good thing she was neither, not anymore. When there was a clearing in the traffic, she pulled away, heading to the bank for some of her less sensitive monetary activities. As she accelerated, she saw Suzaku settling down on his seat, his pencil already swiftly moving over the paper as he observed a man walking along, speaking seriously with his teenage son. She put possible lives out of her mind; no reason to dwell on what never existed.

Suzaku saw her a few times throughout the day. Natasha would slide into view, stopping at the post office or going to the grocery store. Aurora always flashed him a jaunty little wave as she passed by, and he'd salute her with his pencil. It was odd, this sort of easy bond acknowledged genially over a distance. It stayed on Suzaku's mind, the way he and Aurora could move in different spheres and still maintain a sense of each other. Even as he made his steady way through the sketchbook, he thought of the blond fairy queen dancing on the edges of his attention.

There was plenty to distract him; the woman running herd on her three young daughters with patient fatigue, her lovely brogue tinted with resignation and, unmistakably, love, as she directed the girls out of the park and towards home. The old man and his tiny dog, an ancient black and white terrier with a handsome leather collar and leash, going for what was likely their daily walk, both of them moving with the careful, deliberate stride of the elderly. The pair of gangly adolescent boys, loudly swapping tales that Suzaku knew, simply by merit of having been that age himself once, were largely false.

All of them were transcribed into his sketchbook, rough lines that he worked to make certain held some modicum of the life that inspired them. For the most part, Suzaku was surprisingly satisfied with what he managed to get down. A few hours passed that way; he worked his way through three pencils, wearing them down to respectable nubs. It didn't occur to him until later, but Suzaku felt that Moira would have been pleased with his progress.

Finally, he surfaced enough to look for Natasha's striking blue flash, eventually locating her parked in front of the ancient stone church skirted by a ring of dense green grass. Tucking away his pencils and carefully closing his sketchbook, securing it with a thin leather strap, Suzaku stood, having to pause and steady himself against the back of the bench when his legs, already abused beyond patience, protested this sudden demand for action. Eventually, though, they straightened and let him move with little beyond a lingering stiffness.

Strolling down the narrow cobbled walk next to the street, Suzaku inhaled deeply the scent of flowers and sea water, rich earth and old stone, remembering all too well what it felt like when every breath ached like a bad tooth. It marveled him, how quickly and well he'd already recovered under Aurora and Kendra's care. They could try to convince him that their wings were tattered and stained, but Suzaku believed with a concrete certainty bordering on blind stubbornness that fate, after so much agony, had deposited him into the hands of two incomparable saviors.

Pausing in the open doorway of the old church, it took Suzaku's eyes a moment to adjust, to see into the murky depths to try and find out where Aurora was. As it turned out, she was gesturing animatedly as she spoke from her seat behind a beautiful parlor grand piano at the far end of the aisle, the movements of her hands and face substantial and expressive. But there was an authority to her, a control that reined the motions in so they didn't trip into the territory of wild. The five people standing around her all bore the distinct demeanor marking them as pillars of the community, listening with careful attention.

Confidence glowed from Aurora, stronger than the gentle light filtering through the stained glass windows and dappling her in jewel tones. As a unit, the five other nodded and retreated to chairs circled near the piano, three raising their waiting instruments while a handsome older couple simply sat next to one another, holding each other's hand. A violin, viola, and cello were rosined and primed, and, for a moment, the silence, echoing and ancient, engulfed the church.

Then, slowly, bows were drawn across strings, building a haunting cry that pierced the quiet and trembled in the air. Aurora sat utterly still, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes trained on the other musicians. She then raised her gaze to the statue of the Virgin Mary holding an infant Jesus in her arms, and opened her mouth to sing.

The words were gentle, hesitant, even unsure. But Aurora's voice soared, sure and strong and sweet, the expressions moving eloquently over her face as she questioned the worth of an exile's, an outcast's, prayer. Then her hands parted, her fingertips resting like feathers on the ivory keys before beginning their slow, graceful dance across the board.

Suzaku's lungs ached as her graceful piano joined the weeping strings. His hand blindly reached out, and he slowly collapsed on the last pew, his hand braced against the back of it, his heart in his throat as Aurora sang a castaway's hymn. Asking God for mercy and compassion for those most often overlooked, the reverent lyrics both bitter and soothing, Aurora's face had lost its composed tranquility; she looked unbearably sad, and heartbreakingly regal. She fell silent, concentrating on the keys, and the older couple without instruments began to sing.

They juxtaposed Aurora's theme with the much more selfish, typical wishes often flung to any deity that happened to be listening. The trained tradition of their styles contradicted Aurora's more organic voice, but it emphasized the difference of the two lyric themes. The violin and cello players lowered their bows to include their own voices in the chorus, the joined, powerful wishes almost drowning out Aurora's lone prayer.

The strong crescendo of their words had just peaked when Aurora's voice flew high again, asking for nothing, as there were those less lucky than her, and more deserving. The power in her voice seemed to slide along his bones, effortlessly reaching every corner of the old church in an unflinching call for aid to those most in need of it. The last time she raised her voice, it was in a powerful, pure note, quivering through the air and into Suzaku's blood for what felt like an impossibly long time. Maybe it felt so long because he couldn't help holding his breath until the last hum of her voice faded away, his chest aching from both emotion and lack of oxygen.

With a final, sweet swell from the strings and a small flourish at the chime-like keys at the far end of the piano, silence again descended. Aurora and the other musicians just smiled at each other, and Suzaku felt an uncharacteristic need to bask in the soft, warm glow left in its wake. Even if the yearning and pain from the song still hung in the air like smoke, that just made it visceral. He had just managed a soft, slow sigh when the door behind the vestibule opened with a disruptive squeak.

The man who appeared was quite obviously the priest of the parish. Even if his robes didn't make it obvious, his bearing did. An impressive man, his hair was dark red, silvered at the temples, the coloring mirrored in thick, forbidding brows and a proud beard. Tall and broad as a bear, his eyes immediately landed on Aurora, and viciously narrowed. The brutal slam of the door behind him made everyone else in the church, including Suzaku, flinch. The expression that dawned in the man's eyes had him instinctively rising to his feet – he didn't even realize he'd moved to protect Aurora from the open, raw malice that lit the priest's face. Moving down the aisles with a careful, stealthy stride, Suzaku came within range to hear the exchange.

"Father O'Riley," Aurora acknowledged quietly, her voice much cooler and calmer than he would have expected. She slowly rose from her seat behind the piano, stepping aside and away, relinquishing the right her talent should have given her.

"The Andrews' stray," he fairly sneered. Aurora's face remained utterly blank. "What are you doing singing that trash in a house of God?"

The five other musicians had noticed Suzaku's approach, but he was rapidly growing too furious to measure their expressions, or even care to try.

"It was a hymn, Father," Aurora politely returned. The priest's whiskers all but quivered in righteous indignation.

"If you could call it that. Little better than a sinful gypsy tune. I'll not have that nonsense sung in my church." He aimed quelling eyes at his flock, and not a one voiced a protest, cowed by the man's resounding voice and commanding presence. Suzaku had reached Aurora's side at this point, still perturbed by her lack of response. Taking this sort of unreasonable, intolerable behavior without a fight was very unlike her. But she just stood, her hands quietly folded and her shoulders straight as she steadily gazed at the man ripping at her character and skill.

"I was under the impression that God appreciated all songs made in his honor, no matter the origin," she softly replied.

"Not when they're sung by the likes of you. The Andrews' backgrounds are questionable enough as it is, and they shelter some creature without ties or family. For all we know, you're a killer, or worse, a whore." Father O'Riley abruptly stopped his tirade, startled by the lightning quick movements from the pair. Suzaku had made to lunge forward without thinking, rage throttling his reason and sense of propriety. Eviscerating a priest in a church was hardly polite, but all he could think was that this man had no idea, no idea, just who exactly he was so cruelly condemning.

However, he'd done little more than tense and threateningly shift his weight forward when Aurora's hand clapped onto his forearm. It was a testament to her strength that she managed to halt his headlong leap for the father's vitals.

"It's alright," she said quietly, but Suzaku still glared at the priest. There was no way for him to know that his eyes glittered with wrath, the snapping of an enraged wolf in defense of his pack. "Suzaku," she said again, tightening her fingers on his forearm until he reluctantly broke his gaze and turned towards her. "It's alright," she murmured again, her voice soft and reassuring. His anger began to drain away, but not his protective tendencies. Suzaku looked at her closely, searching her face for he wasn't exactly sure what, before nodding his acquiescence at her implied call for retreat.

"Good day, Father," Aurora said, her voice low and firm, smiling faintly at the musicians as she took her leave. Throwing one last violent scowl at Father O'Riley, Suzaku turned with her to exit the church. As they strode down the aisle, the stares following them weighed heavy. Suzaku tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hoping to shield her in some way from the baseless hatred.

Perhaps it would have satisfied Suzaku to know that Father O'Riley said nothing to the five wide-eyed parishioners as the woman who changed her name more often than her hair and the damaged, likely deranged soldier who had apparently appointed himself her guardian left his church. He turned away from them, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket with hands that weren't quite steady. Wiping his brow, pearled with sweat born from instinctive, gut-clenching fear at the psychotic man's aborted charge, Father O'Riley shook his head.

The female who occasionally went by Aurora Silver was dangerous enough due to the sheer scope of her mystery. The father didn't like things he couldn't understand, things he couldn't trace back through decades of lineage. Not to mention her radical notions, some of which were downright ridiculous in their liberality.

And now she'd brought that maniac into his town, his church. The man was practically rabid, likely held under that woman's control by sinful fornication. It churned his stomach to remember the fierce rage that had lit those eerie green eyes. The father hadn't quite heard the foreign name she'd muttered to yank her guard back onto his leash, but that fact alone made the priest suspicious. He didn't trust anything that wasn't inherently Irish, and neither of those two bore even a whiff of the island in their blood or brains.

Firming to his decision, he turned back to the musicians packing up their instruments, no doubt waiting to whisper their gossip until they'd cleared the door.

"That woman and her wild dog are not welcome in this church. Do I make myself clear?"

Their agreements were low and reluctant, but they were said. Satisfied with his re-establishment of control, Father O'Riley flinched at the feral, throaty roar of an engine outside. As if there wasn't enough he hated about that woman, her car was an insult and a bloody menace. It snarled like a panther, and the priest nearly growled in response.

They drove back to the house in near silence. Suzaku was still angry, and couldn't wrap his head around Aurora's general lack of response. She was quiet; too quiet. He wanted to be courteous, to let her find her way to vocalizing what exactly had happened back at the church. But by the time they were halfway home, she hadn't said a word, not since she'd bid that bastard a polite farewell. Aurora had barely looked at him except to flash a vaguely fake smile in thanks for his protecting arm before slipping out from underneath it with a quick, light touch to his hand. Drawing a deep breath, Suzaku angled slightly towards her.

"Aurora-"

"It's fine, Suzaku," she interrupted smoothly, briefly sparing him a glance and a small, understanding smile. Dammit, she was doing that saint-thing again, and he was far from convinced.

"No, it's not," he argued adamantly. "What happened back at the church was completely uncalled for."

Aurora just shrugged a shoulder as she shifted gears.

"Father O'Riley has chased me out of his church before. He's warned me that I'd never step inside by invitation."

"So why go back?"

Her face softened at his question with a crooked smile, and her fingers fluttered over the steering wheel like they were back on the keys.

"Because they've got the best piano in the county. And I like singing with the McBrides. They tolerate me because I can hold a note and have an able touch on the piano keys."

Suzaku thought that was a gross understatement of her abilities, but decided not to pursue it.

"But they don't defend you," he pointed out instead, remembering the way the other musicians has silently sat by as Aurora was driven away like a fox herded away from the henhouse by some big, ugly bully of a dog. Again, she just shrugged.

"Father O'Riley is their priest. He's baptized their children, spoken over the graves of their parents. He's a good man, in his own way."

Suzaku just stared at her.

"In what possible way could that pompous fuck head be described as a 'good man'?" he was finally able to reply, squeezing the words past the shock that coated his throat. Aurora coughed a little, a poorly disguised chuckle at his word choice. She grew serious, though, her face almost dreamy.

"I snuck into a service once. He'd just started, and no one noticed I was there. Father O'Riley's sermon that day was about sacrifice. You should have seen him – upright and certain, his voice booming to the farthest corners of that old church. He didn't just tug at your heartstrings; he yanked them out and wove a tapestry. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard. Reminded me of George." Her voice was low, reverent even, before she cleared her throat and continued more briskly. "But I'm an unknown, which is bad enough in his mind. When he caught wind of some of my opinions, I imagine he nearly had a stroke. I don't think along traditional Catholic lines."

"Like what?" he prompted when she fell silent again.

"The fact that my mother, and any other woman who experiences what she did, should have had the choice whether or not she wanted to carry me to term. How Connor, who is a good man no matter what his parents think, should never have been exiled from his home and family simply because of who he finds attractive. How judging one, good or ill, simply by the merit of ethnicity is not only ridiculous, but criminal. That those who are different do not deserve to be persecuted, and humanity is the only true condition that matters."

Suzaku gazed at her for a long time, noting the lines of her profile, fit to grace a cameo; the way her lashes, the color of Guinness, were silhouetted by the gentle light, softening her face with brushes of shadow.

When she glanced over at him, her eyes deep and chin strong – no doubt challenging him to debate her on her progressive beliefs – Suzaku couldn't help the smile. Aurora, he knew, had the heart of a lion and the soul of a dragon.

"Perfectly sound opinions. Only an idiot would think otherwise."

It took a moment for Aurora's defenses to cautiously lower. Once they had, she laughed softly, a little note of relief in the sound, as she turned up the road leading to the house.

"And he is an idiot. But he's also an authority figure with complete control over his domain. It's a fight I'll never win, and I'm not sure I have the right to. He doesn't like me. That's just the way things are."

"I'm surprised you'd let it go," he admitted. Aurora just continued dancing her fingers over imaginary piano keys.

"Maybe it's my daddy issues that keep pushing me back to be disappointed. Or maybe I just love the music. Either way, he'll not keep me away. Not as long as the songs are there to be played."

There. That was the Aurora he knew. Surprisingly relieved, Suzaku contemplatively tapped the cover of his sketchbook as she pulled into the drive.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, looking pointedly at his sketchbook. He nodded, still trying to shift from his need to shield Aurora, or at least be angry for her, to his artistic feats for the day.

"Well enough. I'll have to polish them up tonight, see if I managed to get anything decent."

She nodded encouragingly, and Suzaku voiced the question that had been niggling in his brain since the moment he heard that first quiet wail of the violin.

"Aurora?"

She hummed in question as she parked by the front porch.

"That song you sang…"

Pausing a moment, Aurora turned to face him.

"You heard it, huh?"

Suzaku nodded.

"It was… lovely," he eventually murmured with solemnity, remembering the clear, haunting notes tinged with an aching wistfulness.

"Thank you. It's a hymn for the lost, of sorts." She turned off the car, leaving a lingering silence in its wake. Finally, Aurora tilted her head, and met his eyes. "I sang it for you."

With that, she opened the car door and got out, bustling to gather her purchases and carry them into the house. Slowly, Suzaku got out too, leaning his arm against the top of the car door frame as he watched her. She and Bannock met with the enthusiasm of friends separated by years of war, not a few hours of errands. Moving to carry his things and grabbing the remaining bags of food from the back, Suzaku followed Aurora inside.

Chapter Text

They didn't make it far, however. Both came to a shocked halt when Kendra casually appeared from the kitchen, munching on one of the muffins from the batch they had made yesterday. Bannock pranced to her side, apparently quite proud of his acquisition. Her belly was a heavy mound, her dark hair loosed from its ties to riot madly over her shoulders and down her back. She reminded Suzaku a little of Inari, the Japanese goddess of fertility and foxes. Kendra even had fox eyes, gold and clever behind the lenses of her glasses.

"Hey, guys. Where'd you run off to?" she asked around a mouthful of muffin.

"Uh, town," Aurora managed as she set down her purchases. "I'm glad to see you, hun, but what are you doing here? Suzaku's next appointment isn't until next week."

"I know," Kendra replied briskly, returning Aurora's hug with the arm not occupied with a muffin, angled to allow for bulk. "Chan had some business in Clare, so we thought we'd swing by before heading home."

Now that she was close enough to give her a careful hug and far enough past the initial shock to pay attention, Aurora could see that Kendra was dressed much more formally than usual. The charcoal gray suit was vintage in design and made comfortable allowances for Kendra's changing figure, the skirt a surprisingly sexy pencil cut. A satin blouse the color of good, old wine brought out her golden eyes and skin, gathering above her belly and accentuating curves that were starting to meld. Her black pumps reminded the world that just because Kendra was pregnant didn't mean she couldn't have fantastic legs. The doctor knew good and well how to play to her gypsy coloring; her eyes were brought out by subtle shadowing and extravagant lashes, her lips nearly the same color as her blouse. She looked, Aurora thought, as fierce and fine as any mother leopard.

"Where is your handsome devil?" Aurora asked as she turned to gather up the purchases she's abandoned in the hallway. Suzaku still stood by, formality and surprise stiffening him like a branch of dry wood. The scars of his childhood, Aurora mused, manifested as the oddest, saddest moments. Kendra checked the slim silver watch on her wrist as she followed them into the kitchen, murmuring something to Suzaku that Aurora couldn't quite catch, but made the man smile.

"Out getting coffee. He should be back any minute. You know how he loves that little shop on the northern edge of Galway."

"Callahan's or something, right?"

"Calhoun's," Suzaku corrected with quiet confidence as they unpacked the bags. Aurora looked at him out of the corner of her eye in fascination as they stood side by side at the counters. He'd only had one opportunity to see that sign, and had somehow recalled it despite whizzing past at a solid fifty mph. It wasn't fair, she knew, to gauge Suzaku on Lelouch's standard of intelligence, which, putting it mildly, had been prodigal. His observation and memory alone were impressive, and it was foolish to fall into the trap of thinking of Suzaku as simply an extremely strong piece of muscle. Practically everyone had; more fool they.

"That's the one," Kendra agreed as she slipped out of her suit jacket and swept her curls back over her shoulder. "Chandler gets all aristocratic about any other coffee; Calhoun's is pretty much his gold standard. Honestly, I'm surprised he'd held off this long."

Ban's ears popped up, and everyone eventually caught the sound of an engine a few seconds later.

"Speak of the devil," Kendra said with a smile.

There was much fanfare with Chandler's arrival – Suzaku found himself dragged into the center of the exchanges of easy and natural affection in the front hallway. Aurora volunteered to take the cardboard tray of coffee cups into the kitchen, leaving Suzaku, Kendra, and Chandler several moments to catch up and reacquaint themselves. As he listened to the senator relay a funny tale about a diplomat's unfortunate choice in ringtone, he noticed the way the man rubbed the small of his wife's back in an almost unconscious gesture, encouraging her to lean into him. He had almost become sentimental and melancholy about it when Aurora came gliding back into the room, her warm earth tones a contrast against Kendra's cool metallics. She was steadily sipping from one of the cups of coffee as she listened with Suzaku to Chandler's story. The man had finished that one and started on another story by the time he zeroed in on the blond's drink.

"Uh, Aurora?" Chandler ventured slowly, a strange expression moving across his face. Like the combination of horror and hilarity. She hummed in question, taking another sip of the coffee, now mostly gone.

"That's… not yours."

Aurora slowly lowered the cup, her brows gradually colliding as she looked from Chandler to the side of the coffee cup and back again.

"It has a 'D' on it," she said in response, spinning it around to show the large letter written on the side. "That's for 'Decaf', right?"

Chandler helplessly shook his head, his eyes dancing even as he struggled, and largely failed, to control his face.

"No. That one was mine. It… it stands for 'Double-shot.'"

The "fuck" Aurora muttered was practically a work of art. Deliberate, slow, and almost under her breath, she seemed to roll the sounds over her tongue the way a connoisseur tasted the first mouthful of wine. Suzaku had never heard resigned dismay uttered quite so eloquently with a single word before. Like she was suddenly handling a live bomb stripped down to its barest, and most dangerous, components, Aurora handed the cup over to Chandler with two fingertips. He took it with a burbling chuckle he struggled to swallow.

"Little too late for that, isn't it?"

"I hate you so much, you asshole." Even as she hissed at him with sizzling venom, Chandler still teetered on the obvious edge of breaking down into cackling laughter.

"Not my fault you guzzled the first one you got your little paws on. If you'd taken five seconds and looked at the other cups, you would have seen that it obviously says 'Decaf' on the side of yours and Kendra's. No one to blame but yourself, Stretch."

"Shut up, dickhead," she growled, the telltale expression of wanting to hit something and nothing making itself conveniently available moving across her face. "Jesus, this is going to suck," Aurora muttered into the hands she pressed against her face. Sighing, she dropped them down to her sides again. "No wonder it tasted delicious. Dammit," she cursed with another gusty sigh. Spinning on her heel, Aurora quickly strode to the kitchen with long strides punctuated by the fierce clicks of her heels, Ban staying in her shadow.

Without looking away from where her friend had disappeared into the kitchen, Kendra rapped Chandler's shoulder with her knuckles. "Not funny, dear."

The man obviously couldn't take it anymore. He dissolved into gales of delighted laughter, having to brace the hand holding the culprit cup against the breakfront as he wrapped his other arm around his ribs.

Aurora's bark of "Eat me, Senator!" from the kitchen just made him laugh harder. Eventually, he quieted down enough to face his calm wife, still occasionally chuckling.

"Are you kidding me? This is hilarious. Man, it's been forever since Aurora did this."

"And it's going to be just as unattractive as last time. You will recall that there was puking involved when Aurora accidentally tanked caffeine last year."

Chandler waved her worries away.

"Nah, we just have to make sure she doesn't wolf down half the refrigerator in ten minutes. She'll be fine." Apparently confident that he could enjoy the show and mitigate the worst of the damage, Chandler strolled into the kitchen. Kendra watched him go, slowly shaking her head. Still taken aback by the abrupt turn in events, Suzaku quietly waited for Kendra to elaborate, since she appeared to be less amused than her husband and significantly less angry than Aurora.

"You remember when Aurora hurt her shoulder?" she eventually asked Suzaku quietly. He nodded, joining Kendra as she slowly moved down the hallway, her appearance belying her rolling gait, nearing the trademark waddle.

"You said that anything recreational hit her way harder than the average person."

Kendra nodded approvingly that he remembered.

"She just consumed roughly the equivalent of ten shots of extra caffeine for you or me. Things are about to get very interesting, very quickly," she said under her breath as they stepped into the kitchen. Aurora stood by the sink, diligently drinking from a full glass of water. She glared narrow-eyed over the rim at Chandler, who sat straddling a kitchen chair with his chin resting on his folded hands. He in turn was staring at her like he was anxiously waiting for her to magically start changing colors.

Aurora's posture didn't really lend itself to tricks, though. She stood stiff as an iron spike, her arm folded tightly against her ribs and her elbow firmly wedged into her palm. But Suzaku could see that Aurora's stillness was manufactured, not natural; her ankle was faintly vibrating, like she was struggling against the urge to rapidly tap her foot. Having polished off the water, she turned to the sink to fill the glass again to the brim, and immediately started to suck it down.

"You know that's not going to stop it, right, Aurora?" Kendra asked smoothly as she extracted the coffee cup with a clearly written "Decaf" on the side, popping off the lid and scenting it carefully before nodding and replacing it, taking a slow, small sip.

"Can't make it worse, though," Aurora replied. It wasn't a snarl – not quite.

"Except making you pee like a racehorse," Chandler piped up cheerfully. He automatically accepted the coffee cup Kendra offered him, taking a drink without looking away from where Aurora primed to explode. He wrinkled his nose and looked back at Kendra, though, when the coffee hit his tongue.

"You know I don't drink decaf, plum blossom."

Kendra just patted his shoulder.

"Payment," she said simply, and he shrugged in acceptance. The doctor then handed Suzaku the remaining cup of coffee. "We didn't know what you liked, so we kept it basic black with a good, solid roast."

Taking it with a quiet thanks, Suzaku glanced at Aurora as he sniffed the fragrant steam that billowed when he removed the top. Did she mind that they were all drinking the thing that was pushing her to nuclear?

It didn't appear so. There had been a complete lack of reaction from her when the others had started drinking what remained from Chandler's beverage run. Approaching the fridge, and Aurora, cautiously, he studied her closely as he pulled out the milk, adding a splash that took the color from near pitch to pretty chocolate. As he took a drink from the coffee, which lived up beautifully to the hype, he sidled closer, dropping his voice.

"Are you OK?" he asked gently. For a moment, he wasn't sure she would answer, as there was zero reaction. Finally, though, Aurora looked at him, releasing her caged breath with a huff, loosening her shoulders and spine and her entire posture drooping like a flower soaked by rain.

"Yeah. This just blows, you know?" She seemed so helplessly frustrated, Suzaku settled himself against the counter next to her, his arm companionably brushing against hers. Heaving a deep sigh, Aurora rested her head against his shoulder, some of the tension bleeding from her frame at the touch. Quivering, though, soon replaced it.

Kendra did not miss the exchange, nor was she blind to the implications it foreboded for Aurora and Suzaku. She was both warmed and worried by the display, and what it could mean for the sister of her heart and the man they'd saved together.

It didn't take long for Aurora to become impatient with simply standing. The few cups in the sink were scrubbed so hard that they didn't just shine; they could have been used as sterile surfaces in a lab. She then turned her rapidly heightening attention to the windows, muttering under her breath that she didn't have enough vinegar to do the job, even as the fumes from the copious amount of liquid she used made Suzaku's eyes and nose sting. In less than ten minutes, the chore was done.

Aurora galloped over to the laundry room, where she carelessly kicked off her heels and hauled down a large bucket, slapping it into the sink and cranking on the hot water full blast. Suzaku was oddly fascinated, and slightly horrified, at the thick steam that curled and twined up from the water cascading into the bucket. As the noise, reminiscent of a waterfall, pervaded the kitchen, making whatever conversation any of them could have managed pointless, Aurora trotted from place to place, gathering enough cleaning supplies to scrub the house from stem to stern with enough to spare to get a good start on the barn. But it was the maniacal gleam in Aurora's eyes that made Suzaku think that maybe she could achieve such an immense task in an impossibly short amount of time.

Her usual grace and polish had all but evaporated in the heat of her strange high, evident as Aurora slapped the hot water off and dumped an eye-widening amount of cleaner into the scorching water. Hefting it with an impressive show of muscle, she had just started past Suzaku when he touched her upper arm, managing to halt her headlong dash out of the kitchen. Eyes sparkling like exploding stars, flags of colors burning along the ridges of her cheekbones, she looked at Suzaku expectantly, all but buzzing under his hand.

"Aurora," he murmured hesitantly. Hearing the impatient huff she loosed through her nose, he scrambled for something to say that could potentially calm the lightning that appeared to be gallivanting through her veins. "Are you… What are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes and sidestepped him impatiently, a small splash of the water in the bucket, hot as magma, caught Suzaku on the leg, sizzling enough to have him chocking back a shocked hiss.

"Cleaning. Obviously," she called from the hallway, speaking in a tone that blatantly termed him obtuse for missing what was so clear. What he couldn't quite ask was why this was the behavior that emerged in a period of weakened control. Now, he didn't hesitate – he moved to follow Aurora, at the very least to make sure she didn't get herself hurt in her wild state of mind. Suzaku could hear Chandler chuckling into his coffee as he stood, the pair's footsteps behind him a little reassuring. Aurora had looked, well…

Insane

She was totally insane. Apparently, in the sixty seconds she'd been out of sight, Aurora had changed into a training bra and snug work-out shorts, both a stark black against her flushed, pale gold skin. Her clothes from before were nowhere to be seen. In her current mindset, it was entirely possible that she'd thrown them out the window. Right now, she was furiously scrubbing the long wall of mirrors, making Suzaku wince when she brazenly plunged her hand into the scalding water to rewet the blue rag she'd chosen for the task.

Crossing to the open window, Suzaku leaned out, but didn't spy the brown dress or any other articles of clothing. He turned back, noticing Chandler lounging on the bench, Kendra curled up next to him, both of them idly watching Aurora grumble to herself as she swiped the sudsy cloth back and forth. When she stretched up, just shy of the top of the mirror, Suzaku's eyes were drawn to the long, lean line of her spine, lightly dewed and kissed by the sunlight. Since his mind had wandered out of his control like a leashed dog running away from its owner in the pursuit of a tantalizing scent, it occurred to Suzaku that he'd never seen Aurora in such brief clothing. Her bared arms and legs were sleek with muscle and proportioned beautifully, her shoulders strong and her waist slim. Silvery scars were bared, several jagged lines over her shoulders and back, and the pairs of disks riding low on her hip, her parting gifts from Nikolai.

He caught the color crawling up his neck and onto his face in a small patch of mirror that hadn't yet received Aurora's ministrations, betraying the inappropriate direction of his thoughts. Hiding his expression by taking a long, last sip of coffee, Suzaku shoved his free hand into his pocket as he toyed with the empty cup, struggling against hunching his shoulders. Now was not the time. Even if there were mouth-watering acres of her skin bared to his hungry eyes.

Finally, Suzaku rallied himself enough to join the other spectators, their eyes collectively drawn to Aurora's busy form. As he braced his shoulders against the wall, Kendra wriggled over and patted the bench next other without looking at him. It was a straight-forward invitation that left hardly a millimeter for refusal. As he shifted slightly in indecision and embarrassment, the doctor looked over her shoulder at him, her dark brows ever so slightly raised and her gaze laser-straight. It clearly said what her mouth didn't – quit being a nimrod, and sit down.

Feeling as if he'd been scolded like a dense child, Suzaku folded himself down next to her and braced his elbows on his knees, the trio watching Aurora's cleaning like intent fans watching an intense, bloody game from the bleachers. Dropping the empty coffee cup into the waste basket next to the stereo, Suzaku eventually brought himself to voice the questions and worries that poked at his brain like little thorns.

"How long is this going to last?" he asked quietly, careful to drop his voice below the volume Aurora could hear. Normally, the woman had ears like a bat. He couldn't be sure if her hearing was worse or better in this state. Kendra responded in an equally low voice.

"Depends. She tanked a lot, so this could go on for a while. And she goes through phases."

"Phase one," Chandler clarified helpfully when Suzaku wrinkled his brow, "is the Cleaning Craze. A focused and determined mission to clean just about everything in sight, made worse by our dear Aurora's scary level of willpower. That usually lasts about ten, fifteen minutes. Then –"

"Why are eggs considered breakfast food? Who made the stupid ass decision to relegate a respected source of protein to only being ingested in the morning? Even when we have it for dinner, it's called 'Breakfast Dinner.' Are we punishing chickens? Did they revolt and part of the peace negotiations was that their unfertilized fetuses would only be eaten before lunch? You don't even question it – it's so embedded in Western culture, we just shrug out shoulders and save eggs for breakfast. What the fuck?"

Aurora was babbling. Wildly, with hardly a pause for breath or sentence structure. She continued on the egg tirade while Chandler leaned forward with a chuckle around Kendra to look at Suzaku.

"Phase two is the Runaway Rants. That girl can talk." Chandler settled back against the wall, relaxing like he was in for a show as he intently listened to Aurora, who had switched from eggs to the genesis of jello. Apparently, her brain was locked onto food for some strange reason.

"Talk, and invariably get herself into trouble," Kendra muttered to Suzaku as they watched Aurora bend herself into several impossible stretches in preparation to reach the most inaccessible parts of the mirrors. He consciously worked to keep his tongue from lolling at the sight of ludicrous flexibility and smooth, sleek strength. Desperately, he tried to distract himself before he said or did something inexcusably rude.

"Why do you think she cleans so… frantically?"

Kendra digested that though, humming as she thought it over.

"A very decent question. I'm not actually sure. It could be as deep as an ingrained psychological need for control and positive reinforcement, or it could be as simple as it was annoying her, and now she has the fuel to fix it. Either way, as the initial lock-on-target focus starts to fade and she completes her first few tasks, Aurora's going to become kind of erratic. Pretty much nothing is too crazy for her to suggest."

Like an antelope, Aurora jumped up, cleaning the final few feet of mirror. Once done, she diligently began to rinse, simultaneously chattering about the war between squirrels and rabbits. Apparently, rabbit generals were wily, but squirrel captains were vicious. Suzaku coughed back a chuckle. Encouraging her likely wasn't wise in this state of mind. Kendra just sighed at her antics.

"As long as she's not doing anything dangerous or illegal, it's best to humor her. It's kind of like trying to steer a runaway train. Not to mention, she'll probably listen to you better than us at this point."

Brows furrowed, Suzaku had just turned to ask why Kendra thought that when Aurora rounded on them, her temples dampened with sweat and her color high. The mirrors sparkled like lake water in the sun behind her.

"We should go for a run. That sounds fabulous! I'm going on a run. You want to go on a run?" Her words shot out like eager bullets, spraying the room with sound and determined intent. Chandler began hedging, distracting her while Kendra nudged Suzaku with her elbow. He instinctively jerked away from the contact, forcing her to resort to leaning over to hiss in his ear.

"Go with her; she's probably going to peak soon, and I don't want her crashing out in the middle of nowhere alone." She nudged him again, sending Suzaku clumsily launching to his feet in comprehension. Aurora turned her keen gaze to him. With her undivided attention landing on him – her gaze heavy and hot, like standing too close to an open blaze – Suzaku realized that her color was too high. She planned to go for a run, but Aurora was already breathing quickly, almost panting, her rib flashing and muscles occasionally twitching.

"I'll come with," he volunteered, failing at keeping his voice bright and reassuring. Instead, it instinctively dropped, becoming gentle and worried. Aurora, however, was uncharacteristically deaf to the inflection. She beamed at him, a stunning ray of cheer and energy, before racing out of the studio. Glancing at Chandler and Kendra, who looked remarkably unperturbed, Suzaku followed her, heading up to his room to change.

Some minutes later, after trotting downstairs in a t-shirt the color of smoke and black gym shorts, his running shoes in hand, he found that the Andrews had relocated to the kitchen. They were munching on cookies Aurora had baked, Kendra dipping hers regularly in ketchup. Considering they were fudge and peanut butter, Suzaku resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the pregnant woman's disgusting craving. Glancing over at him, Kendra offered a full water bottle as she finished off her cookie.

"Ban's coming with you. If she doesn't come down after the run, make sure she doesn't do anything –"

"After our run, we should rob a bank!" Aurora bellowed from upstairs. "I still have the plans for the Galway branch of the Bank of Ireland. They're only a few years old; I could crack that sonuva bitch like a clam! God, that'll be great! Let's do it!" Her wild cackle shot through the air like the static of an encroaching storm. Shocked, Suzaku slowly swung his gaze back to Kendra as Chandler chortled around his undoctored cookie. Accompanied by the thunder of Aurora coming down the stairs, the expectant mother just sighed.

"Crazy," she finished resignedly. "If she's still hopping by the time your run's over and wants to play Bonnie and Clyde, just get her back home and we'll distract her long enough to run her down."

Aurora streaked through the kitchen, Ban running after her with childish delight. As Suzaku turned to catch up with her, Kendra snagged his wrist.

"Take care of her, Suzaku."

In all this odd inanity, he hadn't yet seen Kendra this serious, and understood that she was entrusting something precious and fragile to his care. In response, Suzaku solemnly nodded before twisting to follow Aurora.

Watching as he loped after her friend, Kendra leaned her arm on the back of the chair, resting her temple on her loose fist.

"Entwined, aren't they?" Chandler wryly observed. Kendra smoothed her hand over her burgeoning stomach, soothing both herself and the babe.

"Dangerously so," she murmured. So intent on watching the pair crest the hill out back, Kendra didn't hear her husband stand, but smiled gently when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head amidst dark curls scented with gardenia.

"They'll survive it. They've both gotten through far worse," he said, snagging another cookie as he stood next to her, watching the lithe triad disappear from sight. Once they vanished, Kendra tilted her head back to look at Chandler.

"No doubt. But I'm not sure they can do it again. Bend too far, and you break."

Brushing the hair back from her forehead, Chandler bent to press his lips to the bared skin.

"Good thing they're both freaky flexible."

And here Aurora had wanted them to take it easy today.

That wasn't fair, of course. She was all but out of her mind, and, if Suzaku was frank, he could admit that it was entertaining.

Aurora had declared that, in his prime, over a long distance, he was faster than her. Today, though, she was literally running circles around him. Like Ban, she would zoom ahead, come swooping around, then dart off to investigate something before navigating back to him. She carried on debates with herself, sang with varying levels of skill, from stunning to stupidly silly. Sometimes, she'd pose a long-winded question to Suzaku while jogging backwards to face him, then spin around and answer it herself before he could open his mouth to reply. After about three times, he just shook his head with a rueful grin. He understood that he was her lodestone, drawing Aurora back on course whenever she wandered away. His purpose was simply that of guardianship – he wasn't actually supposed to participate.

It occurred to Suzaku as his feet pounded against packed peat and dirt that maybe caffeine didn't inject Aurora with unnatural energy. Maybe it was just enough to have her natural verve brimming over the bulwark of her control, temporarily demolishing it in the process. That was almost more frightening of a concept than her being driven so utterly wild by a cup of coffee; that all of this lay within her, and she was eternally working to aim or restrain it. He'd taken her claims of a spastic childhood with a mild grain of salt. After all, countless people had been inundated with stories of how unmanageable they were in their youth, Suzaku included. It had become apparent, though, that Aurora's title of hyperactive had been ferociously earned.

As they made their way past the half mile marker of a crooked holly, Suzaku took stock. In reality, he wasn't feeling too fantastic. His muscles were nudging towards the level of fatigue that inevitably led to cramping, and his endurance was inexorably waning. Aurora, however, was worse off.

It didn't appear that way, not immediately. She was still chipper and quick, racing to and fro with apparent ease, acting like electricity scorched through her veins. Which was exactly the problem. Where her skin wasn't bright pink, it was starting to grow pale. And her breathing, already fast, was becoming rapid-fire. How she could still talk, Suzaku had no idea. Whenever he caught a glimpse of the pulse pounding in her throat, it didn't hammer – it fluttered like a bird's wings, dangerously fast and thready.

But whenever he tried to slow the pace, Aurora merely demanded that he keep up. When he tried to physically restrain her, she slipped out of his hands like an otter, and Suzaku was afraid to let her steal from his sight. Despite his best efforts, though, something caught her attention over the next rise, and Aurora rocketed away, displaying a burst of speed that vaulted past ridiculous. By the time Suzaku caught up with her, Aurora was vanishing into the thick foliage of a very tall, very old ash.

Bracing his hands against his knees as he panted, Suzaku squinted up into the dappled crown of the tree, where Aurora was moving from branch to branch with the agile swiftness of a sparrow.

"What are you doing?" he called up to her. Through the rush of air being dragged in and out of his system, Suzaku could make out her response.

"I bet I can see the ocean from up here. The tree said it should be climbed, so I climbed it!"

Against that infallible logic, Suzaku mused with a small, twisted smile, how could he argue? He debated going up after her; in the past, the tree would have hardly presented even a modicum of a challenge. But not only was he far from fighting form, if Aurora did misstep or lost her grip, he was far more likely to be able to catch her, or at least break her fall, down here than up in the tree with her. So he waited by the trunk with a panting Ban, who had his head tilted back to watch his mama with hawk-like eyes. Eventually, he could no longer make her out through the leaves, so Suzaku tilted his head to listen for her location. Aurora shouted down a running commentary on the state of the tree and its inhabitants, most of whom were insects that would have sent others from the tree screeching while Aurora observed them with eager, scientific interest.

When a short shriek rent the air, Suzaku's heart almost shattered his ribs, it leapt so hard. He lunged to the trunk, trying to peer through the foliage for any sign of her rapidly descending form. However, his adrenaline-drenched alertness was severely downgraded to irritation when Aurora shouted down that a spider had crawled over her fingers as she peered into a bird's nest, the trio of fragile ivory eggs distracting her long enough to briefly slow her head-long race to the top. He missed chunks of the lecture that followed, but understood the basic gist of it: Aurora wasn't scared of spiders, per se. But she disliked them. And felt that both parties were best served when each kept their distance from the other.

Meanwhile, Suzaku grumbled to the dog about the whole situation, still struggling to calm his jigging pulse. He knew that nothing made him quite as grumpy as shock and fear, especially when they were misplaced reactions. Which made Suzaku grudgingly realize that cranky was perhaps that worse possible mindset to have when it came to her current frame of mind. It helped a little when Aurora, delighted as a child presented with candy, called down to him from the very crown of the tree.

"Oh, my God! Suzaku! It was so worth it! This view is bitchin'!" She then chattered on about all that she could see, her enthusiasm contagious even from yards away. Suzaku just smiled down to Ban, who was listening with his ears pricked.

"She's the most beautiful kind of crazy I've ever seen," he murmured to the dog, who just grinned. Aiming his voice up into the tree, he continued loudly, "You coming down?"

"In a little," she trilled, and Suzaku subsided to wait. Eventually, she yelled, "Coming."

But instead of being relieved, Suzaku's eyes narrowed. Little in her voice had changed, but there was a note of strain that hadn't been there before. Stiffening his spine and loosening his knees, Suzaku kept his eyes trained above, looking for the slightest hint of movement.

A loud crack was followed by a vehement curse, and Suzaku shouted her name questioningly when Aurora didn't fall into sight. Chunks of wood, bark, and leaves rained down through the dense canopy, a small branch bouncing off Suzaku's shoulder.

"Just slipped. I'm almost down." Her voice was pitched high to reassure him it was not worthy of concern, but Suzaku could tell by her tone that she was already fading fast. Of course – Aurora had to crash in a tree. The woman could do nothing easy. Finally, though, after what seemed like eons of listening her struggle through the branches, she came into sight.

She was white as bone, and Suzaku could see from the ground that Aurora was trembling like an aspen leaf in a strong breeze. Still, she was a trooper, and moved from branch to branch with economy and skill. Not quite the flowing work of art of her norm, but Suzaku was just praying she could make it down without breaking bones.

Still over ten feet from the ground, Aurora's foot slipped, her wild grab for another branch missing, while Suzaku's throat closed and the breath in his lungs turned to ash. He instantly shifted, calculating the angle and speed of her fall. But she surprised Suzaku, managing to snag one of the lowest branches of the tree with her other hand, still over nine feet from the ground. Not enough to maim, but definitely enough to hurt. The wince across Aurora's graying face warned that she couldn't hold on for more than a few seconds, so Suzaku moved underneath her. Gripping her dangling ankle, he tugged lightly.

"I've got you. Let go."

Looking down at him, Aurora's face twisted into a frown. He just raised a brow. Knowing that she would be just as angry at him for getting hurt trying to help her as Suzaku would be at himself for letting Aurora get hurt, he compromised. He didn't try to catch her in his arms or act as a rubber mat. Instead, he took the brunt of her falling weight with his right hip, gathering her close and following her down to the ground. They hit the earth with a bone-jarring thud, his legs sprawled out, Aurora shuddering in his lap. It had been far from graceful, but as Suzaku subtly flexed muscles and found himself largely unhurt, he was prepared to consider it a success, should Aurora prove to be equally unharmed. His hand stroked over her spine, trying to calm both of them as he surreptitiously checked for injuries.

The metallic taste of fear had yet to recede from Suzaku's mouth, making his teeth and temples ache. It became that much clearer what Aurora had suffered through that day on the cliff. Resting his cheek against her hair, Suzaku silently strengthened his oath to never callously cause such fear in her again. It was a hateful emotion that he wouldn't wish on anyone he cared for.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," she chanted under her breath, the syllables fragmenting like cracked eggshells. Suzaku just hummed noncommittally, leaning back slightly and tipping up Aurora's chin to inspect her face. Utterly wan, even her lips were all but bloodless. Her pupils had dilated severely, black spheres swallowing her irises until nothing but a midnight blue ring remained, despite the causal afternoon sun striated by shadow. A scratch scored the arch of her cheekbone, and Suzaku softly traced his thumb under the abrasion before he could stop himself. The unnatural heat from her skin was rapidly fading, replaced by a clamminess that brought back memories of sweating through nightmares and withdrawal. She attempted to swallow, and failed, her breathing heightened into the realm of pointlessness. Aurora was heaving so hard and fast, there was no possible way she was getting in enough oxygen.

Resting his hand between her shoulder blades and exerting subtle pressure, Suzaku captured her wildly flickering gaze with his, speaking calmly and quietly. Even as the gnawing concern for her made a part of him want to howl like a wolf and snap at the first person who touched her. This possessive drive was unattractive, but Suzaku couldn't quite eradicate it.

"Like that day in Galway, remember? Breathe with me." Ramping up his breathing to a pace only a few clicks slower than Aurora's, Suzaku waited for her to sync with him before gradually slowing their breathing down. As he went lightheaded, he marveled that she'd managed to climb down an enormous tree in this state.

Once he was no longer concerned that Aurora would hyperventilate or pass out, Suzaku broadened his inventory. Her palms and fingers, especially her left hand, were scratched to hell, no doubt from her last-second snag when she'd slipped. Offering her water, which she initially eyed with distaste, then desperately gulped after that first drop hit her tongue, he checked Aurora's arms and legs, not entirely trusting her waving statements that she was fine. Not when she admitted that her fingertips were numb, and her hands didn't really hurt yet.

Except for a few scrapes here and there, she appeared to be fine. No swelling or bruising, and everything seemed to have maintained a decent alignment. Discounting the fact that her legs were weak as a newborn foal's and she still shook hard enough to rattle bones, Aurora seemed to have survived the descent from the tree relatively unscathed.

Ever since this had all started, Aurora had been knotted with spectacular tension. But as the strain began to slowly bleed out and her head dipped down and pressed wearily against his chest, Suzaku found his arms hesitantly going around her again. This had lost all the earmarks of saving Aurora from a dangerous fall or stabilizing her physically; it felt entirely too close to affection, soft and nuzzling.

His hand was gently buried in her hair, the pads of Suzaku's fingers rubbing against her scalp in tiny caresses. His other palm stroked over her back and shoulders, encouraging rock-hard muscles to soften. Helplessly, Suzaku breathed her in. It flustered him, feeling Aurora unguarded and weak. He was accustomed to the glowing goddess – the fragile young woman made far fewer appearances, and it was easy to be dazzled by Titania and forget about Rora.

But there was something in Suzaku helplessly moved by her flawed humanity. His lungs tightened almost unbearably when he sensed her fingers slowly locking onto the hem of his t-shirt, feeling the small hammer strikes of her breaths against his chest. The entire cosmos was winnowed down to the intricacies of the woman in his arms, the way she drooped deeper and deeper against him, the delicate vertebrae that emerged from sleek muscle in Aurora's posture of vulnerability.

Ban approached cautiously, sniffing her hair for a prolonged period of time before apparently satisfied, curling up behind Suzaku's back so that his chin was propped up on one of Aurora's knee. With dreamy foolishness, he thought he could stay, just like this, for an immeasurable amount of time.

That was, of course, unrealistic. Suzaku forced himself to murmur into her ear, "Ready to go back?"

Aurora stoically nodded, but he could tell by the grim set of her jaw that it wasn't going to be easy. Unfolding himself out from under her, Suzaku stood, holding out his hands to help her up. Resting her bloodied hands in his trustingly, Aurora stood. And immediately teetered, her legs wobbling as she awkwardly swayed. Keeping one hand clutched in his, Suzaku wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her against him and using his entire frame to keep her steady.

For a heady moment, they were pressed together, intriguingly aligned, curve to plane, muscle to bone, heart to heart. Suzaku didn't know when the air had gone thick and hot, humid with something he was reluctant to name. Aurora's huge, beautiful, defenseless eyes were locked on his, and for a moment, he felt consumed by the silence of the exchange.

Then, her eyes narrowed, managing to break the spell with their astute suspicion, despite the fact that they were slightly unfocused. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, an expression so familiar, Suzaku couldn't help the wave of relief. It was quickly tamped, however, by what she said.

"You're not carrying me."

"What?" Suzaku said blankly.

"You're not going to carry me back, so don't even think about it."

Insulted masculine pride swelled. Realistically, he was one of the physically strongest men in the Empire, if not the world. He was undoubtedly out of shape, but he could still carry a slim, ill woman back to her home. Any right he had to carry the mantle of knight had long since been obliterated, but that didn't mean Suzaku's ingrained sense of chivalry was also gone. And to allow such a thing? Completely preposterous. She must have seen the mutinous look on his face, because Aurora continued.

"Kendra's already going to be clucking over me. We don't need to add screwing up your shoulder for absolutely no reason to the itinerary when she probably just wants to get home. No matter how we work it, it's still unnecessary stress on healing tissue. And I'll punch you if you try."

Suzaku scowled in response. Then, reluctantly, chuckled. He could overpower her, sure. But assuaging his ego wouldn't be worth the inevitable battle. And even trembling with exhaustion, Aurora probably had a mean swing on her, considering the mulish expression hardening her jawline and pleating her brows.

"Fine," Suzaku conceded with a big sigh. "But you have to let me help you." As if there was any sort of debate on that fact. Before Aurora acquiesced, he slung her left arm over his shoulder, taking her weight carefully as they started forward. The pair had only shuffled about twenty feet when Aurora chuckled, quickly wincing as the sound clattered out of her.

"What is it?" Suzaku asked, carefully steering them around a sizeable rock outcropping. Ban was acting as their scout, trotting ahead, apparently mapping out the path of least resistance.

"Just funny, that's all. We've been here before."

It took Suzaku a second – when he had last acted as Aurora's crutch? Rapidly, though, he remembered. Their positions had been reversed; Suzaku, weakened and snarling like a wounded animal and deeply reluctant to accept aid. Whereas Aurora had made the compromise of slipping under his arm and guiding him through the house he would live in for the next two months.

"Jeez. Two peas in a pod, aren't we?" he murmured. Aurora chuckled, but quickly stopped, finding herself out of breath again. Rubbing the hand hooked around her waist over her back comfortingly, Suzaku slowed until she could drag oxygen in again. It was ponderous progress, but, judging by the position of the sun, they were making decent time. Of course, using the sun to judge time in Ireland during high summer wasn't quite as accurate as other places in the world.

When they passed the warped holly bush, Suzaku heaved a covert sigh of relief. Almost home. His muscles had tipped past the point of weeping into a numb silence he recognized with a resigned familiarity. It was uncomfortable to remember, but he wasn't above using his body's frustratingly insane drive to function to his advantage. Currently, that meant muscling Aurora upright and forward.

She had all but wilted in his grasp, the act of simply lifting her lashes apparently monumentally difficult. Aurora's grip was solid, but that was likely to compensate for her barely shuffling feet. That was probably why, when she suddenly stiffened, Suzaku was puzzled, not reacting nearly fast enough when she tore from his grasp like a desperate fox. His shout did nothing to slow her sprint towards a line of bushes, a fleet movement Suzaku had believed beyond her. Ban moved much faster, looking back in time to see his mama take off at a run. With a bark, he shot after her, that spooky speed bringing him to Aurora's side within a matter of seconds.

He took off after her, his confusion melting into comprehension when Aurora crashed to her knees at the base of the bushes and began vomiting violently. Murmuring comforting nonsense as he knelt next to her and gently pulled the long tail of her hair out of danger, Suzaku grimaced sympathetically. There was hardly anything in her system; it was little better than vicious convulsions, as if her body was trying to divest itself of several internal organs. Stroking down her jerking spine in an attempt to comfort, he waited the worse of it out. Finally, straightening like her joints were crafted of rain-swollen wood, Aurora tilted her head back, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun as she regained command over herself. It was a display of control that impressed Suzaku, and made his chest clench a little, too.

Ban carefully licked the back of her hand, the tiny, gentle gesture bringing a flinching grin to her face. It quickly disappeared, however, when Suzaku offered what remained of the water bottle.

"I can't keep it down," she admitted, her shaking forcing the words to jitter. Aurora made it sound like she was an inexcusable failure with the simple admission.

"Just rinse out your mouth," Suzaku offered. He knew better than most how hard it was to function with the taste of vomit still lining your mouth and throat. It was much easier to feel human when at least the sharp, leading edge was washed away. She took the bottle gratefully, spitting the water out with the accuracy of a sailor.

"Come on," Suzaku said quietly, turning and offering his back. Without having to look, he could imagine the frown that creased across Aurora's face. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found that he'd been pretty accurate. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her stubbornness when he had very little room to talk, instead Suzaku just angled his head.

"We're almost home. You're not up for walking another ten feet, let alone another half mile. Let's just get it done."

For a moment, Aurora looked insulted. Then, after a testing shift of her folded legs, she huffed in frustration.

In relatively short order, Aurora was draped over his back, her long legs hooked over his arms, the majority of her weight pressed against his right shoulder. Even when she was an utter mess, she was still careful to apply as little weight to his left side as possible. Shaking his head slightly, Suzaku careful stood, assessing himself as Aurora's weight settled.

OK, his legs were not exactly thrilled with the extra load, but they would hold. As for his arms, his right was fine. After a few initial twinges, his left fell silent. For the first time since March, he could use his left arm, and not feel afraid that the bone would simply shatter from the torque. Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he stood straighter, faced with the inevitable knowledge that he was healing.

"OK?" Aurora whispered in his ear. Turning his head towards her, rainy-sunlight eyes and ghostly pale skin filled his vision.

"Yeah. You?"

She nodded, and the corner of Suzaku's mouth crooked. Two peas in a pod, alright. Glancing down, Suzaku saw that Ban stood at his feet, clearly intrigued by this new game if his circling tail and tilted head were anything to go by.

"Take us home, buddy."

Shooting off one of his bright barks – Ban was very vocal today – the hound spun and trotted away, leading them back to the house. It wasn't as easy a journey as Suzaku would have expected, and a few times, Aurora demanded that he let her down. But he just clamped his arms around her legs and plowed forward. By the time the stately roof of the house peeked over the back hill, they were both panting. Ban raced to the house, soaring over the back fence and howling like a mad creature. Taking the long way round through the opening in the ancient line of rocks, Suzaku entered the yard the same time Kendra and Chandler did. Aurora pushed on his shoulder again, a clear request that he let her down. Suzaku just ignored her. Tired as he was, he couldn't deny that it was pleasant to have her lithe frame pressed to his back.

Kendra strode over towards them, and before Suzaku could even open his mouth to give her a status report, she stretched up to her toes and bopped him quite smartly on the top of his head.

"Put her down! Are you mad? The last thing I need is you cracking your clavicle because you're a manly idiot!"

Shocked by her fuming irritation, Suzaku had loosened his hold just enough for Aurora to wriggle free. But when her feet hit the ground, she nearly toppled over, and Suzaku reached for her arm to stabilize her. Chandler swiftly strode around them all, however, and scooped Aurora up in his arms. Pivoting on his heel, he marched towards the house, his long-limbed cargo lying quiet and drained. Curling her hand around his elbow, Kendra tugged for Suzaku to follow.

"You feeling alright, Stretch?"

"Just dandy, Senator."

Chandler pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You'll be more careful when I bring coffee around next time."

"And you'll make damn sure that it's labeled very fucking clearly."

"You got it, sunshine."

Aurora lapsed into silence as Chandler carried her through the kitchen and upstairs, her head resting against his shoulder. Suzaku realized that the series of commands had been their form of apology. Kendra halted him in the kitchen, demanding that he go through a series of stretches to make sure he hadn't caused any damage.

"Honestly, I don't know what you were thinking," she muttered to herself, as she had been for the last five minutes or so. This was a whole new level of fretting. Finally, Suzaku spoke up in his defense.

"I didn't carry her the whole way. Aurora wouldn't let me. But after puking her guts out, she could hardly stand. And I needed to get her home."

Kendra just glared at him.

"So you say, Mr. Chivalrous-To-The-Point-Of-Stupid."

Brows furrowed, he'd just opened his mouth to disagree when the doctor slowly pulled his left arm horizontally behind him. Whatever words were about to tumble out fell into cold silence when a powerful zing of pain shot from Suzaku's neck vertebrae all the way down to his wrist.

"Minor pulled muscle. But nothing skeletal. Doesn't make you less of an idiot, but at least you're not a reinjured idiot."

Frowning and insulted, he pointedly glanced to the stairs where Chandler and Aurora had disappeared.

"Chandler wasn't shot in the last six months, so he's allowed to carry whoever he wants."

Suzaku was surprised to realize that his vanity was the most injured by all this; the White Reaper couldn't even carry an injured woman without hurting himself. What the hell?

Their eyes were drawn upstairs by the distant thunder of water on porcelain – Chandler was obviously drawing Aurora a bath. Kendra looked back down at him with a sigh, dropping awkwardly into one of the kitchen chairs. Looking at him askance for a few moments, her stance softened.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're almost there. If this had happened two weeks from now, I wouldn't be nearly so worried. If you two take it easy the next couple of days, you both should be fine."

Suzaku glanced back at her, and tried to remember an instance before his stay in Ireland when his carelessness for his own safety had made someone else angry. Lloyd and Cecile, maybe, but that had been tempered by conflicting agendas. Flipping her mass of hair over her shoulder, Kendra studied him with an angled jaw.

"Go take a shower, down some ibuprofen, and see if you can manage a nap. You've had a damn long day."

Too tired to argue, Suzaku just nodded and murmured his thanks, dragging himself up the stairs, his legs thoroughly unhappy with the current state of affairs. Stripping off his sweaty clothes and stepping under the cool spray of the shower, Suzaku sighed.

And here he'd been looking forward to a quiet day.

Chapter Text

Aurora likened it to recovering from a flu; she was achy and tired in the days that followed, with the cognitive fuzz indicative of intense stress and the healing that inevitably followed. Not to mention, her crazed physical activity had left her feeling like she'd been run over by a truck. So she soothed her bruised pride and muscles with a little light gardening, pruning and weeding with about half of her usual verve.

But it was fine. Suzaku was painfully courteous about the whole thing, conscientious of both her battered state the days after and her exaggerated snarkiness whenever the subject was broached. As he undoubtedly understood, Aurora felt deeply humiliated by her loss of control. That, and the fact she'd all but fallen out of a fucking tree. Still, she got the sense that he found it funny. She could almost find it in herself to be irritated with him for it.

Suzaku, on the other hand, was doing beautifully. The minor strain in his left arm had all but disappeared overnight, and he seemed to be improving daily. As the repeated yanking of an especially determined weed had her breathing harder than she should, Aurora braced her hands against her thighs and leaned back, catching her breath as the sun, glowing through the delicately patterned lace of clouds, brushed her face. Once the rush of her breath faded, Aurora was eventually able to make out music. Slowly opening her eyes, she quickly pinpointed the source of the sound to a window high above.

The studio window. Her suspicion was confirmed when Suzaku appeared there, resting his arms on the sill and bracing his weight against them, gazing at the horizon as he quietly sang along, the agony etched across his face more indicative of his mood than the softly uttered words snatched away by the breeze and distance.

A low-grade worry burned in her gut as she watched the expressions steal across his face, unaware of her watching him. She knew the song; sad, hard, and accusatory. Of course Suzaku was drawn towards it. She would have rolled her eyes if her heart hadn't clenched at the way he buried his face in a palm.

The burning cities and ash of dreams reminded her of Lelouch, as it no doubt reminded Suzaku. But the hidden faces and brutal games made her think of both of them, both facing the world behind Zero's mask. And the smoldering passions, the lessons that would never be learned? Suzaku, without a doubt. Aurora unconsciously sang along quietly under her breath, hurting and angry for both of them. Sighing, she stabbed her trowel into the dark, rich earth. What was she going to do with herself? And him.

Abandoning any further attempt to garden, Aurora let herself inside, trying to cool off emotions heated by a heartfelt song with a tall glass of ice water. Dumb, maybe, but she was just a music sucker that way.

Sometime later, Suzaku came downstairs, carrying a few sketches he wanted to inspect in truer light. As he joined her at the table, looking a little drawn and gnawingly intense, Aurora didn't need to peer over his shoulder to see that the tone of his drawings were fairly dark, and achingly beautiful. Silently, she sipped the water, watching him work.

Aurora wasn't sure why she said it. Maybe she wanted to force Suzaku to realize that the past didn't have to own him. Not if he was honest about what had been taken from him, and what he had given. If nothing else, it was a low blow after watching him laid open by the song earlier. But the words leapt out of her mouth before she had a chance to curb them, flying into the air like black birds with sharp wings.

"Euphie used to drive me crazy."

Suzaku froze, shock, then anger rippling through his muscles like the tensing of a predator. It was a testament to the quality of his pencil that it didn't simply snap in his viciously strained grip. When his gaze slowly lifted to hers, Aurora resigned herself to the conflict her big, stupid mouth that just consigned her to. Because a defensive fury swirled in his eyes, licking flames that melted his usual genial demeanor into one of implacable rage.

"What?" he growled. Aurora tried to shrug – her muscles tripped a little as that wrath slid over her like the pass of heated skin against skin. Because this wasn't bad or stupid enough; she had to get a little turned on, too. She kind of hoped Suzaku punched her, because she might just kiss him if he didn't. At the very least, she damn well deserved it.

"I mean, I loved her. A lot. But the girl could get on my last nerve the way no other sibling did. You know what I mean?"

"No, I don't."

It was fascinating, she had to admit. Watching him rally his anger into a form of stiff obstinance that nearly veiled the fiery source. Nearly. Like a masochistic moron, Aurora felt her mouth barrel on. This was so odd; most of the time, she was solidly in control of the words she let fly. But for some reason, after watching his hurt at that song, stuff that had been swirling around her subconscious was leaping free like lemmings.

"Oh, come on. No matter how much a couple loves each other, there are always little things that drive them crazy about the other. Like how Chandler thinks Kendra has the worst taste in music, and Kendra thinks Chandler is always kind of a butthead when he comes home from intense debates in the Senate. It usually takes him about a day to settle, but she compares it to living with a snotty, sarcastic teenager until he calms down again."

"Euphemia and I loved everything about each other. Utterly," Suzaku said around gritted teeth. Figuring she was in for a penny, in for a pound, Aurora laced her fingers together and propped her chin on them, dropping her elbows on the table as she leaned closer. Might as well dig out this splinter while she was potentially committing suicide. And Suzaku's iron posture and the warning, furious shine to his eyes promised that he would kill her if she kept this up.

"No doubt. But you're both human. And while she was a saint, she wasn't perfect. Neither are you. It's one thing to love someone because of their flaws – in fact, that's often the best way relationships survive. But you couldn't have found every aspect of her charming."

"I did," he insisted, the timbre of his voice dropping as she trod farther and farther past his tolerance.

"She undoubtedly changed in the years we were apart, but it takes a lot to alter deeply ingrained personality traits. And the Euphie I knew was reckless. Almost all of us were, but she didn't have the cunning or strength of her other siblings, which meant when she did something without thinking it through, one of us had to get her out of it."

"I loved Euphie's impulsiveness," Suzaku said, the hard edge of his voice masking the thickness lurking in his throat. Aurora nearly sighed. And now the guilt lanced through her like a spear. Well, that was inevitable, nudging at one of the most wounded parts of Suzaku's soul.

"Maybe you weren't together long enough to find those things out about each other." Or maybe…

Suzaku hurled himself to his feet so fast, that Aurora gulped back the thought that had flickered across her brain, pencils rolling away with the tittering of wood against wood. His shoulders were tight and defensive, the look he pinned her with rife with so much more than rage. Layered in all that emotion was pleading; begging her to stop, to leave this be. To quit dragging something so painful back to the forefront again. So she said nothing as he stiffly strode out of the kitchen, feeling like her heart was being crushed under his swift steps. But Aurora told herself she was somewhat inured to that kind of pain, and one final sentence found sound just as he was at the kitchen's threshold.

"Regardless, you two were beautiful together."

He paused, turning his head just enough for Aurora to catch the curl of his long lashes. Then he left, and Aurora found herself alone with her old friend, blame. Pressing her face to her biceps as she curled her arms around her head, she couldn't help but wonder. What was wrong with her?

There had to be something wrong with him. Because…

Because Aurora's questions had unearthed a doubt that had been living inside Suzaku all these years. He loved Euphie. Loved her, enough to die or disgrace himself for her. But their time together had been cruelly short. He'd known her, and she'd known him. But not the way Kendra and Chandler knew each other. It seemed that their feelings for each other were of a whole other breed.

Not necessarily less true, just… less frenzied. And more profound. And just because he'd been choked by fury and hurt didn't mean that Suzaku missed Aurora's subtle point. He'd loved Euphemia, yes. But how had he loved her?

As a woman? A partner? A friend?

As an idea?

Or some sort of amalgam of all those things that solidified into a love for a person? Dropping down onto his bed, Suzaku pressed his palm to his right ear as he tried to hack his way through the forest of implications. Giving them the time and attention he'd never before afforded them, a few undeniable truths emerged with clarity.

He'd loved Euphemia more than he could possibly stand. But they never would have lasted.

Regardless of what they felt for each other, and no matter the failure or success of their dreams for the world, Britannian society would never have softened enough for a Princess to marry her foreign knight of questionable background. And marry she would have, someday. Suzaku knew, without question, that it would have been a slow death to watch the woman he loved bound to another man, someone who had rights to her he could never claim. And even if they'd decided to flout Euphie's marriage vows and become intimate, it would have inevitably destroyed them. For them, fidelity and loyalty were everything, and to knowingly broach it would have poisoned everything they'd had.

Even had fate been marginally less cruel, Suzaku would have lost Euphemia, one way or another. All the more he ever would have had was the chivalrous love of a knight for his princess, aching from the distance and yearning for a simple touch. She would have been too selfless to let him to stay, and he would have been too stubborn to go. It was hard to say who would have broken first, but neither would have survived their connection whole.

There, in his temporary room in Ireland, with the warm summer breeze stroking his skin like a soft breath and the noon sun warming the air, Suzaku could finally admit something. He and Euphemia had loved each other, with a fire and fever of ones so young and foolish. But no matter the determination of their feelings, the intensity of their infatuation, somehow, someway, it would have been taken from them.

They simply weren't meant to be.

Blinking against the sunlight that seemed to sear his eyes as he gazed out to the soft, fertile land, Suzaku drew in a deep, deep breath, one that stretched his lungs and flexed healed cartilage. Holding it for a moment, he felt a quiet settle over a deeply scarred aspect of himself.

Then he dropped his face into his hands, and harshly wept out every wish and hope and dream he'd ever had for himself and his princess. He wept for cruel tides and pointless heartbreak. As tears streamed down his face to drip from his nose and chin, Suzaku knew that just as he was fated never to have her, he'd been fated to know Euphemia. To be the one person in the world to love her just this way, to still mourn her the way she deserved.

As with all his burdens, he greedily accepted the lonely responsibility of it. Perhaps if he had no other point in life, he could be the last bastion of remembrance and love for Princess Euphemia Vivienne li Britannia.

Later, feeling hollowed and raw, having done his best to wash away the ravages grief had wrought on his face, Suzaku came down the stairs and saw Aurora's legs sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Rushing in, worried that an injury or stroke or flaming arrow had befallen her, he stuttered to a halt when he saw enough to realize that she was laying on her back, her head under the sink, hard at work.

There was a clank, a grunt, a hiss, and a particularly violent curse that also applied to the plumbing's offspring. Leaning over the flung-open cabinet door, he felt a smile coyly tease the corners of his reluctant mouth at the chaos. There were cleaning supplies everywhere, a veritable menagerie of bottles. Scattered around the sink on the floor like a gritty halo were tools that he recognized, some he vaguely recalled the purpose for, and some that Suzaku hadn't even known where tools. Just because he'd piloted Knightmares didn't mean he knew a damn thing about the mechanics of them, or any other machinery, for that matter. And then there was Aurora, the knees of her jeans still dirty from the garden, looking slim and earthy and warm. Suzaku curled his fingers around the lip of the sink to resist the urge to touch what he had no right to.

"Son. Of. A. Bitch!" Aurora snarled, her vehemence slightly muffled by metal, porcelain, and wood.

"What are you doing?" Suzaku asked quietly. Aurora jerked like he'd kicked her, the distinct thunk of bone against metal making him wince companionably. When she twisted to peer up at him, rubbing the crown of her head, she frowned, then dove back under the sink. It had been a quick expression, but Suzaku thought he detected the flicker of guilt.

"Fixing it. Drain was getting a little sluggish." One hand whipped out, snatching up some cousin of a wrench before disappearing again.

"I didn't know you knew how to fix plumbing," Suzaku said conversationally, contenting himself with the peek-a-boo of her elbows, careful to look at nothing else inflammatory. Aurora just grunted.

"Just because I know how doesn't mean I like it."

"Then why not just have someone else do it?"

Aurora's movements stopped, and for a moment, she simply laid still. Then she wriggled down a little until she was out from under the sink, gazing up at him.

"Because I deserve it for being nasty to you earlier."

He could almost see it; a recalcitrant toddler Aurora owning up to a mistake with the bravery she'd learned from her older brothers, voice trembling even as she lifted her chin and tears filmed her starry eyes. She wasn't crying now, nor did her voice tremble. But there was still an aspect of innocent repentance that tugged at Suzaku. Even now, she could no doubt see that his eyes were still red, but said absolutely nothing about it. So he just crouched down, draping his arms along the top of the cabinet door.

"You weren't nasty," he said simply. She'd driven him into an emotional corner, but there was a part of him screaming less brutally with the realizations Aurora had dragged out of him. He wouldn't go so far as to thank her for it, but he didn't feel that she deserved punishment, either. Sitting up so they were separated by only a few inches of air and a panel of wood, Aurora looped her arms over her raised knees.

"But I didn't need to push that hard. I'm sorry."

Simple and sincere. Suzaku returned the sentiment in kind.

"Forgiven. But it's all right. Really."

She looked at him a long time with that trademark angle of her head. Finally, she must have seen something that satisfied her. Still, Suzaku was more than stunned when she leaned slightly forward and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

"OK." Just as quickly, she was under the sink again, clanking away. "Why don't you start some tea? Dinner's still a long ways away."

Mutely, Suzaku slowly stood, warmth and shock humming through his system. And just when he thought he'd pretty much figured her out, Aurora went and did something like this. Flicking a finger over the skin of his cheek still tingling from her lips, he glanced down at her again, then smiled. He wasn't even quite sure why.

Later, after a dinner of marinated chicken, fluffy, buttery potatoes, and salad enough to feed a rabbit army, Suzaku and Aurora stood side by side at the sink. Aurora was almost up to her elbows in soapy water, while Suzaku rinsed and gave a cursory dry before setting the dishes in the drying rack. After getting her teeth into the plumbing, Aurora had expanded her scope. He didn't understand hardly any of it, but the gist of it was the dishwasher was getting the night off. A sudden flash of insight had gone through him when Aurora ran over the summary of her under-sink work earlier. This must have been how people felt when he'd bombarded them with KMF tech back in the day. Lost, confused, and, in Aurora's case, a little frightened by the sheer, swerving speed of her articulation.

Not that she was talking now. The speakers of the music dock were cranked, and even standing shoulder to shoulder with her, Suzaku could barely make out her humming along to the music. The hopping, jouncy beat of the song currently playing was impossible to resist, and Suzaku found himself tapping a toe along with it as they neared the end of the chore. That, of course, wasn't going to suffice for Aurora.

Just as the lyrics said it, Aurora threw her hands up in the air, raining water droplets and tiny, filmy bubbles down on them both. But before Suzaku could splutter a protest, Aurora bounced the side of her hips against his rhythmically, grinning and pointing at him like a ham. When he didn't respond, too rocked by her pelvis hitting his, Aurora snatched his wet hand in her soapy one and tugged them around, facing the empty kitchen like it was a dancefloor at a club and she was about to destroy.

Somehow both sexy and silly, Aurora moved like a dream and grinned like a goof. His hand still locked in hers, it took Suzaku a moment to realize that her tugging meant she wanted him to dance with her. Not necessarily as a pair, but just to dance together on the same floor to the same upbeat song. Feeling utterly ridiculous, Suzaku couldn't have become any more inflexible.

Aurora, however, was nothing if not determined. Even as the singer told them once, told them twice, Suzaku couldn't do it. He certainly didn't feel like dynamite.

Taking pity on him, Ban had apparently decided to show him how it was done. Delighted that at least one of her crew was cooperating, Aurora turned, Ban obligingly leaping up to drop his front paws in her palms, the two of them bounding and spinning like a couple of happy loons. Smiling despite himself, Suzaku didn't notice when he unbent enough to rock to the beat.

This time, Aurora took his hands when she threw hers up in the air, tilted her head back as she sang along. When he caught sight of the long, exposed column of her throat, something in Suzaku cracked. Maybe it was his mind; he was fairly certain that he was no longer in control of himself when, on the next line, he tossed his head back, and joined his voice to hers.

It was more bellowing than actual singing, but when Aurora's eyes met his, Suzaku was struck by how delighted she looked. So delighted, that how could he not dance with her?

It was spastic, loud, and fun. It was so incredibly far removed from the austere trainings they'd both received for movement to music, but that was the best thing about it. Their athleticism sometimes created maneuvers that were far from graceful, but they had a blast pulling them off. Suzaku felt a little drunk on the stupid happiness that surged through him, the music too loud for guilt to pierce through. For the first time in what seemed eons, Suzaku celebrated.

When the song ended, Aurora loped over to pause the player, leaving them in a quiet that seemed alive. She looked back at him with a grin that could have lit a cavern.

"That was awesome!" she cried, nearly literally knocking Suzaku off his feet when she launched into his arms. It was more than instinct that had him tightening his arms around her, bringing her in close. He wasn't sure what it was, but at the moment, Suzaku couldn't quite bring himself to care. Aurora was warm as the setting sun, she smelled like lavender and life, and there was no other place in the world he wanted to be.

When they mutually drew slightly apart, Suzaku couldn't help but be intrigued by the pink that smudged her cheeks. Now that was an intriguing puzzle; what in the world could make the worldly Aurora Sterling blush?

Chapter Text

"And dip. Good. Skip the lift, and… Nice. Drama, drama, drama, make that eye contact heavy. Now spin. Throw your head back, like you're king of the universe. Swirling skirts, feel the music swell and… Down!"

Breathing a little heavily, Suzaku focused on keeping his muscles still at the climax of their choreography. At the abrupt end of the song, he had dropped Aurora into a dramatic dip, the only things keeping her from hitting the floor Suzaku's arm hooked around her waist and the hand she had pressed lightly to the back of his neck. It was a difficult position for both of them, Aurora nearly parallel to the ground and Suzaku just shy of kneeling. He felt the burn of muscles along his back and through his legs, but instead diverted his attention to keeping Aurora balanced. She took quick stock of their finishing positions, then flashed her eyes to his. The beaming smile she gave him nearly made Suzaku bobble her.

"Perfect. Kick ass, Suzaku." She could see him begin to say something in response, working his way past the embarrassed, pleased flush that rode along his skin just under the color of exertion. But the sudden sound of slow applause had both of their gazes snapping to the window. Any other man might have dropped her, startled out of a tenuous, challenging hold. But not Suzaku.

No, he yanked himself, and her by extension, upright, spinning on his heel slightly so that his broad shoulders shielded Aurora. His arm was still around her waist, the palm of his other hand settling on her shoulder. Blinking a little from the blood rushing to her head, it took Aurora a moment, but she quickly caught on. Instinctively, and with little thought to consequence or reason, Suzaku was protecting her.

Not that she needed defending, and certainly not from Kendra and Chandler. But his driving need to protect made her normally strong spine a little soft. Trying to regain her footing, Aurora peered over Suzaku's shoulder, which rapidly lowered at the sight of friends. Chandler was draped over the window sill, a camera in one of his hands lowering away from his face, Kendra next to him still applauding in a staid manner, the twinkle in her eyes belying the severity of her expression.

"Solidly done. I'd give you a high seven."

Gently disentangling herself from Suzaku, Aurora strode over, dropping her hands on her hips.

"What!? That was a high eight, low 9, at the very least. Did you see the way he moved? It took a little while, but when Suzaku gets into it, he's a natural. Intense, focused, and vivid. As for me, well. It's common knowledge what I'm capable of."

Clearing his throat, disrupting Aurora's disproportionate praise of his skill, Suzaku tucked his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, striding over to join the impromptu party at the window.

"What she's trying to say is, 'Thank you, Kendra.' What brings you by? And…"

"Why are you outside?" Aurora finished. Chandler just shrugged, raising the camera to his eye again, clicking the shutter, then lowering it with a grin at their disconcerted expressions.

"We're decorating the nursery. Wanted to come out here, get some inspiration. The battle over colors has been downright ugly."

"That's overstating things. I don't see what's wrong with yellow."

Before Aurora or Suzaku could comment, Chandler's brows furrowed, and he twisted to look at his wife, still braced on the window sill.

"It's a bloody ugly color, that's what's wrong with it. I don't care what dessert you name it after, the kid'll get jaundice by mere suggestion."

"As a doctor, I feel fairly confident in diagnosing you as a raging idiot for that last comment."

"Fine, I'm an idiot. Doesn't mean I'm going to let you slather some revolting color over the nursery's walls. I'd prefer not to have my eyeballs seared out of my head every time I want to see my baby."

"Your baby?" Kendra asked with quiet emphasis that had the immediate air pressure going up a few degrees. Suzaku stood in petrified shock as the argument raged. He'd never seen them so… divided. And over paint colors?

"Besides, I don't see what's wrong with blue. It can be gender neutral if we damn well want it to be," Chandler continued.

"Because the color you want is downright depressing, and you may not be able to deal with a little cheerful brightness, but I don't want to be driven to tears every time I go to nurse or change a diaper. The fact that I have you as a husband is bad enough," Kendra snapped back with scathing venom. Unlike Suzaku, Aurora was struggling to swallow back laughter. She knew that a simple spat over colors was hardly an indication as to the health of their marriage. The fact that they'd come out here together as a compromise was indication enough that the core of their bond was still as strong as ever.

"What about green?" Aurora managed to choke out around the giggles clogging her throat. Kendra threw a furious glance her way, and it was all she could do not to howl in laughter.

"You'd think that would be the obvious solution, but this moron is set on the kind of chemical green you only see on plastic Christmas trees. He whines about yellow, yet suggests some sick cousin of bile."

"It's bright, it's cheerful. I thought that's what you wanted, darling." Somehow, Chandler managed to sneer the endearment.

Aurora, however, didn't miss that fact that he remained draped over the window sill. It would be nothing to straighten and loom over Kendra, using his height in what would be an ultimately useless attempt to intimidate his shorter, but much more aggressive, wife. In fact, she'd seen him do so, in the two ugliest fights Aurora had ever witnessed between the pair. About, of all things, toilet paper quality and a present for Bannock. She'd learned it was a pattern for Kendra and Chandler; the less serious the issue, the less inhibition they had griping at each other about it. Proportionately, the more pressing a problem, the tighter they grew. During the early days of Suzaku's injury and recovery, Chandler's support of his wife had been resolute and steadfast. In the days of the fallout from his family's exile, Kendra had been a stalwart source of strength for Chandler. And during the collapse, they'd functioned as practically a single entity. Aurora had come to understand that they picked their battles when they meant nothing. Almost as if they wanted to get ruffled feathers out of the way when it was safe to do so, so that there was no question as to their commitment to each other when it really mattered. It also proved to be easier to forgive and laugh off when they raged at each other about paint chips instead of what to do upon discovering that Kendra was pregnant. That was a far more serious issue that Aurora had every certainty they'd discussed with calm, clear heads and strong, loving hearts.

That was not, however, the order of the day. They were glaring at each other now, Kendra with that mulish set to her jaw that could intimidate sharks and Chandler flashing the snarling spark in his eyes that meant every verbal blow would be returned in kind with a sneering strike of his own, made all the more frustrating by the irreverent humor behind it. Aurora rarely intervened in these tussles. She knew they were by and large harmless, and she only interceded when hours had passed and a solution was nowhere in sight. Eating with a feuding Kendra and Chandler was an unpleasant experience. Though, at this point, there was no need to try and pry them apart yet.

But as she glanced out of the corner of her eye, she saw how stiff and troubled Suzaku looked, even though he tried his damndest to hide it. His shoulders had drawn up again, his eyes were almost… wounded. At first, she couldn't understand why. Eventually, though, it dawned on Aurora. Kendra and Chandler had likely come to symbolize the ultimate mated pair in Suzaku's mind – they certainly were in hers. They were an example of what could happen when love beat the odds and people made the choice to stay instead of go. And without the precedent she had, he likely assumed this tiff was quite serious. It just proved how unexposed Suzaku was to the way normal people lived and loved together. Fighting was inevitable, even in the most solid of relationships. She tried to imagine how she would feel if a favorite aunt and uncle, well known for their affection and loyalty to each other and having never witnessed a fight, started snarling in front of her.

It would be extremely distressing, she could admit. Conflict made Suzaku uncomfortable enough, and between two people he held in such high regard? It certainly accounted for the way he was almost pleading with his eyes for them to stop. Sighing, Aurora patted his arm before leaning a hand on the window sill next to Chandler's elbow.

"That's enough, you bruisers. Let me change my shoes, then we'll come out and help you. You're lucky enough to have an artist here, and I'm sure his damn fine eye for color will settle this. Now quit growling at each other like wolves over a measly bone and come meet us by the kitchen." With that, she spun around, latching a hand on Suzaku's wrist and dragging him out of the studio with her. He waited until they were out in the hallway before slipping his hand from hers.

"Please tell me you weren't talking about me when you said that stuff about an artist."

Aurora just glanced at him as she untied her dancing shoes.

"Well, I certainly wasn't talking about me. Although I have a very good eye for color, so I can cover for you if you're not up to it. If you do want to go, however, I suggest you change your shoes. If you want to keep using them in the studio, then you'll need to keep them far away from dirt and grass." With that, Aurora padded away on bare feet, her fingers hooked over the back of her pretty black heels as she carried them into the kitchen. Grumbling in a near silent mutter under his breath, Suzaku followed, toeing out the sleek black sneakers and exchanging them for the sturdy boots that lived by the kitchen door. Aurora tugged on her own pair, a little incongruous with her rippling burgundy skirt and neat white blouse. Somehow, though, she still managed to look sleek and lovely, and Suzaku followed her out into the sunshine where the bickering married couple waited.

After picking his way through a conversation mined with insults, he finally managed to figure out that Kendra and Chandler had decided to come here and take pictures in an attempt to find a color they could both agree on, since the fans from the paint store had done nothing but set off sniping matches. Suzaku gently broached the subject of color theory, which Kendra analyzed nearly to death and Chandler just snorted at and claimed that he worked by feel, not theory. Even though he functioned much the same way, Suzaku was frustrated that the comment merely served to give Kendra the incentive to begin her next volley of snotty comments.

It was Aurora who managed to herd them all over the wall, encouraging them to go on a version of her and Suzaku's walks and seeing what they could find by way of inspiration. The field trip served in several capacities. One was exactly as Aurora had said – some of the best colors could be found in nature, and Ireland was one of the most richly painted landscapes the world had to offer. It also managed to wear the combatants out a little bit, and get them separated from their sparring partner. Without conferring with each other before hand, Suzaku and Aurora managed to separately steer the to-be parents in the same direction.

Although they preferred strong colors to match their strong personalities, Kendra and Chandler were eventually talked into considering pastels. Suzaku spoke to Kendra in a more technical aspect, using what little he'd gleaned from the books Aurora had gifted to him in Galway. While Aurora wheedled Chandler around his aversion to what he called "wimpy colors." Bannock, who had suddenly appeared from his patrols around the barn, lowered the angst meter by his mere presence, a happy innocent that softened even Kendra's concrete hard jawline.

Eventually, a truce was reached. Kendra was a little more reluctant to capitulate than her diplomat husband, but she was eventually persuaded to accept the pale mint green Suzaku had carefully suggested. Chandler sorted through some of the pictures he'd taken on the camera's viewer, his wife at his elbow, frowning contemplatively at the images he used for examples.

Holding their breaths, Suzaku and Aurora met under the spreading branches of a nearby ash tree, moving with unnecessary quiet. He was loathe to break the careful cease-fire emerging, and she didn't want to see all her good work and fast talk go to waste. Eventually, though, they were pleased to watch Chandler shift to allow his wife to move in under his arm. It took a breathlessly long time for Kendra to unbend enough to snuggle against her husband's side, but both Suzaku and Aurora breathed a sigh of relief when she relented. Beaming in triumph, she hooked her arm over Suzaku's shoulders.

"About time. We do damn fine work."

They grinned at each other, too absorbed in their success and the way their eyes gleamed to notice Chandler look their way, nudge Kendra, then raise the camera to his eye and snap a picture.

What had started as a rushed attempt to prevent bloodshed between spouses morphed into an adventurous wandering that last several hours. The quartet rambled over the hills, burning the last of the tension off into the wide, achingly blue ribbon of sky through green, green fields and hushed, lush glens.

Aurora and Kendra watched with a female indulgence as Suzaku and Chandler eyed a rock outcropping, Chandler's bold attempts to draw Suzaku into a challenge largely met by cool indifference. Even twenty feet away, however, Aurora knew that Suzaku was weakening. Well, it wasn't that tall, and he most likely climbed better than she did. Kendra lowered herself on a log with a sigh, and Aurora joined her, calmly rubbing her friend's back as they watched the men's antics.

"So what do you think?" Aurora eventually asked, keeping her voice low despite the distance.

"About Suzaku? To be honest, he could have started combat work a week ago. But I guess your sentiment has rubbed off on me. I'm as reluctant to see him go nearly as much as you are." The doctor didn't need to look over to see the flicker in Aurora's eyes. A flutter of unease tickled Kendra's throat, and she twisted to look more closely at the pensive blond.

"Aurora, you're not…?" Stupid question, made in search of answer she didn't really want. But Aurora just gave her an odd, frowning sort of smile.

"What? Of course not. You know I'm incapable. Besides, he's my friend. The best I've pretty much ever had, present company excluded. Of course I'll be sad to see him go. You don't have to tell me; I know we're already on borrowed time. All I can do now is keep him as safe as I can, for as long as I can. And when he goes, I'll wish him luck, and tell him to keep a weather eye out for assassins."

Kendra swallowed the confident lie she was fed, knowing it for what it was but believing that Aurora could fool the both of them.

"And to keep up the hydration. The guy doesn't drink enough water for shit."

Aurora just chuckled, both of them watching as Suzaku tried to hold himself off from Chandler's jabs and jeers. He couldn't hold out forever, though.

"What exactly started that little tussle today? I mean, paint colors? Really?"

Kendra snorted at Aurora's teasing question.

"It was probably just a manifestation of nerves, more than anything. We're worried about closing on a new place to live, and-"

"What?" Aurora snapped. Kendra looked at her closely out of the corner of her eye, a little surprised by the flaring alarm moving across her friend's face.

"We're moving. Both the clinic and where we live."

"But why?"

Mirroring Aurora's patented gesture, Kendra tilted her head consideringly. She had thought Aurora would take the news with her usual shrug and glib rejoinder. Clearly, she'd assumed incorrectly, considering the panic swirling in Aurora's mercurial eyes.

"Because, babe. Our patients have outgrown the current clinic. We would have had to expand before the year was out anyway. Not to mention, I don't want to raise this one in a clinic," she murmured, patting her belly, the babe stirring but still slumberous from the nap on the way over. "It's one thing for a group of badass refugees; quite another for my baby. We've found a new place to set up shop, and are close to settling on a new place to live." It took her a moment. Comforting physical pain, she was good at. Emotional hurt, however, she was a little clumsier with. Especially with Aurora.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think you would mind. There's no question that you can stay with us. I'm going to desperately need your help with the new Andrews, and will be an unbearable bitch if I won't have you around to keep me sane." Kendra wanted to talk about the plans they'd been hatching; the staff she wanted to hire, the changes she wanted to make for the building they'd chosen for the new clinic. But it was easy to see that she'd mistepped with this casual mention of actions already taken. Carefully taking Aurora's hand in hers, she began a halting apology all the more sincere for its awkwardness.

"I'm sorry, Aurora. We're still a tribe, just in a different cave. It'll be waiting for you whenever you get back, as will the position of assistant director at the new clinic." She glanced over to where Suzaku had idly claimed the top of the rock formation, struggling against looking smug as he innocently goaded Chandler the last five feet. "However soon that'll be."

"Don't worry. I'll be back before August."

Kendra looked back to the see the grim pain move across Aurora's eyes like bruised thunderclouds, before dissolving in the brisk wind of forced cheer.

"Can't wait to have a crack at the new digs. Since you two become a couple of ninnies over some paint."

"I'm no ninny. Just because Chandler got his panties in a wad-"

"Oh, there was much in the way of wadding, and your husband wasn't the only culprit."

Kendra glared, then softened. At least she could claim the culprit of hormones for her less than graceful behavior earlier.

"Maybe. We're just going through a selfish phase right now."

"You're not the only one," Aurora murmured under her breath. "Part of me wants to scream and cry at the thought of him going back into the fray. Suzaku thinks he has no choice, but he hasn't the first clue what his choices actually are, and what's waiting for him back in Britannia certainly isn't the only one. But wanting him to stay here, stay safe and whole, that's just selfish. Because it would kill him, just as thoroughly as a sniper's bullet. And nothing I do can change the fact that he still has a long way to go, and can only travel that path back where the mask is waiting for him."

Not so relaxed and resigned after all, Kendra thought to herself as she stroked a hand over Aurora's hair, glimmering like gilt in sunlight softened by distant clouds. Not so untouched by the loss bearing down on her like a tidal wave. Medical duty had compelled Kendra to care for her patient to the absolute best of her ability. But it was affection for both Suzaku and Aurora that had stilled her tongue until directly asked about whether or not he was capable of sparring again. He was doing beautifully, and she could no longer deny that Suzaku's recovery was nearly complete.

As he hopped to the turf, shrugging at Chandler's loud, scathing compliments of his physical skill, Kendra patted Aurora's shoulder.

"You're not selfish. And if you are, you're not alone in that. Hippocrates would be smacking me for letting him go as long as I have. Can't quite feel bad about it, though," she said pragmatically, standing with Suzaku's assistance, who loped over as soon as Kendra made a move to rise.

Aurora couldn't hear what Kendra said to Suzaku – whatever it was had a smile moving over his face like the liquid spill of dawning sunlight over desert. Turning what was starkly beautiful into something gorgeous enough to move the heart, simply by seeing it. Pressing a loose fist to the ache under her breastbone, Aurora swore to herself that no matter how little time she had left with him, she'd make Suzaku smile as much as she could. The man had years of smiles lost to sorrow to make up for.

As they made their leisurely way back to the house, Kendra leaned close to Aurora's ear, murmuring under her breath as Chandler and Suzaku took turns pointlessly tossing sticks for an indulgent, unmotivated Bannock. Despite his leaner build, Suzaku had the better throw. Not that it really mattered, since the dog refused to chase them.

"I'll leave the good news to you. Tell him at your discretion."

But as Kendra straightened and Aurora met her friend's eyes, she could read what was in the doctor's gaze left unspoken. But don't wait too long – clock's ticking. Kendra lengthened her stride, starting to showcase that stereotypical waddle, to catch up with her husband. Aurora dawdled behind, watching the three of them, Kendra threading her arm through Chandler's after punching his shoulder and turning her attention to Suzaku, who still watched them a little warily but laughed genuinely at Chandler's joking complaint.

There they were. The three – well, three and a half – people who meant more to Aurora than her own life. She wouldn't just kill for them; she'd die for them.

As Ban trotted to her side, having grown bored of the boys' attempts to draw him into a game of chase, Aurora rested her hand on his withers, gazing down at his patient brown eyes, glittering dark in his mask of black markings.

"Make it count," she whispered under her breath. Scratching along the side of his neck and just behind the cup of Ban's ear, Aurora crooked a smile.

"Bezhat," she murmured. Throwing sticks, toys, treats – none of them could entice Bannock to use his natural speed. But the Russian word for run did what none of that could; with one glance back at Aurora, with what could almost be termed as a devilish glint in his eyes, Ban took off, launching so hard that clods of earth flew. He blazed past the trio ahead like a strike of smoky lightning, the almost alien stretch and stride of his body, displayed at a speed that coiled in his lazy bones and was so rarely called upon, dragging everyone to a stunned halt. After goggling at the dog until he crested the hill and briefly disappeared, Chandler turned back to Aurora, his eyes wide and his brows high.

"What the hell did you say to him?"

Aurora just shrugged as she strolled towards them, falling into place at Suzaku's side.

"I told him to run."

"Really?" Chandler asked archly. Suzaku just smiled quietly.

"He definitely didn't do that when we told him to run," he said with a lifted brow.

"Maybe you just don't speak Ban's language," Aurora returned coyly. Chandler just rolled his eyes.

"What language does he speak besides food and weirdo?"

"Considering his mom, she could have been speaking to him in Farsi for all we know," Kendra pointed out reasonably. She threw a small sidelong smile at Aurora, linguistically gifted enough to be in on the game.

Companionably hooking her arm through Suzaku's, Aurora watched the horizon, waiting for the dark arrow of her dog to return. He would always come back to her. What more could she ask?

"Bullshit."

Aurora looked over from her position at the stove, smiling at the bantering brewing at the kitchen table as she stirred a sauce for the tiny new potatoes waiting in a casserole dish.

"Quit being an ass, Chandler."

"Being right doesn't make me an ass. And how the hell am I not going to call you on four queens? Are you crazy, pulling a stunt like that this late in the game?"

"It's not a stunt if I'm right," she persisted, but Aurora could see the tiny crease between Kendra's brows that betrayed a lie. If she could see it, then Chandler sure as hell could.

"Maybe. Except you're not. I call bullshit, my dove. So flip 'em and face your fate."

Chandler was, of course, correct. The man was a bull shark when it came to cards. In a competitive attempt to catch up with her husband's diminishing hand, Kendra had tried to pass two jacks, a six, and a three off as four queens. If it had been successful, she would have been only three cards behind Chandler and five ahead of Suzaku. Instead, the gamble had her adding more than a dozen cards to her hand. Glaring at her husband and playfully fuming, Kendra gathered up the substantial pile that had been building like a time bomb from the table.

In consolation, Chandler kissed her cheek. Two turns later, he laid down his final card, winning the game. Insistent and competitive, Kendra demanded that they hash out second place. Aurora knew that heap of cards was burning like coals in her hot little hands. Suzaku, however, just smiled innocently and agreed. He'd been playing cautiously and cleanly, causing Chandler a few bad moments when he'd made a couple mistaken calls on what had turned out to be anything but bluffs. Aurora indulgently watched the play-by-play as she drizzled her marinade over the potatoes.

In celebration of her favorite three and a half people, Aurora had decided to pull out all the stops for dinner. She hadn't known exactly how to pass off the extravagance of the glazed ham purchased yesterday when she'd bought it, but this proved to be the perfect opportunity. Because this was a meal made in honor of her tribe, Aurora refused all offers of help, which meant, in Suzaku's case, the rebuffs had to be firm, adamant, and repeated multiple times.

Finally, the trio had settled into a game of Bullshit, gleefully suggested by Chandler, who dominated at any game. Be it cards, billiards, hell, even dominoes, the man annihilated. In another life, he could have made a fortune, and a killer reputation, as a professional poker player. Now, he simply contented himself with watching his wife and friend chip away at their hands, both naturally cautious and candid. It was when Kendra let her competitive instincts get the better of her that she faltered. Steadily slow and brutally honest were tactics far better suited to her personality.

As for Suzaku, he was a better liar than Chandler would have given him credit for. He had that Boy Scout innocence in his eyes, and sometimes it was tough to tell if he was faking beneath that façade, or if it was his natural tendencies surfacing. The man's mask was, he had to admit, impeccable. But his heart wasn't in the deception, and it only surfaced during times of desperation. He'd only caught Suzaku in two bluffs, and only because they had been ruthlessly outed by the numbers in his own hand. Otherwise, he knew the guy had slipped more than a few through, even though they didn't play the children's version and crowed "Peanut Butter" whenever a falsehood stood up to a turn's tension and passed.

As the next track of Aurora's ubiquitous music clicked on, Chandler perked up at the recorded applause of the intro. Sending a wicked grin at his wife, Chandler leapt up from where he was draped over a chair, turning towards Aurora with extravagantly outflung hands.

"Aurora, darling! Dance with me!"

Suzaku settled back in his chair, dividing his attention between Kendra's single-minded drive to deplete her hand and the show about to commence in the kitchen. He was a little puzzled with Aurora gave Chandler a smiling wince as she straightened from sliding the potatoes into the oven, going into his arms almost reluctantly as he counted off the numbers in the song on his fingers. Since when was Aurora anything less than delighted to dance?

Apparently when her partner was awful. The song may have had "mambo" in the title, but Suzaku wasn't quite sure exactly what sort of dance Chandler was trying to lead Aurora through. But they just grinned at each other, and proceeded to enjoy themselves. The song bounced and piped, extolling the merits of having seven different ladies as Chandler dragged Aurora across the floor, jouncing her hand around like her arm was the handle to an old water pump.

Kendra whistled in appreciation, calling out encouragement even as she dropped three sevens. Suzaku called her bullshit, cause for much fierce scowling and muttering, before commenting on the couple carousing over the tile.

"Chandler's…"

"Atrocious. Make's absolutely no sense, considering he was born and raised a noble and probably had to suffer under the best tutors money could buy, but he can't dance to save his life. Trust me, Aurora's tried to teach him, and if she can't, then no one can. So he just enjoys being awful, and plays it off like a joke when it suits him." She spoke in brisk tones, but her golden eyes warmed like suns as she watched her husband's awkward attempts to spin Aurora. Despite being comfortably taller than her, he still didn't lift his arm up enough, and Aurora's forehead bounced off his forearm before they giggled and completed the halting turn.

Suzaku realized that Chandler did this for Kendra. He played and gamboled, utterly amenable to making a fool of himself, as long as it made his sober wife laugh. Even after snapping like brawling terriers, they loved each other, irrevocably. It was lovely to see, to remember and understand, as much as his limited experience allowed.

The two of them did manage to clap once, then twice, in time with the song, but even Aurora's talent couldn't make it appear like anything other than a game. Suzaku couldn't quite stifle the laughter bubbling in his throat when they wiggled their butts in unison, winking heartily at their cheering audience. By the time the singer gave his last roar, Chandler was attempting to dip Aurora, his strength keeping her from hitting the floor, but his complete lack of form making it look more like a bent-over bear hug than a dance maneuver.

As they broke apart, Chandler panting hard for show, Aurora fanning herself, Kendra and Suzaku set down their cards to applaud. It was pleasant to watch Chandler, athletic and strong and wholly without rhythm, swagger over to his wife and bend down to press a kiss first to her smiling mouth and then to the thick raven hair at the crown of her head. Reluctant to break the moment, Suzaku laid down his final two cards without saying anything. Kendra, however, was far too eagle-eyed to let it pass.

"Sevens?"

Suzaku just nodded, trying to stifle the smile tugging at his mouth. After all, Chandler had already wiped the floor with them. Kendra frowned at him, then down at the pile of cards before her husband chuckled and ruffled her hair. He wasn't sure if she cursed her husband's treatment of her hair or her inevitable loss.

"Let it go, pretty girl. Suzaku here's got you beat – game over. So why don't you show us how it's done?"

Still trying not to chuckle at Kendra's expression – that couldn't be a pout, could it? – it took Suzaku a moment to comprehend what Chandler was suggesting.

"What?" he croaked, clinging to ignorance. The next track had started, clapping again. But this was rhythmic, a distinctly Latin feel before the lyrics began. He looked over to Aurora, who caught his eye with a grin that glimmered clever appeal, holding out her hands to him in invitation. Even as he recoiled deeper into his chair, Chandler appeared behind him, nudging Suzaku, chair and all, forward.

"Go on. Redeem my abyssmal performance, and remind Aurora what us men are capable of."

Kendra just rolled those vulpine eyes, but whatever crisp witticism she shot at her husband was lost to the faint buzzing in Suzaku's ears. Oh, God. A performance, in front of an audience. There were so many horrible memories to pick from, how could he choose just one to subside to paralysis under the weight of?

Then the warm pressure of Aurora's hands closed around his, and she hauled him bonelessly to his feet. He didn't stay limp long – embarrassment had Suzaku stiffening when Aurora snuggled close, her hands going to their places clasped in his and lightly pressed to his shoulder with such natural ease, he almost didn't notice. Her scent, her heat, her very presence, washed over him like a wave of tropical water.

"I promise, it's easy. Just having fun. No pressure," she whispered in his ear as she began a distinctive salsa sway. Suzaku met her eyes, and gave it everything he had to follow her advice. To just listen to the music, watch the way her eyes shimmered like the ocean, see the laugh flicker across her face as she gently sang along, seamlessly translating the Spanish peppered throughout the song. One of the languages she was fluent in, he remembered.

Chandler had commandeered Suzaku's seat upon booting him out of it, taking Kendra's hand in his out of loving habit, their earlier discord already forgotten. He had just intended to give Aurora a bit of entertainment after tolerating his sub-par stab at fun earlier. He was no dancer, but that didn't mean he couldn't recognize it when he saw one. Aurora, he knew. Suzaku, that was a bit of surprise.

He'd seen the very tail end of their choreographed piece earlier, part of the agreement for Suzaku's physical recovery. But this was different. This was an impromptu game in the kitchen, in the light of day with full awareness of an audience. And, after initially balking, Suzaku tumbled into the rhythm with admirable grace.

Chandler wasn't blind to the beautiful pair the two of them made. Both lean as panthers, blessed with handsome facial structures and stunning, jewel-toned eyes. Their faces were close, their eyes intently locked even as they smiled and played. He had no idea what kind of dance they were moving through with sinful elegance, but it involved a great deal of rolling hips and steady shoulders. Suzaku spun Aurora out and brought her seamlessly back in, Chandler ruefully observing how he lifted his arm up enough to give her clearance to turn under. The guy had moves, that much was obvious. Maybe still a little rusty and cautious, but serious and focused enough to bring an earnestness to Aurora's polished maneuvers.

It was hard to pinpoint the moment when the fun little dance in the kitchen turned into something more. Maybe it had been that way all along – probably impossible to tell. But it wasn't just intensity that shimmered in the air between Aurora and Suzaku as they swung out and pulled in tight again. It was an attraction heightened by the sensual song and dance, one that Chandler had initially assessed as puppy love at best. He could see now just how wrong he'd been. Prior experience established the sort of lusty desire Aurora was capable of; what took Chandler aback was the bone-deep passion that radiated off Suzaku like flames. Still waters, indeed.

When Suzaku pressed the hand he held lightly against his chest and Aurora rested their temples together, it became such a picture of tender longing that Chandler almost jumped when Kendra's fingers flexed on his, he was so caught up in it. Their eyes met, and it was with dismay that he realized exactly the sort of gun his friends were under.

Chandler would be the first to admit that he was a hopeless romantic. In that moment, as Aurora and Suzaku danced together with more talent than he could ever dream to muster, he placed all his bets on those two making it. Hell, he liked long odds. And they didn't get much longer than a half-breed exiled princess/retired fixer and a supposedly dead former Knight of the Round/current Knight of the Empress. He beamed at his wife, who watched the pair with significantly less hope than he did. Man, Kendra was so cute when she was all grumpy and realistic.

As Suzaku extravagantly dipped Aurora with considerably more skill than he had, Chandler tried to cough back the dreamy sigh welling up from his chest. When they slowly straightened, their hands lingering, soft touches like the brush of butterfly wings, he failed.

After dinner had been devoured with relish, the group migrated to the parlor, where the easy, drifting small talk of old friends dominated. Suzaku wasn't even sure how it came up, but there was the off-hand mention that Aurora had magic fingers. His indulgent smile earned him a challenging gaze.

"You think he's joking?" Aurora nudged, and Suzaku realized that her pride had reared its large, shiny head. Still, he couldn't quite resist poking.

"Wasn't he?" he asked innocently enough. Aurora's brow quirked, and without looking around, she held out a hand to Chandler.

"Coin, please."

The man scoffed in disgust.

"Why do I have to give you a coin? Go get one from the kitchen."

Leaning forward to look around Kendra, who sat quiet, observant, and occasionally mordant as she rubbed steady circles over her belly, Aurora's brow went even higher.

"Because your comment started it. So pay up, buttercup."

Grumbling with the long-winded determination of a man hard-pressed, Chandler hitched up a hip, digging out a large silver coin from his pocket. He tossed it negligently Aurora's way, who caught it like a cobra.

Suzaku then watched, fascinated and reluctantly stirred, by the way Aurora walked the coin over the backs of her fingers. With casual ease, she passed it from one hand to the other, only to open the supposed receiving hand to reveal it as empty. Before he had time to glance at her other hand, Aurora shot the coin out of her palm, catching it before holding up both hands, innocently open and palms out, to show they were both empty. Just when Suzaku's brows started to furrow, she leaned forward, skimming her fingers through the hair at his temple and tracing the curve of his ear.

He was so distracted by the sizzle of heat that shot down his spine, he could only stare at Aurora's sphinx-like smile as she straightened, displaying the coin she'd seemingly pulled from his ear.

"That thought must have been a doozy if it was worth a whole half-pound." Finally, Aurora flipped the coin into the air. After several seconds, all of their faces tipped up, for the coin had yet to succumb to gravity, having apparently disappeared. Silence reigned for long moments.

"I'm not getting that back, am I?" Chandler asked dryly. Aurora just smiled sunnily.

"Consider it price of admission for the show."

Aurora offered to show Suzaku how to flip the coin, which she mysteriously produced from apparently nowhere, over his knuckles. As they huddled closer, their faces near and their hands linked, Chandler couldn't help grinning at the way their colors heightened, Suzaku more noticeably than Aurora. They giggled like schoolchildren, even as she patiently showed him just how to ripple his dexterous fingers, allowing the coin to cross the back of his hand. Weren't they just bloody adorable?

"It's not a good idea."

A short drive and long flight later, Kendra spoke from where she'd nested under the comforter on their bed. Wiping his chin after spitting out of his mouthful of toothpaste and strolling out of the bathroom, Chandler waited until he climbed in under the blankets with her to respond. At least Kendra's pessimism was dependable.

"I know stripes can be a racy choice, but I wouldn't say these pajamas a bad idea, necessarily."

Nudging her glasses up and smacking his arm with the back of her hand in a single motion, Kendra flipped the page of the patient reports she was perusing without looking over at him.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. I'm talking about Aurora and Suzaku."

Chandler couldn't help the grin.

"Gorgeous together, aren't they? It didn't really occur to me until I saw him as close to healthy as I think we'll get to, but damn, they're a lovely pair."

Kendra looked at him now, setting the papers aside, and Chandler softened at the anguish he saw in his wife's eyes.

"Great. They're gorgeous, lovely, whatever. But what happens to them when he has to go and she has no choice but to stay? It'll tear them to pieces."

Chandler carefully chose his words as he stroked a calming hand over Kendra's inky falls of hair.

"First, there was a whole lot of 'has to' in that sentence. Suzaku isn't required by law to be Zero, and Aurora's smart enough to go anywhere she damn well pleases, price on her head be damned. It wouldn't be easy, but it could be done. If it mattered to them enough."

Kendra's brows fiercely furrowed.

"So you don't mind either watching Aurora likely get herself killed for a man who is possibly incapable or unwilling to return her feelings, or picking up the pieces when she does what's necessary, and it breaks her heart worse than George's death ever could?" Her sharp, breathless words slid off Chandler's back like droplets of water off a duck's feathers. After all, what kind of husband would he be if he couldn't recognize worry and fear in his spouse's voice?

"Darling, you know as well as I do that we don't feel love simply in order to have it returned. And I don't think you're giving them, or us, enough credit. Suzaku will leave – that's inevitable. Even I can admit that they're not ready to dance down the aisle and make a new life together. Too much baggage weighing them down, too many loose ends just waiting to wrap around their throats like a noose. But they have spines of steel – they'll get through it."

"Steel can rust. And it's not their spines I'm worried about," Kendra murmured, running her fingertips over the soft hem of the old hunter green t-shirt she wore as she gazed at him with painfully serious eyes.

"Which is why they have us. We've gotten Aurora through crap before, we can do it again. And while that kind of mileage is a bitch, if Suzaku needs us, he's got us. It's what friends are for."

"I don't want to see either of them get hurt."

It made him smile, that note of regal stubbornness. Well, her origins only confirmed what he knew – Kendra was a queen. His queen.

"They're not our children, Kendra; it's not our call. Come on, babe – life's all about hurting. And I know they've taken too many hits to be indestructible. But I have faith that if they want it bad enough, they'll make it happen. If you ask me, they're just not greedy enough for their own good."

She shrugged his comforting hand away, still determined to discredit the rosy possibility when the harsh reality bore down hard. It was, he knew, a thought process ingrained in his wife from early childhood, and harsh experience.

"I can't just believe it will all be OK. Not when every logical aspect of the scenario dictates that they'll both end up heartbroken, longing for someone they can't have. It's not something either of them can just shrug off. God, Chandler, it could ruin their lives, just when they were starting to really piece it together."

Carefully, he linked his fingers with Kendra's, his grip soft enough to allow her to pull away. Chandler couldn't help the pleasure that moved through him when she didn't, and instead twined her fingers through his.

"Honey, take a look at where we live. Just about anything that's ruined can be rebuilt. If it's the depth of feeling we think it is, then it's not something they're supposed to be able to shrug off. And don't worry about believing. I have plenty of faith for both of us. You're carrying enough." Smiling gently, he ran his palm over the mound of their child.

"You make me sound like an idiot, when every ounce of evidence suggests that you're the moron here."

It should have sounded mean, but he could hear the confusion threading through Kendra's voice.

"Neither of us are idiots. You keep us on track – I keep us happy. Isn't it logical to delegate roles for a party to function as efficiently as possible?"

They snuggled down under the covers together, Kendra tracing nonsense patterns against his chest, before flattening her palm over the steady thump of his heart.

"I was so sure you'd be sick of me by now." She spoke so quietly, sounding close to her actual age. They'd been together long enough for Chandler to understand this was a rare moment of true vulnerability from his Valkyrie wife.

"I told you, didn't I? Promised you, over and over. I'd love you for all my life, with all I've got. Besides, you're the smartest cookie I've ever met, which I find ungodly sexy. How could I ever tire of the most brilliant woman I know?"

Kendra tipped her head back a little, staring into the varied colors of her husband's eyes. Rich green, velvety brown, even flecks of gold, like the sparkle of mica. She hoped their baby had such pretty eyes.

"You're a foolishly optimistic, beautiful man. I love you, you big dummy."

He pressed a kiss to her soft lips, then warmly to her brow before settling her back down.

"They'll be OK. Whichever way it goes, I know they'll be OK."

They all had a choice in this situation, and Chandler knew, definitively, that hope was his. That, more than any religion, was his creed.

Chapter Text

The weekend came, and with it a new direction in Suzaku's exercise regimen. What had been carefully controlled ballroom work became a sort of freestyle challenge that called on more than his sense of rhythm. Aurora had foregone her vintage pumps, flowing skirts, and classy blouses for her lethal black athletic shoes, sleek black leggings that clung to her curves lovingly, and a racerback tank the color of poppies. Taking his cues from Aurora's wardrobe and her fiercely braided hair, Suzaku dressed in his usual shoes, well-fitting athletic pants, and a tank-top so dark green, it was nearly black. He'd thrown the windows open in defense against not only the music's pounding volume, but to allow in the occasional floating breeze, which ribboned against their exertion-heated skin with a distinctly sweet texture.

It took only about twenty minutes for him to realize that he would never be as flexible as Aurora. It wasn't as if Suzaku was exactly stiff-jointed, but that woman seemed to have bones made of water. From there, it rapidly became a contest more of gymnastic skill than dancing, proving Aurora's labor-intensive choice to roll out the black, wall-to-wall floor mats a sound one. It was only when they got to the point of escalating layout twists one after the other that she called for a break, laughing when Suzaku had to throw in one last impossibly difficult twist to his flip.

He stepped over to the bench, arching his back in a stretch as Aurora rolled her shoulder.

"Looking good, Suzaku. I wouldn't have minded taking you into just about any competition with me as a partner in the old days."

As he guzzled water, Suzaku smiled slightly at her words, suddenly coming to attention when a thought occurred to him.

"Does that mean I'm ready to spar?"

Aurora finished wiping her face before crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, tilting her head as she looked him up and down. It was excitement, he assured himself, over the prospect of actual action again that had his skin tingling under her gaze.

"I don't know. The last time you went at it with a girl in hand-to-hand, you got your ass handed to you."

"I didn't resist Kallen," he managed with wounded male pride. "Besides, how the hell do you know about that?"

"One, you told me. Two, it's in your file."

At his furrowed brow, she continued with a chuckle.

"You can't visit a doctor with contact injuries you refuse to explain and think they won't figure it out. Take it from someone who's seen abuse; claiming that you walked into a door doesn't work when you've got knuckle pattern bruising across your cheek."

Suzaku winced faintly at the memory.

"So. Sparring?" he nudged, eager to get off the subject of his humiliation at both his actions with the Refrain and his subsequent punishment from Kallen.

"I suppose if we keep it light, there won't be a problem. I won't go easy on you, but don't worry. I'll restrain myself from cracking your ribs like Kallen did. The girl has a whollop on her, huh?" As she fiddled with her music, Suzaku grimaced with a crooked grin.

"Like a bulldozer."

The piano and distant vocals threw him for a moment, briefly taking his attention from Aurora while she moved into position. But when the heavy bass hit, resounding through the wood and mats under their feet like a thunder clap, Suzaku witnessed a change overtake her that, even though he'd believed, he hadn't fully understood.

She snapped to attention with a whip-like crack, turning metallic eyes on him that had gone from sparking and fun to downright predatory as she slowly began to circle him. Unconsciously, it dragged instinct to the surface, and Suzaku shifted into a combat stance that had been all but woven into his DNA. Closing in fast, she struck swift and hard, driving him back a step by the sheer speed of her movements. Glee lit her eyes like distant artillery fire, and with every swipe and punch, she tested him, gauging her ground. He could see it all happening, see the feral determination written on every line and curve of her face – it was always this way. Suzaku's comprehension of a person was never as clear as when he was locked in combat with them.

And he could finally recognize that Aurora, his Aurora, was a fighter, way down deep in the marrow of her bones. One that invariably used her intense speed and flexibility to her advantage. It was like trying to grab the tail of a leopard – just when you thought you closed in, she spun out of range, turning brutal fangs and claws on you. This was just sparring, so both of them avoided pressure points and fragile areas as much as possible. But Suzaku was realizing that it was a poor choice to persist going easy on her. Easy? That was hilarious. He'd be lucky if he could keep her off of him for the duration of the song. She was of a caliber that he'd never really considered, and he was out of practice and soft.

He could tell that she echoed the rhythms of the song with her movements, but instead of acting as an obvious tell, it granted a stability that Suzaku couldn't quite match. When the music crested, paired with an electronically-altered, deep voice speaking of lightning, Aurora swung close, her eyes lit with challenge and a teasing taunt as she used his shoulder as a springboard to flip over him. He snapped around in time to block the strike she'd would have probably landed on his kidney, but she was accelerating with the mechanical beat, and he was struggling to keep up, still thrown off by the sheer level of skill she was displaying. Aurora wasn't just good – she was deadly.

There were three tell-tale beats regularly throughout the song, and whenever they arose, Aurora moved in time, incorporating a bizarre combination of inhuman flips and aerials with the occasional elbow jab and close-range hit. She didn't have a particular style – her more polished martial arts were set off by brutal brawling strikes, a tight-in blow immediately followed by a rapid, graceful back spring that had Suzaku dodging backward to avoid her foot smacking his nose, and taking her invariably out of range.

Suzaku quickly realized that Aurora was all but impossible to predict, even if she did move in time to the song. It also became violently apparent that she was enjoying herself, and the blood lust streamed through her system stronger than he'd assumed was possible for her.

As for him? As badly as Suzaku wanted to return to something he understood, something he could excel at without much thought, Aurora had proven herself to be the kind of opponent he hadn't faced in a laughably long time. One that rivaled him in skill.

The movements were all the same, familiarly written in his muscles, despite their atrophy. And yet, he couldn't find the elegantly simple measure that had thrummed through his brain during this particular scenario all his life. Instead, there was a static, occasionally peaking with the music or a particularly impressive maneuver by Aurora, but still falling shy of the innate confidence that had carried him through both loss and triumph.

Where was it? The one thing that he was good at, the one thing that proved he was of value? His mouth dried even as he neatly blocked the flash of Aurora's punch for his solar plexus. Suzaku envied her the smooth confidence that sang along every line of muscle, emphasized by the cocky snap she gave in sync with the song before leaping on him like a jungle cat. He managed to deflect her, but he realized with a vague panic that he was losing ground. She was boxing him in with her movements, outpacing and outdistancing him just enough to cut off his retreats.

The rapid-fire blocks and strikes they exchanged nearly settled him again, a reassuring series of movements that had him in tempo with Aurora, neck and neck, locked in tight equality. But just when he thought he'd gained the upper hand, she slipped away, throwing off certainty by suddenly moving out of reach. Before he could regain his balance, however, she was back, matching him, breath for breath and hit for hit. The pressure grew, as she drew closer and closer, her strikes faster and faster, until suddenly, she snagged his wrists, drawing him close until their noses nearly touched.

She mouthed the words of the song, demanding that he hit her with lightning. The proximity, the rapidly escalating tension of the bout, nearly had Suzaku freezing in uncertainty. This tiniest pause allowed her to use his arm as a support beam, launching over it so that she was now suddenly behind him, the most dangerous position to allow any opponent to be in. He kicked out backwards in a desperate, instinctive attempt to gain some space. She leapt back, then suddenly lunged in for a kick that probably would have more than bruised his ribs had it landed. He twisted away, but not before she caught his right wrist, reeling him in and wrapping his arm around her waist in a maneuver not unlike the dances they'd been practicing for days. It rattled him enough that Aurora managed to throw her weight against him and bear them both to the ground.

Before he could blink his way clear of the stars that danced in his vision as his lungs worked to suck back in the air the fall had forcefully expelled, she swiftly and neatly locked him in a judo pin. Left arm clamped down over his wrist, her right arm snugly cradled his neck, her legs splayed out to keep her balanced, and her weight leveraged against his chest. The song slowed to a dream-like cadence, and Suzaku found himself nearly hypnotized by the face she'd brought disconcertingly close.

"Yield?" she asked sweetly. He simply clenched his teeth, struggling to get himself out of the hold and ignore the sizzle racing through his muscles at the closeness off her.

"Do you yield?" Aurora asked again, this time her lips near his ear, close enough that he could feel the pulse thudding under her jaw against his cheek. With an explosive sigh as his lungs heaved – from the exertion, he was certain, not her closeness – he nodded. Aurora was kind enough to slowly loosen her hold, instead of dropping it suddenly and allow the pins and needles to light up his muscles like fireworks. She even ran her palm down his clamped arm in a firm, comforting rub before helping him up to his feet.

"Take a breather. You did beautifully for your first spar in nearly six months."

Somehow, her praise made Suzaku feel even worse, hollow and worthless.

"Thanks," he managed woodenly, turning blindly towards the bench. Jesus. What was wrong with him? He'd just lost against a skinny little girl in hand-to-hand combat. Maybe they should have just taken him out back and shot him instead of investing all that time and effort to help him recover when he couldn't even manage the one thing he was supposed to be good at. He plopped down, wiping the towel Aurora offered over his face as she scrolled through her music player.

"Why do you think I managed to take you down?"

It took Suzaku a moment to bring himself to look up at her. She was still perusing her music collection, simultaneously offering him his water bottle. He took it slowly, watching Aurora slowly regain her breath. Funny, she'd seemed so controlled, so in her element, that he hadn't even noticed the level she must have been pushing herself to. It was some small comfort that he'd made her work for the win.

"I underestimated you," he answered quietly before taking a deep drink of water. She nodded, still not looking at him.

"Yeah, you did. But, more importantly," she said, finally lifting her eyes, starred with silver and sparking with electricity, to his, "you underestimated yourself."

Mutely, he watched her select a song and set the player back into its dock.

"Rest up. And think it over. You're up again for the next song."

She walked away to the punkish violin, and Suzaku considered. He wanted to redeem himself, but without several months of serious training, did he really stand a chance? Suzaku was idly watching Aurora as the singer asked if they were ready before demanding "Let's go!" Aurora executed a perfect front aerial, slamming to the floorboards in time to the punishing introductory beat of the song.

It was an appropriate choice – the make-up of notoriety, the different elements required when developing a skill. And at least half of it was pain. It made Suzaku wonder what Aurora had suffered to reach the level of expertise she displayed. Part dancer, part demon, she could likely annihilate just about any adversary she came across, if her charm didn't disarm them or her information network didn't castrate them first. Deadly, smart, beautiful, compassionate and flawed.

And here, with him, in the quiet Irish countryside. How that possibly made sense in the fabric of the universe, Suzaku had no idea. But as he watched her run through an odd version of katas that were as gorgeous as they were treacherous, he realized he didn't care. With an unfamiliar greed, he gathered the seconds tight, and took careful note.

She liked to pair close-range hits with big maneuvers that took her out of reach of immediate counter-attack. He'd already seen that; but he hadn't noticed the way she carefully scanned, even if there was nothing to see, after landing those big retreats, a tiny falter in her otherwise flawless rhythm. He knew it well enough himself – those grand movements disoriented even the most experienced of practitioners. It was a bitch to get your bearings after a double back handspring. Still, her armor was impressive, the tiniest of chink often compensated for by a kick or punch that could easily down a man of Dalton's constitution. He wouldn't be surprised if her strength rivaled, or surpassed, Kallen's.

Suzaku had managed to keep her from landing anything maiming during their first bout, but she had likely assumed he could do so, considering the power she'd been throwing at him after promising to keep it light. Yeah, right. It was becoming apparent that Aurora's "light" was the average mortal's "threat-of-death strong." If he was being honest, though, Suzaku was no average mortal. As long as he kept his wits about him, didn't become flustered by her speed or saucy attitude, and kept an eye on those minute falters that no one went without, he could likely take her down.

If he didn't let himself become mired in doubt, he realized. Looking back, it was obvious the way he'd defended his left shoulder and arm, like an old man hiding a bruise. The way he'd played it small and safe, and how that particular fear had left him all but defenseless against Aurora's ruthless ability. Objectively, he was more than matched for her, when he wasn't crippled by injuries Kendra had deemed healed. Suzaku didn't have to ask to know that the doctor had already cleared him; Aurora would never have agreed to this little exercise otherwise. So what the hell was he doing, acting like he'd never crossed fists or blades with anyone of import? Where was Suzaku Kururugi, the man who all but invincible in battle, who had fought the most terrifying warriors of his time, and not only survived, but triumphed?

He was in Ireland, in a lovely studio letting in the soft summer sun and air. He was sparring with an incredible woman, and he was about to get his goddamn confidence back. Pushing off his knees to stand, Suzaku idly stretching his shoulders and quads as he watched Aurora move with eagle-like intensity.

Although she mystified the hell out of him on a fairly regular basis, he understood Aurora here, as a combatant. And what insight he did have into her personality would no doubt give him an edge in this bout. As the edgy rap wound to a close, Suzaku resurrected an old habit, dissecting the way the way she moved as Aurora turned and snagged her water bottle. The way she breathed. That intense awareness and attention worked just as well on muscle and tendon as it did on steel and screws.

Aurora finally met his gaze, lowering her water bottle slowly, leveling an odd look his way. For once, he didn't mind making her a little nervy, throwing her a little off guard. It was time to level the playing field.

Not that Aurora was one to allow an unblinking stare from her friend/opponent to bobble her stride too much. Even if the spooky, deep green of his eyes seemed to glimmer in the warm sunlight, making her heart thump a little harder against her ribs. She just tossed him a cheeky grin, humble enough to admit that she was a little relieved with the predatory stark lines of Suzaku's face softened a little with the slight smile he gave her in return. It was proud, and a little cool, but at least he wasn't gazing at her like a wolf judging the best way to take down a deer. Now, he was ready to play.

She picked the next song, rolling her shoulders loose as the bubbling electronic notes rippled out. They circled each other slowly, and Aurora felt her blood heat at the alert power in his eyes. This was the Suzaku of legend, the man who mowed through challengers like a scythe through summer grass. It was a beautiful sight, she had to admit.

And it was a pleasure to see his head in the game, to see him calculating and reacting with leonine grace as they threw a few testing shots, reevaluating each other, applying what they had learned in the first bout. Suzaku certainly had an easier time of it – Aurora didn't think she could change this much in three minutes if she tried. He'd been skilled, but cautious; now, he tested her defenses with raptor-like efficiency and ungodly strength. Aurora couldn't help it; she loved every damn second.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Suzaku launched at her, aiming a swing for her shoulder that would have sent her crumpling like a bag of branches had it connected. As it was, she managed to block it, to keep her ground and her balance, but the shock had her bones rattling. Aurora pushed herself to bounce back, to pay attention as he began a punishing volley of strikes that aimed to disorient as much as dismantle. She fought for a gap, gained a little room as she slithered through it. Took a valuable second to settle before she began her own counterattack.

They were both fast, wickedly so. Where Suzaku obviously outmatched her in strength, Aurora made up for it with sinuous grace and flexibility. It took a moment for her to realize that the music wasn't muffled by the pounding of blood in her ears; the song briefly sounded like it was underwater. Instinctively, they slowed, catching their breaths, reassessing before tangling again. She didn't consciously notice when she bared her teeth in a warrior's grin as she struck like a cobra. Because she was having the time of her life.

That small, fierce smile had Suzaku's heart rate spiking in time with the heightened beat of music. It sent an animal aspect in him, normally drowned into silence under the steady commands of the soldier that ruled his brain during combat, surging. High and bright as a comet, with a mischievous tickle of fun riding on its tail. Swept along by its heat and intrigue, Suzaku loosened the careful leash he kept on his physical ability. Not because of rage or battle fury, pain or fear. But because the glitter in Aurora's eyes seemed to demand it. Because there was a peculiar, tingling joy to be had in the pure truth that when he asked something of himself, even if it should be impossible, his bone and muscle obeyed.

Not perfectly; he was, after all, coming back from three months of enforced medical rest. But the core was there, so eagerly waiting to be tapped into. And he had to, in order to keep up with Aurora, who practically glowed at the prospect of a good head-to-head clash. But keeping up with her wouldn't be enough, not this time. He wanted to win; he had a suspicion that perhaps he even needed to. Because he was afraid to survive what surrendering again would do to him. So, finding another level to click into, Suzaku began to relentlessly push.

Aurora wasn't sure when he cranked into a higher gear, but it had her adrenaline singing like wine through her veins. The guy moved like a ninja, hit like a jackhammer, and parried like a fencer. She was having so much fun, she could have cried. Block, hit, twist, turn, flip, kick. Like their earlier stab at a little street dancing, this competition was rapidly escalating. They sprinted, tumbled, bounced off the walls, and launched into aerials, all in an attempt to outflank the other. At one point, they clashed, locking each other in a mutual hold that neither of them could break or tighten. They were all but glued together, arms tangled and legs poised to strike.

Suzaku was the first to try, a part of his brain quivering with enough panic at the feel of Aurora pressed so thoroughly against him to have him kicking out. But she just rippled out of the way, slithering close, making Suzaku's guts clench with something he refused to acknowledge as desire. He could see himself mirrored in her eyes, and understood that Aurora was more truly his match in this arena than anyone he'd ever met, or would likely ever meet. When it became glaringly apparent that neither of them could wriggle out of it or deepen their holds enough to strangle the other into submission, they simultaneously exploded apart like shrapnel from a bomb blast.

Aurora gained her feet first, but, after a breathless moment of silence, Suzaku moved first. In that blazing lunge for each other, the masks fell away like ash. What was the point of pretending with each other? Not when they recognized what burned through their opponent, a fire that engulfed nerves like they'd been slicked with oil. Not when it scorched inside their own blood, a burning desire to succeed in battle. There was something… wild in the air, as ancient as conflict and carried on the echo of rattling sabers.

For one precious moment, Suzaku felt it unfurl inside him – the knowing, the sweet sureness of seeing every movement as if it was a world drenched in honey. Quiet, gold light lit everything, from Aurora's meteor eyes to the soft shine of her hair to the glimmer of sweat along her collarbone.

Understanding lit his brain like glaring lightbulbs. She was becoming reckless. She was losing focus. She was tiring. The signs would have been invisible to anyone else, but they seemed blatant to Suzaku now. And, like the ruthless bastard he was, he took full advantage of it.

Impossibly, he ratcheted his speed even higher. It was so easy, in that soft gold world, where everything slowed, and he could move with a deliberation that inevitably doomed his targets. He leapt and twisted, turning Aurora's strategy back onto her. And when he had her thoroughly boxed, he wrapped his arm around her throat, and yanked back tight.

Now, as immersed in the match as he was, Suzaku hadn't completely lost hold of himself. He'd allowed just enough time and, true to his expectation, Aurora had managed to worm a hand under his arm to protect her trachea before he'd squeezed the flesh noose around her. It was no less than he'd expected, but he was still impressed. Whoever had trained her had done a spectacular job.

Dragged back against him as she was, it was impossible to Suzaku to miss the panic that raced through her body like a current. Ready to cede his win, unwilling to be the cause of such fear in her, he was just about to loose his hold when he felt the reaction dissipate, leaving her muscles slack. Relieved but not fooled, he waited, knowing that it was inevitably coming.

And come it did, like the pissed-off coil of a trapped python. She brought every available limb to bear, twisted and hurled against him in a violent bid for escape. Reaching back with her free hand, Aurora latched her fingers against the back his neck. When she rolled back against him, Suzaku compensated with his stance to take more of her weight. So well, in fact, that when she locked her confined hand around his wrist and heaved forward with her entire body, she took them both tumbling to the ground. Deeply and thoroughly grateful for the mat as his right shoulder blade slammed to the floor, Suzaku quickly recalculated, perpetuating the momentum Aurora had begun, continuing their grappling, messy roll until he loomed over her. It didn't occur to Suzaku, not right away. The way he had her pinned to the mat like a butterfly in a display – knees braced to the floor beside her hips, his weight tipped forward to the trap her hands above her head, his feet hooked over her knees to prevent any reprisals from those long, tricky legs.

When the implications snickered through his brain, he froze, locking Aurora to the floor as he helplessly breathed her in. Her eyes were like the northern oceans – if he tumbled in, could he ever swim his way clear? Did he even want to? True to her nature, Aurora hadn't yet given up; she writhed and wriggled, but couldn't dislodge Suzaku's hold. He saw the struggle, the unwillingness to give up. It reinforced the bone-deep respect Suzaku had for her. When his thumbs stroked over the pulsing, satin-soft inside of her wrists, he couldn't say why he had done it. But Aurora stilled, so thoroughly that the only movement was her fast breathing, staring at him with a depth that almost undid him. Then, she smiled up at Suzaku with such obvious joy, the warmth from her expression bloomed through him like a sun.

"I yield, you great big bloody bastard," she said with a hearty laugh. "I hate to see it end, but you took me down, true enough. Jesus, that was a gorgeous fight."

He helped her up, and, stupidly, the pair of them dissolved into laughter. Hooking her arm over his shoulders companionably, which had his looping around her waist in return, they managed to keep each other on their feet as they howled and giggled. What was so funny, Suzaku had no idea. But it was enough to make them breathless.

That's what he saw when he raised his eyes to the bank of mirrors – the pair of them, linked and laughing, sweaty and obviously a little loopy from the rush of adrenaline and endorphins. He didn't see how the day could get any better than this.

It suddenly did when Aurora turned her head and pressed a warm kiss to Suzaku's flushed cheek.

Chapter Text

It was by pure accident that Suzaku found the bo. Aurora had deemed today a bath day for Bannock. Although she wasn't foolish enough to ask the dog if he wanted to take a bath – as most hounds were smart enough to know the word and act accordingly – he knew what the thunder against porcelain through an open door meant. Ban was well-behaved enough not to snap or growl, but it was quite a sight to watch Aurora drag her enormous dog into the downstairs bathroom by his collar. When he obstinately refused to lift his legs to step into the tub, though, Aurora and Suzaku had been forced to bodily lift Ban into the warm, soapy water.

They might as well have been lowering him into an acid bath, considering the way he stared at them with wide, dejected eyes, shivering a little despite the perfectly comfortable temperature of the water. Instead of howling or fighting them, Ban just groaned regularly, a long, drawn-out sound of misery, often paired with repeated attempts to squash his face into the corner. It didn't matter how Aurora cooed as she scrubbed the shampoo into his coat or how Suzaku murmured sympathetically as he carefully rinsed the dog's head, Ban still apparently thought this was tantamount to execution, and felt devastated and betrayed about the entire ordeal.

Once he was clean, however, an enormous change overtook the hound. As soon as Aurora sat back on her heels and told him he was done, Bannock smiled his odd doggy smile, then leapt from the tub like a dolphin from the ocean. The only thing keeping him from bashing his dumb, delighted skull against the door was Suzaku's quick snag for Ban, hooking his arm around his neck, as they'd removed his collar once he'd gotten into the bath. Between that and the tidal wave that followed in Ban's wake, the two of them ended up soaked. After drying Ban off as best they could and mopping up the worst of the damage, it still looked like the site of a naval battle, so Suzaku volunteered to get more towels.

As he rooted through the downstairs hallway closet, trying to assess whether these were appropriate towels to be used for mopping up dog bath water from the floor, a shimmer of lacquer from the corner, tucked behind the shelves, drew his attention. Slowly, Suzaku ran his fingers along the polished wood, tilting it a little to bring it more truly into the light.

It was red oak, if he wasn't mistaken, just a little shorter than Aurora's leggy height, and thoroughly, lovingly polished. A little dusty, maybe, but of quality. But what exactly was a staff doing tucked in a storage closet? When he heard Aurora call her dog a numbnuts through the closed bathroom door with the husky laugh that seemed to ripple down his spine, Suzaku refocused on his assignment, hefting a tall stack of towels back to the scene of the crime.

With the arrival of reinforcements, they set to their task, Ban regularly interrupting any sort of progress with his insistence of inserting his damp self anywhere they were. He wasn't a dog particularly prone to licking, but Ban was determined to apparently snuffle his humans to death, his wet nose often buried against a cheek or a neck. Suzaku barely managed to swallow the yelp when Ban nudged his cold nose against the small of his back, a stretch of skin revealed as he tried to tackle the pool behind the toilet. When the dog began to shake, Aurora leapt on Bannock like she was attempting to shield Suzaku from a hand grenade.

And yet, despite it all, laughter rang and echoed against the tiled walls. He had to admire Aurora's good-natured serenity, her innate ability to find humor when it would be easy to overlook.

Funny that Aurora should think the same thing of Suzaku as he diligently set to the thankless task of helping her clean up after her dog, a task that he'd volunteered for without being asked, and had made himself invaluable through the entire thorny process. He'd never complained, never ducked out, never got impatient or snappish with her or Bannock, even though the dog's antics would have certainly warranted it. If anything, he'd been almost inhumanly patient with him, and Aurora briefly tormented herself with thoughts of what Suzaku would be like as a father. They were shiny enough, poignant enough, to have her nearly dreaming as she hung up the bath mats. The rhythmic banging of Ban's tail against the door, however, snapped her out of it.

Foolish. Desperately, embarrassingly foolish.

Finally deeming Bannock dry enough to wander around the house without causing any permanent destruction, she let him loose. Like a racehorse lunging out at the slam of a starting gate, Ban leapt into the hallway, careening towards the front of the house with long strides made ungainly by the narrow quarters. Aurora stood in the doorway of the bathroom, her head cocked towards Ban's trajectory. She winced at the distant bang, then smiled at the joyful howling coming from the front parlor. No doubt he'd propped his paws on the window sill and was announcing to the world that he'd survived his water torture.

Turning back, she began stacking the used towels, smiling at him when Suzaku added his to the pile. As their hands brushed, Aurora congratulated herself for not stiffening, for behaving normally. Especially when she really just wanted to slide into his arms and snuggle against his broad shoulder, awkwardly wet clothes be damned. Pretty dumb reaction to a guy helping her wash her dog, Aurora sternly lectured in her head. She was lecturing herself so intently, in fact, it took two tries for Suzaku's words to actually make contact with her brain.

"Sorry, what? Woolgathering," she said with a bland grin. Suzaku just smiled uncertainly before repeating himself.

"The staff. In the closet, where I got the towels. Is it yours?"

Aurora's brow wrinkled as she gathered up the towels. She wasn't so thrown by the question, however, to manage resisting being charmed when Suzaku smoothly took half the pile from her as they headed towards the laundry room. As they walked down the hall, shoulder to shoulder, however, she remembered.

"Oh, the bo! Yeah, it's mine. Got it years ago from an old instructor, and somehow the thing managed to stay with me on all my journeys. It's an antique, so I didn't really want to keep it in London. Besides, I don't get much use out of it. I know bojutsu, sure, and can and have used a weapon comparable to it. But I preferred a good Glock or a decent edged knife when I was in the business."

"Then do you mind?" Suzaku murmured as he handed her towels to load into the washer. He sounded hesitant, but not as achingly unsure as he had in the past. It still hurt her, way deep down, that he was so uncomfortable asking for help or favors. So afraid to request even the tiniest, easiest acts of kindness, when he was so willing to offer his own. It spoke of destroyed trust, a destroyed heart. Aurora wondered if a lifetime of generosity would be enough to mend things long and badly broken.

"If you use it? Of course not. The thing could certainly stand to be used, and I have no doubt you're more than capable. Have at it."

He smiled and murmured his thanks, but there was still an edge of discomfort to his shoulders. Their time together had taught Aurora that Suzaku found peace in fairness. A favor wasn't as dangerous when it was a bargain.

"It's the least I can do after your help with Ban. The whole thing would have taken twice as long if you hadn't given me a hand. I really appreciate it." She also decided to cook him a nice meal, something hearty and a bit decadent, as thanks for earlier.

Pasta, maybe. She had the rosemary bread she'd baked that morning, and enough tomatoes to whip up a decent red sauce. Which reminded her the herb garden needed some attention. So, she thought to herself, mentally calculating, she'd dedicate a few hours out in the gardens while the tomatoes simmered once the skins were removed. By the time she'd gathered what she needed and seen to the weeding and tending, the sauce should be ready for the herbs and garlic to be added in. She'd found a very decent sausage at the market, and thought veggies would do very nicely sautéed in the grease and olive oil. Some eggplant and mushrooms, peppers and onions. The peppers could be green, but not the onions, she thought to herself with a dreamy little smile. Maybe a few olives for garnish, and a nice savory finish.

And then her darling dog frolicked in, and her plans threatened to topple. Bannock was always a bundle of energy and affection after his bath, as he'd already displayed. The mood wouldn't dissipate for hours, and it would prove all but impossible to accomplish what she'd planned with him underfoot. Not to mention, he was just goofy enough to make any sort of lone expeditions on his part likely a bad idea. Aurora bit her lip as she stared at her clean, absurdly happy dog.

Suzaku may not have been sure what had so completely taken Aurora's attention since she'd offered him use of the bo, but her current expression was easier to read, thanks in part to the months he'd spent trying to decipher her layered, occasionally sphinx-like expressions. By comparison, this one was simple – Bannock presented a problem.

"Why don't I take Ban for a walk?" Suzaku found her delighted reaction out of proportion to such a simple, minor favor. But he couldn't help the small coil of pleased heat that bloomed in his belly at the smile breaking over her face like the sun. She aimed those eyes up at him, and the knowledge that he'd do anything within his power for those eyes, and the heart that glimmered in them, echoed faintly under the heavy thud of blood in his ears.

A small burst of energy later, they were prepared to divide and conquer. Suzaku had changed into jogging attire, equipped with the bo, music player, and headphones. Aurora was startled, then enormously enchanted, when Suzaku flashed her a charming wink before he got Ban's attention and the two of them galloped across the yard, over the stone wall, up the hill, and out of sight.

It roused something primal in her – his sleek, strong build, offset by skin that was starting bronze from the sun and hair that was beginning to streak and curl. Lithe agility and a weapon in his hand – oh God, nothing else made her engine rev quite like that. But, Aurora, reminded herself with a weary stubbornness, this was neither the time nor the place to act on that attraction. It worried her a little, though – how insistently her instincts yearned for Suzaku. It wouldn't do to dwell on the possibilities that could spring from the failure of her willpower.

Drawing her mental faculties about her like a shield, Aurora settled a black ball cap on her head, pulling her tail of hair through the opening at the back and gathering the gardening tools.

As she set to the soothing task of tending the herb gardens, Aurora hesitantly let her mind wander. A dangerous thing to do, when the image of him bracing a hand on the stone wall to leap over it at a swift run had her heart beating a little faster, a wistful sigh threatening to drift out of her. Surely she could think of something productive, Aurora chided herself with a huff as she began to weed.

Like yesterday, for example.

She was so glad, so relieved, that it had gone well. Because it could have gone so terribly wrong.

Aurora didn't like to admit it to herself, but she'd been nervous. Which was largely the reason why she hadn't volunteered the idea of sparring when Kendra had first cleared it. Nervous that she'd punch the wrong place a little too hard, and hurt her friend in a way it made her nauseous to imagine. That everything they'd been working towards the last several months could be incinerated in the heat of battle. And it would all be her fault.

There'd been so much riding on a good-natured exchanged of bare-knuckle hits. Aurora knew she had exceptional balance – she'd certainly used it for the tight-wire she'd walked yesterday.

On the one hand, she'd understood that, at the end of the day, Suzaku needed to win. Needed to re-establish his self-worth with something he believed in. If it didn't cement when he was fighting, it never would. She'd seen him be a good loser, a fair player in other instances. But when it came to the thing that defined the man he'd been and the legend he'd become, this wasn't some silly card game, and there was no way he'd take multiple losses with a shrug and a grin. No, it would get ugly, and there'd be no going back. Suzaku's ability to fight was the core of his mental construct, and it could all come crashing down if she rattled the cage too badly.

And yet, as soon as they'd exchanged the first few strikes, it had become flagrantly apparent that Suzaku was doubting himself, and, by extension, her. That rankled, she was forced to admit, brushing a stalk of rosemary over her cheek thoughtfully. Though it was perfectly natural for someone coming back from prolonged medical rest, especially someone with the fragile mental health and ingrained chivalry/misogyny Suzaku dealt with. But Aurora had found herself without the luxury of time. She had one day, one span of hours in the studio, to make or break months of effort. So, in a gamble that had nearly made her vibrate with nerves and fear, she'd pushed. She'd battled not the Suzaku in front of her, but the man from four years ago. The man people still whispered about, the figure grudgingly used as an example to this day in Knightmare pilot schools. If Aurora honored him with the caliber of skill she believed him capable of defeating, then he could rise to the occasion. If she had to beat him to drive the point of his own value home, so be it. And yet, Aurora had to somehow avoid hurting him, too. No wonder she'd been so wired. Even now, as she trimmed leaves of thyme and yanked weeds, her hands trembled the tiniest bit at the memory of it.

A small part of her, snarling and petty and impossibly competitive, had thrilled at the first win. A bigger part of her was simply delighted to have an opponent she could get her teeth into. The rest of her had shaken, trying not to ruin everything by bursting into guilty tears or begging his forgiveness. Aurora had known Suzaku would need time to absorb, to assess. She'd initially planned on sitting quietly with him before trying another bout. But nerves had crackled between her fingertips like electricity, the incessant need to tap her toes or her fingers nearly driving her mad.

How could she sit still, when she could so clearly see the battle going on in his eyes? When she wanted so badly for him to win, and was so afraid he would lose? When the burn of battle still shot through her veins like acid? So Aurora had done what she did best – she moved.

Rationalizing it as a chance to keep herself warmed up, burn off some of the engulfing fear that she'd just made a terrible mistake, and give Suzaku an opportunity to observe his opponent, Aurora had really afforded them both time to get their shit together. Because the next time they'd faced each other, it was for keeps.

That second bout… It had been quite a thing, witnessing the reemergence of a part of Suzaku he'd believed dead, or maimed beyond repair. Seeing fragments of him become whole, watching him come into his own as he'd fended her off, then chased her onto the ropes. Of course, he'd been trying to kick her ass the entire time, but as a fellow fighter, Aurora could appreciate it nonetheless. In fact, she'd had the time of her life, pouring herself into a bout that called upon her skill in a way it hadn't been accessed in years. Even as her options began to dwindle, as the panic of the hunted animal in narrowing quarters stung her muscles, Aurora had felt a perverse sense of peace. Her escape routes disappeared, but the knife edge they'd been teetering on began to dull, to soften. Because he was winning.

Suzaku had reclaimed himself as a warrior, and Aurora'd never been so happy to lose a fight in her life. She'd given him her best, which she hoped meant the win was all the sweeter, that he could trust it was something he deserved, had utterly earned. And her insatiable need to win could stuff it.

Adding a bundle of silvery sage to her harvesting basket, Aurora sat back on her heels, smiling to herself as she yanked on another clump of weeds. She was so proud of Suzaku, so happy for him. And yet, the tang of it was a little bittersweet. Because every step he took forward was another stride away from her. Yet how could she do anything but encourage him, which would inevitably lead to him walking away?

Aurora considered herself self-aware and strong, but she wasn't sure what exactly she would do when Suzaku left Ireland. She wanted to think she had enough spine to avoid hurting him in reaction to her own pain when they inevitably parted. Somehow, she'd survive it, with the skill and poise George had demanded of her. Aurora would accept nothing less of herself.

Suzaku had no idea where Bannock was taking him, but it appeared to be somewhere new. He'd never trekked to this span of the hills before, but how could he complain? As the pair of them loped through the dense, verdant green under the soft cup of opalescent sky, Suzaku drew a deep, healthy breath into his lungs, luxuriating in the ease of it, the way that inhalation could make him feel potently alive. Trees and hedges stood in ragged clumps or stately groves, the grass thick with the height of summer, not yet cropped by a farmer's herd of livestock. It swished against his calves, clustered around the base of craggy rocks, long ago uprooted, then carelessly abandoned, by the inexorable march of ancient glaciers.

They flushed birds and rabbits, and Suzaku even caught the crimson flash of a fox, the coin-like glimmer of eyes reminding him of Kendra until it disappeared. Bannock barely had a chance to lift his ears before the small canine was gone. Unperturbed, they moved on at a steady run, occasionally taking on the challenge of a rock outcropping or a thick bank of trees. Suzaku discovered that his parkour was a little rusty, but serviceable. Ban, like his mother, was slick as an eel, and good-naturedly game for just about anything.

The smoky dog shot ahead of him, cresting a ridged hill with a certainty Suzaku decided to heed. He stuttered to a stop when he saw what Bannock had apparently been leading him to. The glen was sheltered by oaks and rowans, the green of the vegetation so deep, he ached with it. Settled in the dip of the land, though, was a small pond, reflecting the sky above like a jewel set against velvet.

Slowly, Suzaku picked his way down the hill, breathing in the view much the same way he inhaled the air. Ban was industriously sniffing his way along the bank, and Suzaku managed to rouse himself from his stunned regard in time to call the dog away from traipsing into the water. As Ban returned to his side and Suzaku drew under the shade of nearby trees, their trunks and lower branches furred with moss, he could make out that the water was blue like the sky only at a certain angle. In reality, it was the color of Aurora's tea, of Bannock's eyes.

"Somehow I don't think Aurora would appreciate you taking a dip just after you had a bath," he explained to the dog. He almost felt embarrassed, talking to Bannock with the quiet reason one usually reserved for humans. But the dog just panted agreeably before rubbing his cheek along Suzaku's thigh and moving off to a row of hedges, which he plowed into like a bull. Shaking his head with a small, tilted smile, Suzaku leaned back against the trunk of the alder, the cool, damp moss pleasant against the heated back of his neck.

This was one hell of a place. He'd seen some truly stunning landscapes in his time, during his extensive travels, but there was something about the lush, quiet serenity of this little pond that loosened knots in him that he hadn't even noticed were strung tight. It was a kind of magic, he supposed. Different from Geass and all the other pockets of mystery that still riddled humanity. This was creation and cycles, tucked away in a fold of land, privy only to the wildlife quiet enough, clever enough, to find it.

So this was what it was like, Suzaku realized with soft, slow wonder. To feel alive, to feel bright with the beat of heart and blood. It was stunning in its grandeur, in its simplicity. Like a man handling blown glass, he slowly, carefully took hold of it. OK. OK, he thought again. Now what do I do with it?

If Aurora was standing next to him, privy to this realization, he imagined she would have chuckled, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and grinned at him like an imp. Well. No point in doing something you don't like with the life and time you have left. With that in mind, Suzaku tightened his grip on the bo, stepping out into silvered sunlight and approaching the water line, the ripe scent of peat and vegetation, water and wood, tanging the air.

When the next track filtering through the single earbud he'd left in revved, Suzaku felt the grin move across his face with an edged anticipation he recognized as an aspect of his resurrection. No, even more than that. Because he wasn't returning to who he was before. This Suzaku, the one who'd survived a shattered arm and a shattered life, was something new entirely. He couldn't say exactly what yet, but maybe he could stand to find out.

Taking a moment to insert the other bud, Suzaku squared up, letting his eyes drift out over the water as he swung the staff, spinning it with an agility forgotten deep in muscle memory. Not bad, he allowed himself, sinking into a deeply rooted stance with a lunge, faceless enemies spilling from over the ridge and emerging out of the water. Not this time, he thought with grim determination. This time, he'd decimate his ghosts – he'd tear them to fucking pieces.

Aurora couldn't know what she had given him, Suzaku realized. He'd been drowning, without a single weapon or scrap of ammunition in his mental arsenal for years. From the very moment she'd found him, Aurora had been working to outfit him with the gear and tactics to save his life, his mind. And finally, he was able to use them. Suzaku couldn't say for sure whether or not he was worthless, but he wasn't helpless, not anymore. Baring his teeth in what approximated a grin, he leapt and spun, enjoying the dense give of soil under his feet even as he imagined ripping an imaginary combatant's head clean off with a swipe of the staff that had the wood whistling through the quiet air.

He liked the mechanical beat of the song, liked the rapid-fire words that only fed his energy, kinetic and spitting fire as it pulsed through his veins. When Suzaku planted one end of the bo into the soft ground in a vault, his left shoulder and arm dug in, and held on. Yes! growled through his head with triumph. Not broken. Not anymore. He landed lightly and with dark satisfaction.

Suzaku was ready. Ready to go back, to serve Nunnally as the guardian she deserved, not the one she'd been forced to tolerate for three years. Purpose renewed was a beautiful thing, pushing him through the pounding beat of the song, pushing him through the movements that had once defined him, and now enhanced him.

As he kicked and thrust his way to the end of the bout, Suzaku took a moment before straightening, the healthy mist of sweat cooling in the whisper-quiet breeze. It tousled his hair, wiggling the tips of Ban's ears as he watched from under the sweeping branches of a willow. All of his headlong joy was firmly reined back, however, at the sight of the dog.

Yes, he was ready to go back to Britannia. But, was he ready to leave Ireland?

Chapter Text

What followed was a week the likes of which Suzaku had never experienced before in his two decades. He'd lived in luxury, endured war, stood tall in the spotlight, subsisted in the shadows. But never had he experienced a contentment, even a joy, that percolated every action, every minute.

Dancing and stargazing. Sparring and cooking. Exploring and drawing. It seemed so normal, but that's why Suzaku marveled at every moment even as it slipped away. It was the normalcy that he found so amazing. He became possessive of every moment, drawing them close and defending them as best he could.

That was likely why he uncharacteristically stiffened when he caught sight of a boring sedan pulling into the drive, Kendra and Chandler's faces visible through the windshield. Ever since that day by the pond, Suzaku had been braced for this visit. Because what could it mean but being cleared for active duty? Still bemused and guilty that the thought didn't send a wave of relief through him, Suzaku set aside his sketchpad and stood, trotting down the porch steps just as Aurora came jogging around the side of the house. She'd been primping and spoiling the duchess, evidenced by the smear of black along her cheek and the downright frightening state of her hands. At least, he noticed with relief, she wasn't bleeding this time.

Ban came racing around the other side of the house from his undoubtedly unsuccessful rabbit patrols, and Suzaku thought idly that the gang was all here. They were his, he realized. Never before could he claim a group of friends, allies, as truly his own simply because they wanted to be. Long before their relationship had been destroyed and a steely promise forged from its ashes, he and Lelouch had always wrestled with so much that stood between them. Ethnicity, history, old resentments and wounds that neither could help the other heal.

Every other person Suzaku could label a friend had been funneled through another person or the lense of his cause.

Nunnally cared for him because of Lelouch. The same could be said for the rest of the Student Council.

Cecile and Lloyd were friendly, but his abilities and the Lancelot had always come first.

Gino and Anya had latched onto him largely because he'd been a Knight close to them in age.

Euphie had been different. She'd loved him, seen him as a partner in her vision for the future. But he could admit that her appointment of Suzaku as her personal knight had been driven by his birth, his skill. He blinked owlishly as he realized she'd used aspects of him to make an admittedly good point, but used him nonetheless. The burst of grief nearly made him breathless, dimming a little as Suzaku forced himself to blow out a hard, bracing breath.

But Aurora, Kendra, and Chandler had inducted him into their tribe for no reason other than they'd wanted to. Maybe they had known just how badly he'd needed them – he was only beginning to realize it himself. They were Suzaku's friends despite his past and status. And they wanted absolutely nothing from him in return, except his recovery. They'd invested so much in him, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Perhaps that was the beauty of it, he thought as he shook Chandler's hand, tentatively tugged Kendra's tail of hair as she crookedly smiled at him and ran a warm hand over his healed shoulder.

Aurora kept her distance, gesturing to her grubby condition and waving her eager greetings before dashing inside to clean up, leaving Suzaku and Bannock to escort the doctor and senator inside. They chatted about the warm, fair weather, the summer shower that had drizzled through yesterday, the recent ultrasound of the baby, the state of things in London. Normal, easy things. Things Suzaku realized that he would miss when he returned to Nunnally, and the weight of Zero's cloak. Bannock trotted ahead of them, standing at his mistress's side as they entered the kitchen, Aurora still elbow deep in warm, soapy water. Chandler ambled over, teasing and poking at her, which of course meant that Aurora had to flick water at him. While the blondes were distracted, Kendra leaned over to speak into Suzaku's ear under her breath.

"Let's get your appointment over with."

He met her eyes, and felt almost breathless – as if he were about to dive into dark water. Compelled, yet reluctant. Silently, he acquiesced, and they slipped from the kitchen to head upstairs to the study. As he climbed the stairs behind Kendra, matching her ponderous pace, Suzaku couldn't quite decipher what he felt. The glaring fact that this needed to be done, however, loomed large in his mind. As it had all his life, that knowledge pushed him through the motions.

It was like every other time that had preceded it, only it was accomplished in pensive silence. Excepting Kendra's brief instructions, neither said anything. She put him through his paces, carefully watched as he moved, molded and pressed none too gently where he'd been so badly injured. Suzaku weathered it without a wince, and when Kendra finally sat down, she propped her elbows on the chair's arms, loosely threading her fingers together in front of her.

"You already know what I'm going to say," she murmured finally after gazing at him over her sparkling wedding ring, Suzaku's skin tingling from her ministrations and the weight of her feline eyes.

"I can go back," he breathed, and she nodded, almost reluctantly.

"Yes, you can."

For a moment, all sound receded, until the only thing Suzaku heard was the echoing thud of his heartbeat. His hands and lips had gone numb, and it was all he could do to remember to breathe.

It was time.

It was over.

The low hum of Kendra's voice, though, recalled his attention.

"But I'm going to ask a favor of you."

Still overwhelmed by the way his world was once again shifting, testing his already compromised balance, Suzaku merely lifted his brows in an invitation for Kendra to continue. Her mouth quirked a little – he thought she appreciated the honesty in hearing out a favor before granting it, even to someone he owed so much to.

"I'm asking you to wait a couple of days before going back to Britannia. Give Aurora a chance to adjust, to say her goodbyes however she thinks is best. Give yourselves a chance to see this through the end in a way you'll be able to live with. Nunnally's survived without you this long – she can manage a few days more."

He wanted to protest, to cede to the pressure of his past and his guilt. To run out of this beautiful house, as fast as he could, and get back to his dead friend's sister, the monarch of an empire he'd sworn to protect.

But if these past few months had proven anything to Suzaku, it was that he was more than his mask. Enough to recognize that Kendra was right. He also needed time to think through his strategy – his return had to be accomplished with deliberation, not panic. Anything less, and he could prove to be more of a detriment than he already was.

And Aurora. He couldn't just desert her because Kendra had given him the green light. For so many reasons, chief among them being that both of them had experienced far too much abandonment in their painfully short lives. She deserved the honor of the best goodbye he could muster.

"I'll give her a few days. I can't promise any more than that." His answer relieved Kendra; he could see it in the way her shoulders lowered, her eyes warmed, and her hands dropped to her lap.

"I know. Just give her what you can."

He could only nod – he hoped it was enough. After frowning at him for a moment, Kendra scooted closer, an awkward affair considering her bulk. She laid her hand a little heavily on his, and Suzaku couldn't help but brace.

"When I first saw you, first understood what had happened to you, I have to admit that I thought, 'No way.' I'd do everything I could, but there was no way you'd survive, at least not well. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed being proven so thoroughly wrong, Suzaku. It's been a delight watching you evolve, seeing you change from a ghost to a man. To see you succeed. Wherever your life takes you from here on out, I want you to remember these days in Ireland as one of triumph. Because you've earned it, every moment of it."

Stunned by the solemn speech, Suzaku couldn't help but stare at the doctor for a few moments.

"Thank you, Kendra. I…"

She smiled, and the hand on his that had been heavy and a little awkward now struck him as beautifully warm.

"I consider you a friend, and a good man. So I wish you nothing but the best. And I want you to know that if you need anything, especially regarding your health, you can call me. You're smart enough to be careful with contact, so I don't want you to suffer in silence. Not anymore. You're not alone. And I'm unspeakably proud of you."

Enormously moved, he could only stare silently as Kendra stood, moving in close to pass a soothing hand over his head.

He wasn't sure why he did it; maybe after years of starving for human affection, Suzaku had found a morsel of it here, becoming greedy for it. He rested his head on the bump of Kendra's belly, allowing himself to be comforted by the sensation of her fingers in his hair. She enfolded him into an embrace, and he carefully looped his arms around her waist at the invitation.

"You will be an amazing mother," he said quietly, lulled by the heartbeat echoing in his ear. It took him a moment, however, to recognize that the beat was far too fast for that of a relaxed adult woman. He slowly pulled back, staring first at her stomach, then up at Kendra with wide, shocked eyes.

"It's…"

She smiled, so gently, Suzaku felt reverent, awed by the intimate evidence of the life inside Kendra and her capacity to carry and nurture it.

"Her heartbeat. Or his. Whatever the case may be, there's quite a little engine in there, as Chandler loves to say." Kendra's eyes were a little moist, and Suzaku chalked it up to hormones and the miracle of her baby with a little desperation. Because there was really no other reason for her to be crying. She still just stood there, her palm a welcoming pressure on the back of his head. Cautiously, now aware of the enormity of it all, he lowered his head again, and shut his eyes as his ear rested against her womb, and the quick thrum echoed in his bones.

It was a gift, this proof of a tiny, lusty life. Suzaku would carry that small, fast heartbeat with him, wherever he went, as long as he lasted.

The hand-off was a thing of beauty, seamless and steady.

Kendra and Chandler were an amazing team – like a pair of collies, Kendra rounded up Aurora while Chandler herded Suzaku out of the house. He didn't really mind; he wanted a chance to say goodbye to Chandler, and he knew that Kendra would tell Aurora that he was free to go. Suzaku was deathly afraid that if he witnessed her weeping, especially for him, as the news was broken to her, it might unman him.

So he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, matching stride with Chandler as the man idly wandered east, past the shadow of the barn and into a rolling meadow some farmer would likely harvest in a few months' time. Ban disappeared into the shadows of the waving stalks of hay, the occasional flash of a gray tail the only indicator of his location. The crisp fragrance of things growing in the sun washed over them, the fresh smell of grass occasionally tinted by the richness of earth.

"Big news," the senator finally murmured. Suzaku started to somberly nod before he pinned slightly narrowed eyes on Chandler.

"You knew?"

The taller man just shrugged, looking enviably at ease as he turned his face to the fitful breeze.

"Kendra had her suspicions. The check-up today was really a formality; I figured we all needed it if we were going to get some closure when we let you go. Just so we could be sure." Now, Chandler did meet his eyes, and Suzaku understood. As always, the man was protecting his girls.

"Thank you," Suzaku with quiet seriousness. "For everything."

"Don't mention it," Chandler said lightly with a shrug. But the quirk to his mouth meant, Really. Don't mention it. He started walking again, and Suzaku fell in step.

"Excited to go back?" Chandler asked lightly. He just jerked his shoulders.

"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not sure I'm excited. Doesn't really matter, though. I have to go back."

At that, Chandler just sighed.

"Yeah, that's a pisser, all right. You think you'll be OK?"

"Of course," Suzaku replied by quick rote. At Chandler's lingering silence, he glanced over, noticing the crooked brows and knowing, lopsided smile.

"I'll be fine." It was a likely a lie, but if he said it firmly enough, it could become true. Chandler just hummed, calling Ban back when he started to charge after a squirrel.

"You'd know best. Do something for me, though. For all of us."

Interesting. Kendra was blunt and asked; Chandler was canny and maneuvered. Between the two of them, they could get someone to do just about anything.

"What's that?" He couldn't help it – he had to ask, had to know before he made a promise he wasn't certain he could keep.

"Take care of yourself."

Suzaku blinked once, taken aback. That hadn't been at all what he'd expected.

"I'll keep an eye on Aurora, as best as she lets anyone keep an eye on her. But I need to know – we all do – that you'll keep going on as best you can. Make certain all my wife's fabulous work doesn't go to waste. Because she'll hunt you down and kick your ass if you do, and nobody wants that. You keep it together on your end, I'll do everything in my power to see to it we do on ours. Sound like a fair deal?"

Suzaku stopped, silently watching Chandler as the man pivoted to face him. He seemed so different in comparison to himself; so at ease when Suzaku constantly struggled to find his balance, so humorous when Suzaku had all but forgotten what humor was. Excepting their gender, he'd really believed that he had nothing in common with Chandler Andrews.

But that was wrong, and unfair to both of them. Chandler defined himself by how he protected those he loved, just as Suzaku had. Was learning to again. He understood that he could walk away, because he was leaving people like Chandler behind. And that was one of the hardest parts of it. Suzaku offered his hand, which Chandler clasped with a firm grip.

"Fair enough. I'm depending on you to keep her safe."

As long as Aurora was alright, he could do his duty with honor and integrity, do what needed to be done, regardless of the cost. Chandler just grinned, a little wryly.

"Aurora keeps herself safe; always has, probably always will. But I'll make sure she's OK, me and Kendra both. You've just got to keep up your side of the bargain."

"I'll do what I can."

With a nod, Chandler released his hand.

"That's all anyone can ask."

After a few more minutes of meandering, Chandler adjusted their direction, eventually heading back towards the house. They had been walking in companionable silence for several minutes when Chandler spoke again.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Here."

Suzaku glanced down at what Chandler casually offered him. It was a trio of photographs.

"Figured you'd want something to remember her by."

In the first, Aurora was sitting on the stone wall behind the house, Bannock standing atop the rocks next to her. She had an arm around his neck, a wicked grin crossing her face and laughter in her eyes, her hair a riotous tumble floating on a breeze. Her thin white blouse billowed a little, her ankles idly crossed as she appeared to happily swing her legs. She looked fresh and happy, stunningly beautiful.

In the second, she was in her stark black workout gear, her hair fiercely braided and her eyes like battle-hardened metal, rife with knowledge and tinted with a threat. He recognized the deep bow stance she'd centered herself into, her hands gracefully, lethally, spread. It was a breathless moment of elegant stillness before an explosion of destructive motion. Here, Aurora was his titan, his equal. His motivation.

Suzaku hadn't recognized either of the individual instances captured in the first two photographs. But he remembered the third. Had it only been a few weeks ago?

He and Aurora stood, intimately close, carefully twined. It had been the last day they'd practiced the choreography; the day Kendra and Chandler had come, snarling over paint colors. He remembered now the feeling of holding her in his arms, of Aurora trusting herself to his strength, the way she guided him through the momentum. At the time, he'd felt a little foolish, if pleased with his relative success and her warm praise. But the couple in the photo didn't look foolish. They looked…

Right. They looked right, in sync and rhythmically connected. Perfectly balanced.

Chandler had gifted him with the three strongest aspects of Aurora; the woman, the fighter, the dancer. After looking at each for what seemed years, he tucked them carefully in his breast pocket, giving himself a chance to regain his composure before meeting Chandler's eyes.

"Thank you. Very much."

He just shrugged, looking a little embarrassed at Suzaku's heartfelt thanks.

"Memories have a way of fading. I want to make certain she stays whole and bright for you. No matter how much time passes."

It was harder that way, Suzaku knew. Because some memories never faded, no matter how badly he wanted them to. And sometimes, the things he wanted to hold closest disintegrated, sun-bleached on the banks of his mind. But it was better this way, too. Because if Suzaku lost his memories of Aurora, the only things he would have left of her once he left, he was afraid of what else he would lose as a consequence.

"She will. You all will."

They had to, because he could bring himself to protect a world with them in it. Even thousands of miles away, it would still matter. And he would still remember.

Later that night, Suzaku found himself uncomfortably restless. He wandered his room, unable to settle down and drift off to sleep, or devote himself to a single drawing enough for any sort of progress. He'd been learning to fall asleep on command again over the last month, but his brain refused to cooperate tonight. Too much swirling around, he supposed. Too much weight that couldn't yet find a place to rest.

They'd returned to a painfully cheerful Aurora and an impassive, impenetrable Kendra. If Aurora's eyes and cheeks were still a little red, no one said a word. Due to the expectant mother's flagging endurance, the visit was cut short, the farewells brief, but sincere. Hours later, it still nagged at him that he might have forgotten to say something important, but the moment had inevitably passed. It took some hours before Suzaku could reconcile himself to the fact that he would never see the Andrews again – the hurt pulsed in him like a wound.

Perhaps that was what had him too nervy to even consider sleep. The realization that his lasts in Ireland were rapidly bearing down on him, some already sweeping past with only a rush of wind and color and warmth left in their wake. He could steel himself, could heft all the armor he managed to scrabble together; but it wouldn't change the fact that, with every passing second, Suzaku drew ever closer to his sworn mission, and farther from the dream-like reprieve Ireland had offered him.

After a few more minutes of pointless pacing, the sensation of being hemmed in became pungent. Moving quietly and carefully past Aurora's room, Suzaku all but snuck down the stairs, unsure of his direction when he hit the ground floor. He noticed a soft glow coming from the porch through the windows by the door. His brow furrowing in suspicion, Suzaku made his way over, silent on bare feet, the shadows enfolding him like old friends, worried over his absence and happy at his return.

However, as he eased the old, carved door open, he saw immediately it wasn't a threat. Not to the house. To his sanity, maybe.

Swamped in an enormous dark blue hoodie, so old that the emblem on the chest was all but worn away, Aurora was comfortably seated on the porch swing. She idly kept it rocking, her moccasined feet propped in front of her, her ankles negligently stacked, a travel mug that smelled of her daily brew wrapped in her hands. Ban was curled on one of his beds, nose tucked under his tail, his gray coat gilt in the shifting light of the scattering of candles along the railing. Aurora turned her gaze from the sky at his approach, blinking a few times, as if he was the last person she expected to see. Considering they were the only ones around for miles, Suzaku couldn't help but wonder who she had been expecting.

Her mouth curved, and his chest ached. She patted the section of bench next to her, and he obeyed, stepping out into the easy cool of the summer night. Without exchanging a word, she set the swing into motion again once he sat, tipping her head back slightly, turning her eyes to the icy scatter of stars glimmering across the dense, dark blanket of sky. Suzaku noticed the glitter of tiny diamonds at her ears, twins of the stars she stared at. Then he followed her gaze, and let himself see.

They sat like that for a while, comfortable in the quiet, interrupted only by the peeps and rustles of night creatures. Like a fog on the horizon, the reminder of Britannia and Nunnally hovered on the edge of Suzaku's mind. He'd already lost Kendra and Chandler to the inexorable duty he was bound to across the ocean – he couldn't yet quite bring himself to accepting the loss of Aurora, too. But that was all beyond the globe of the candlelight; here, within the province of those tiny flames, time, that which was his enemy and his savior, stood still.

Until Aurora spoke, restarting the clock.

"I…" She faltered, obviously at as much of a loss at what to say as he was. Finally, though, she rallied herself. "I want you to make sure you drink enough water."

Suzaku turned his head, and could only stare at Aurora. At the way her brow wrinkled, the way her fingers tapped and rippled over her mug of tea.

"And eat enough. Don't forget to do your stretches, for at least another six months. Get a music player – I've noticed how much you like using mine. Sketch whenever you can. You're too good and you love it too much to just stop. And-"

"Aurora." He couldn't help the patient, puzzled way he said her name, the syllables soft in his throat. She swallowed jerkily, still pinning her eyes to the bright pinpricks of stars. Moving on instinct rusty from disuse, remembering what Kendra had done for him earlier that day, Suzaku rested his arm along the back of the bench, running hesitant fingers over her hair. Gently, he guided her head down to his shoulder. Aurora went willingly, sighing when he continued to slowly brush his fingers over the glittering strands.

When he felt a spot of damp warmth on his shirt, though, Suzaku stiffened, his eyes drifting closed as pain and guilt wormed their way to the surface. He'd never wanted to make Aurora cry again; it seemed his mere presence was enough to cause her sorrow. Yet, he was afraid what his leaving would do to her. Arrogant to think that, perhaps, but it was a dilemma rapidly growing more disturbing.

"Please don't cry," he quietly begged into the crown of her hair, steeped in the soft scent of petals and sky. She scooted slightly closer, turning her face more truly into his shoulder, so that her words were a little muffled.

"I'm not crying."

The wet spot on his t-shirt was steadily growing larger.

"Of course you're not," he couldn't help but huff. A part of him wanted to laugh. Another wanted to curl into Aurora and weep with her. Instead, he did neither. He rested his lips against her hair, closing his eyes so that the dancing candles were an impression of light and warmth against his eyelids. And he said the lie they both needed.

"We have time."

He felt her nod against his shoulder, and deep in his heart.

"Time enough."

Chapter Text

Somehow, the next day Suzaku ended up carrying two baskets as he walked down the road. They were a couple of those delicate, feminine affairs, with high, arched handles, fine weavings, and generously filled with muffins and scones tucked under lavender paisley handkerchiefs. There was really only one thing to blame for how he'd ended up carrying such things, and out in public, too.

Eyelashes.

Aurora had mentioned visiting the O'Tooles for tea, looking to dispense the last evidence of a baking mania she'd indulged in earlier in the week. Chandler and Kendra had made inroads, but there were enough baked goods left to feed an army. So she'd packed up a trio of baskets, easily inviting Suzaku along as she nestled a couple of gingers cookies in with a grouping of chocolate cream cheese muffins.

She'd looked so amazing, he reflected. Done up with classic elegance in a dress the color of the pale blue delphiniums spearing up by the front porch. It was a little vintage, edging towards innocence with its high collar, capped sleeves, and delicate overlay of lace. A satin sash of the same color tied in a draping bow drew his eye helplessly to the narrow span of her waist. Tiny blue crystal flowers glinted in her hair, keeping the strands out of her face while the rest of it tumbled down her back in waves of burnished gold. She was mouth-wateringly pretty, and churned up feelings in Suzaku he didn't even recognize, let alone could corral into some semblance of dignity.

Not wanting to tarnish her style, and bowing to old instincts of etiquette, Suzaku changed into charcoal slacks, a navy shirt, and a pale gray pinstriped vest for the visit. Because it felt like a noose, and it meant borrowing one of Chandler's, he forwent a tie. They had deemed one unnecessary during the shopping trip in Galway. Had that really been over two months ago? As he buttoned the vest closed, Suzaku admitted to himself that it felt like lifetimes had passed in that short stretch of time.

When he joined her again downstairs, Aurora had blinked at him, the blank expression she aimed his way making Suzaku wonder if perhaps he should have gone with a tie, after all.

But when the brilliant smile overtook her face, he was a little staggered. She stepped close, smoothing the lapels of his vest before rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, reminding Suzaku that they were only going to tea with friends. He just shrugged as she went through the homey task, almost wishing that he had worn the tie, just so she could have straightened it. Glancing down, Suzaku had to smile. Her light taupe oxfords, much more reasonable for an afternoon walk than showy heels, were inset with cloth in a blue floral pattern. Even her shoes matched.

Deeming them ready, Aurora had hefted her offering, all three baskets worth, whistled for Ban, and stepped out onto the porch. Chivalry clamping tight against his skin, Suzaku immediately offered to carry her load. And Aurora, ever certain of her strength and always willing to tease, had tossed her hair, eyed him with a dipped chin, and fluttered those damnably long lashes.

It was as thorough a challenge as he'd ever witnessed. Setting his jaw and his spine, Suzaku neatly nipped all three from her hands, sweeping past her to stride down the driveway. He'd gone five paces before he began to feel foolish. Before it could get any worse, though, Aurora had caught up, threading her arm through his and taking back one of the baskets.

"It's better if we share," she informed him before raising up to her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek. Softer than butterfly feet, the gesture nonetheless rocketed through Suzaku's system, setting off nerves strung tight with a need that didn't really make sense. He was mortally afraid he blushed.

Neither really considered the picture they made strolling down the dirt road, the soil rich and loamy, the verges guarded by tall hedges still dotted with blooms the color of blood. The handsome man and beautiful woman, well-dressed and obviously in tune. Occasionally, their heads would tip together as one murmured to the other, the short-hand gestures and teasing smiles hints at intimacy.

Brianna saw all that and more when the pair arrived at her doorstep. Well-used to dogs, and bearing a bit of a soft spot for Aurora's smoky-colored one, she gave Ban a slab of hardened jerky before nudging him along to where Nuada and Cainte lay sprawled in the sun, nearly invisible in the tall, wildly green grass.

It was the couple that drew and kept her eagle-eyed attention, though. Aurora's capacity for polish didn't surprise her, although she'd heard of it more from here-say than actual experience. The woman was genuinely lovely, reminding Brianna of the glossy movie stars she'd idolized in her youth, all smooth, flowing hair and innate elegance. Bri didn't know the girl's past, but she could tell it had done a real number. It had to have; otherwise, Aurora could have been a star, no matter how she chose to shine.

As she politely ushered them into the parlor, where her Pete was already resting, Bri eyed the young man Aurora had brought along with interest. Spine straight as a spear, and a solemn bearing that reminded her of the old cavalry captain that had lived in the village when she was a young girl. The boy had the loveliest eyes, though, and a face all sharp edges and lean planes. A lass could lose her head, and her heart, over a face like that. Consideringly, her gaze slid to Aurora, lingering before sliding back.

His name was certainly a strange one, but in the wake of all those awful wars, Ireland had sheltered more than her fair share of foreign refugees, even in this quaint little corner. Brianna was more interested in the lovely vest those broad, strong shoulders of his filled out so well. She fussed a little over him, partly because she was still a female, regardless of the fact that she was closing in on her seventieth year, and Suzaku was a handsome man. But it was more because the nurturer in her saw the reserve he wore like armor, his bone-deep manners, the lingering wounds that time and attention had not yet healed.

As he settled in, agreeing to a splash of cream in his Earl Gray, Suzaku carefully observed their hosts. The older couple were so incredibly Irish; Pete was all tanned toughness and a voice misted with heather and rain. His clothing was equally tough, his thinning, snow white hair permanently dimpled from where his cap habitually sat. Conversely, Brianna was bright warmth and comfortable hospitality, twinkling eyes bracketed by deep wrinkles and jingling bracelets paired with a simple gold locket. Her hair was a spiraling iron gray that had been flame bright in her youth, if the pictures on the mantel were anything to go by. Her brogue chimed sweetly like a bell, pretty roses twining along the hem of the sweater she wore over a sturdy blue dress.

It took him a while, but Suzaku sensed the cadence between Brianna and Peter. It was the familiarity of decades spent in a partnership that withstood every test fate saw fit to toss their way. For some reason, the proof sitting before him was reassuring. After his initial awkwardness – Brianna made him think of an older Milly, and he'd never been quite sure how to behave around her – Suzaku eventually began to relax and enjoy himself. Part of it was the simple act of drinking good, strong tea with pleasant company. Although the cultural differences were vast, the ceremony and ritual appealed to him, the respect and deliberation familiar in a way.

Then there was Aurora. Flirting with Pete – he'd been stunned to watch a faint blush bloom in the older man's weathered cheeks. Chatting with Brianna – there was something indefinably soothing about the soft ebb and flow of feminine conversation. And when she glanced his way, a small smile on her lips as she raised her teacup, Suzaku winked at Aurora subtly before he thought it through. The delighted surprise that flickered in her eyes made him more than a little proud of the impulsive gesture.

Aurora pondered as she sipped expertly brewed lavender tea from pretty white china edged with violets how Suzaku kept surprising her over and over again. What she'd known and what she'd seen were slowly coalescing into a single image. Yet the contradiction of those two aspects had her startled when something new about him was unearthed, every time.

He was shy and honest, a little awkward and inherently straightforward. And yet, Suzaku had been raised in his culture's version of nobility – he comported himself with charming grace during tea, the elegant angle of his wrist and the smooth movements of his hands betraying a lineage and education steeped in wealth and power. Meanwhile, he sat with a straightness to his back and shoulders that could only originate from his time in the military. He was so sober, for forthright. Then he winked at her, and Aurora's stomach tied itself into giddy knots, reminded with echoing finality that there was so much more to him than met the eye.

God, what was she going to do when he left?

Refusing to brood over the ticking clock, she nudged Suzaku along when Pete rose to walk the property with his hounds, inviting the other man to join him in his succinct way. Offering him a pair of Wellingtons – Brianna cheerfully clucked over his nice shoes as she presented an alternative – the pair clumped out, the sky already layering with clouds as the air grew moist. Rain was coming; Aurora hoped it would hold off for another day. She had plans, and hoped a downpour wouldn't spoil them. Then again, it was Ireland. Rain was an inevitability best accepted.

"I quite like your young man, Aurora," Brianna said with soft appreciation from where she stood at the sink. Having shooed away Aurora's offer to help with the dishes, Bri set to the task of righting her ruthlessly clean kitchen. Her Pete was a man of the land, while the house and its swaying skirts of flowers were utterly Bri's domain. As such, the time-weathered floors were scrupulously clean. The cheerful herbs and blooms in small pots above the sink greedily soaked up what sun still shone through windows that sparkled furiously from her regular ministrations of vinegar and warm water. Through them, she could perfectly see Pete and Suzaku striding over the fields, Nuada and Cainte moving like sleek bullets through the grass while Ban aimlessly wandered at Suzaku's side.

"Thanks, Bri. I quite like him, too."

Bri could hear the laugh in Aurora's voice, and the well-hidden edge of force to the sound. She was a mother and wife, and God knew she was no fool; she could read a least a little of the girl's tone. Aurora was a tricky one, and for a woman who never turned down a tasty sliver of gossip, Bri found her mystery both frustrating and fascinating. Carefully, she tried to mine a little information.

"He's been here a while now, hasn't he?" Glancing over her shoulder to where Aurora sat at the table, nursing her tea as she gazed out the kitchen window, no doubt watching the men traipse along much as she just had, Bri saw the longing in her eyes, and the pain that flickered under it. Seeing that, Bri reevaluated.

"Three months or so. He'll be going back soon."

Watching the tall boy walk along at her husband's side, she mulled that over a while after setting the last teacup to drain and drying her hands on her apron. She sat with Aurora at the table, a part of her brain admiring the girl's style and looks. The other part marveled that a heart so well-guarded could be so easily bruised.

"And you? Will you stay?"

The smile Aurora offered was brave, and a little strained.

"Back to England for me. We'll be needing to enlist your care of the cottage again. Just the same as before."

No, Bri thought to herself. Nothing will be the same as before, will it, darling girl?

"And will Suzaku be going with you?"

That smile faded ever so slightly, kept in place by a sheer force of will.

"No. No, he'll be going home."

"Seems he's home to me," Bri observed casually. From where she sat, she could see the way the boy's hair rippled in the breeze, the way his self-possession gentled in the cool afternoon sun. He was happy here; they both were. So why did they insist on leaving? Young people, Bri thought succinctly with an internal head shake and sigh.

"It does," Aurora murmured, almost instinctively, her eyes going a little distant, soft as fog coming in from the sea. Then Bri could see the mental jolt she gave herself. "But I'm afraid the options are limited in this instance."

"When it matters, really matters, options become merely suggestions, Aurora. I must admit I'm surprised that you've limited yourselves to convention with so little fuss. Unless I've completely missed the mark, neither of you are strangers to fuss, or bucking convention." Resting her temple against an index finger, Bri watched the movements of Aurora's expression, more eloquent than the most moving of gospels.

She was in love with him.

Not completely, not enough to make the kind of sacrifice that breed of love most often demanded. But enough to mourn their impending separation, even as she bowed to it. There was so much there, echoing from that heart of hers. Histories and promises, duties and wishes. She couldn't begin to guess at the half of it, but Bri knew that Suzaku wasn't just leaving because he wanted to; in fact, it was likely the opposite. He was leaving because he had to.

It was a pisser, alright, she mused. It was likely akin to what so many generations of women had experienced before; watching their men return to a fight, achingly likely to never return. And like the scores before her, Aurora cloaked herself in a stoicism designed to alleviate guilt.

"No, we're not. But even I can understand when something needs to be done, no matter how I may wish it otherwise."

Bri wanted to shake the lass. Wanted to chide her, for letting love go with barely any fight. For watching a good future stride away with nary a backwards glance. For being strong and proud and a little cold, at the cost of her heart.

But instead of speaking, Bri just laid her hand over the younger woman's. Aurora looked like she needed it. Brianna may be a grandmother, her blush of beauty long faded and her fingers starting to gnarl from a lifetime of work with her hands. But as she gazed out the window, her eyes landing on Pete as he whistled the dogs to come by, pushing a small herd of sheep clockwise around the two men, she remembered with bright, burning clarity the wild, wicked blast of love. The way it could scorch through you before given the chance to bank into a warm ember. How it could cut a good woman off at the knees, and how it could change everything, even if it was strangled into silence. The way it could break people, or make them stronger. Or, somehow, the best, and worst, of all, do both simultaneously.

"Well, lass," Bri murmured quietly, the two women gazing out the kitchen window, hands linked, as they watched their men stand in the milky sun. "As you said. It'll be just the same as before."

Because in the end, it was their decision. Even if she wanted to force their hands and change their minds, as she'd learned with her children, the only life Bri had that kind of power over was her own. Choice was sacred, because there was only one you could control: your own.

Chapter Text

It was the drums that woke him up.

Suzaku had been dozing in that pleasant haze between waking and sleep when the thud of drums boomed through the floor, swiftly followed by a sizzling guitar riff. Jerking out of bed, he had a moment to remember that the last thing this could possibly be was a surprise inspection, or a bomb threat. Still, what in the world was going on downstairs?

Tugging his t-shirt straight from where it had rucked up during the night and spearing his fingers through his hair in an effort to scrape it back out of his eyes, Suzaku padded down the steps. It didn't matter that his movements were silent; the music was cranked loud enough to have the railing rattling in its moors. Yet somehow, impossibly, she must have heard him.

Because Aurora, her hair still wild with her early morning, haven't-yet-showered tousle, skidded out of the kitchen where the music pounded, her eyes lighting like fireworks at the sight of him. Despite her somewhat less-than-polished state, she managed a jaunty stance any rock star would be proud to flaunt, despite the sleep pants that had probably been orange at some point but had faded to an awful pale color reminiscent of bile, and the paint-splattered t-shirt emblazoned with magenta letters reading "I'm only an angry feminist when you're an ignorant, misogynistic asshole."

With index fingers pointed like pistols, she advanced on him, rocking and swaying to the beat. It was only then that he absorbed the lyrics. It was a classic rock band's birthday song, inviting him to dance. She snagged his hand, and he fell in step, blaming the sleep still clogging his brain for engaging in that particular display, the both of them sleep-ruffled and hardly dressed for company as they twirled and slid. It was only when they spun through the last "Woo-hoo," that Aurora finally spoke.

Laughingly, she clasped his hand between hers, rose on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Much like the one yesterday, it was entirely innocent, and elicited a response in him way out of proportion. Her words quickly distracted him, though, softly murmured with a genuine smile.

"Happy birthday, Suzaku."

He stared at her, stunned.

Today was July tenth. He was twenty-one years old.

He'd forgotten. It had been years since he'd celebrated his birthday; he was hard-pressed to recall one that wasn't a little stained with some sort of misery.

Against all odds, even his own design, he'd survived to see the final marker of legal adulthood. It seemed ridiculous, breaching that last barrier that held so little weight in his universe. As he gazed at Aurora, her eyes wise and bright, he nodded – what else could he do? She knew, and she'd tried to make it better for him. It didn't have to be a tragedy, she seemed to say silently, slowly running her thumb over the ridges of his scarred knuckles. It could be a salute to those lost, and the ones still living. Including himself.

Clearing his throat against the emotion that thickened it, he memorized the angles of Aurora's face, denuded of make-up and deceptively soft, her hair a crown of disordered waves leaning towards frizz. This too, he would take with him.

"Thanks. So what's for breakfast?"

As it turned out, whatever he wanted. She'd anticipated his request, and so, for the first time in years, Suzaku sipped miso soup with breakfast. It was an instant mix, and far from the best he'd ever had. But that first salty tang of it made his eyes faintly sting, the scent resurrecting nostalgic memories long buried. Along with it was sticky rice, which she'd somehow managed without a steamer, smoked mackerel no doubt from a nearby fishing village, a rolled omelet somewhat ragged around the edges, and pickled plums almost leathery in texture, unsurprising considering how far they were from their place of origin. It wasn't the most stunningly prepared traditional Japanese breakfast he'd ever sat down to, nor were its tastes flawless or fabulous.

But it was delicious. He would have eaten every scrap for the effort of it all alone. As it was, Aurora was a good cook, and the fact that she'd thought of this, put in all this work, to give him something that she knew would matter so much, well. It was in and of itself a superb birthday gift. He nearly wept at the feel of chopsticks in his hand again. It pleased him to see Aurora fairly adept with them.

After, once the kitchen was set to rights by them both – a battle it took Suzaku some time to win – and they sat at the table, sipping their respective morning beverages, Aurora gazed at him over the rim of her mug.

"So. What do you want to do today?"

At his shrug, she continued.

"Anything. Well, within reason. But seriously. Dealer's choice."

"Fishing." Suzaku blinked a few times, shocked the word had come from his mouth so easily without conscious intent. Aurora just blinked at him.

"Fishing," she parroted. Warming to the subject, Suzaku grinned slowly at the thought.

"Yeah. I haven't been in years. It's actually quite nice, once you get the hang of it."

For a moment, she wrinkled her nose at him in such a distinctly feminine way, Suzaku nearly snorted. Then her expression cleared, and Aurora rolled her shoulders in that certain way she had; an elegant, non-verbal c'est la vie.

"Well, then. Let's get to it."

Later, Suzaku was exactly where he wanted to be. Seated on the soft bank of a lake mirroring the sky above in bright swatches of rich blue, Suzaku had his legs comfortably crossed, patiently reeling in the line before again casting. The quiet plop of the bait was satisfying in a way he'd be hard put to describe, the breeze, tasting of water and wildflowers, tousling the fringes of hair escaping from under his black ball cap. Sunglasses shielded his eyes from uncharacteristically warm Irish sunshine, the heat of it sinking into his bones, a languid calm stealing over him in the breathing quiet.

Aurora had accompanied Suzaku despite her misgivings, digging out the gear from the shed she'd organized, sacrificing a can of corn and some cheese for the cause. She'd led the way to the lake, a bit of an eastern hike from the house. Ban accompanied them, successfully making sure no wildlife wandered too close to their small band, more by clumsy accident than design. Aurora pointed out the forget-me-not's and lobelia that starred the banks, the bright bursts of color out amongst the lapping ripples of water lilies.

He couldn't have said it surprised him, but Suzaku learned quickly enough that Aurora was terrible at fishing.

More accurately, she had zero patience for it. She'd diligently sat through his introductory instructions, taking well to the movement of casting and baiting her hook. But as time dragged and she had yet to snag a single fish, she'd started to sigh. The more she'd sighed, the more amused Suzaku had been, until finally, he'd rested his hand over hers before she could cast again.

"Did you bring a book?"

She'd looked at him with such wry awareness and relief, he'd been forced to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"I brought three." By unspoken, tacit agreement, Aurora relinquished her fishing rod and dug out one of the books she'd brought with her. Ban had spent much of the morning shooed out of casting range, nosing among the reeds and watching squirrels skitter through nearby trees with avid interest. Now, however, he returned to his mistress, laying down in the thick grass, Aurora's head pillowed on his muscular rump as she resumed her book where she'd marked it with a scrap of blue silk.

Suzaku discovered a side benefit of the sunglasses Aurora had hooked in the collar of his t-shirt before heading out. He could watch her, observe her at his leisure as he steadily fished, catching a medium-sized trout with so little fanfare that she didn't even notice as he stood, smoothly caught the fish, removed the hook with no fuss, and let it slide back into the water with barely a splash.

Sitting again, he cast, his eyes drifting back to Aurora as he steadily reeled. She'd foregone sunglasses, allowing him to catch the flick and flash of her eyes racing over the words, squinted a little as she'd forgotten her reading glasses. Long limbs stretched out in the grass, as natural in a t-shirt and jeans as she was in beautiful dresses and fierce heels, Aurora still painted a picture with her sleek ponytail and glimmering earrings, this time tiny silver lightning bolts. Suzaku smiled at himself a little sardonically; since when had he ever noticed a woman's earrings?

As they sat in companionable silence, time drifted away like dust, unnoticed and unnecessary. He was so busy admiring the arch of Aurora's wrists that it took Suzaku a moment to notice that he'd caught another fish. This time, the indignant splashing caught Aurora's attention, who launched to her feet like he'd snagged an orca. Bannock, of course, mirrored his mother, so as Suzaku belatedly began to reel the fish in, he had a cheerleading section far more excited than his meager accomplishment called for. Still, it made him smile.

This catch was bigger than the last; conversely, he had a bit more fight in him. By the time the trout and the hook that had fooled him was extracted, then complimented and catalogued before being slipped back into the waters of his home, swimming away with a furious flip of his tail, Aurora had pulled in close to Suzaku's side. Bannock had wandered away, disinterested in this fish business once the evidence disappeared back into the lake waters.

All this coalesced into a single result that Suzaku struggled to calculate or reason out; Aurora snagged her book from where she'd tossed it in her excitement, shuffled a few pages before finding where she'd been, and stretched out on the grass again, her head now comfortably resting on Suzaku's thigh. Her long tail of hair coiled behind the bend of his knee, the warmth of her shoulder near his hip. He just stared down at the top of her head, the fishing rod forgotten in his hands.

It was intimate, but it didn't have to be sexualized. It was only a comfortable, friendly gesture, if he wanted it to be. Suzaku was starting to realized that he didn't, necessarily. But what would it result in? A catharsis that would only compound later heartache? He was no stranger to duty – it had dogged him all his life. The few times he'd tried to shirk it, the results had been beyond disastrous. So why risk it now?

Because Aurora was worth it. And because she was worth it, he couldn't risk it, or her. The frustration and rage were an ugly pair inside him, controlled like a vicious dog with a practiced hand and a clench of his jaw. Suzaku tried to let it go, worked to release the pain and emotion like a controlled flow of water from behind a burgeoning dam, build by unstable slats of pride and fear, obstinacy and desperation.

Aurora would tell him that eventually the dam would collapse under the strain, and the damage caused could be incalculable. She would tell him that she was a safe repository for his fears and hurts, that she could share a load he didn't need to heft all alone. Because she'd been there; she was a fellow survivor that could commiserate without the sticky gloss of hollow sympathy. It was dangerous to need her like this, because soon enough he wouldn't have her at all. But the fact that Aurora would say it, that she'd tried at all, made him feel more for her than he would have ever thought himself capable of again.

Suzaku gazed down at her, presented with a view of hair like old gold coins, a straight nose and a strong jaw. Girl could take a punch, he though fondly, and when she tightened that jaw and jutted out that stubborn chin, heaven help her opponent. She must have felt the weight of his gaze, because she tilted her head back a little to look at him. The movement against his leg had Suzaku swallowing against a flush of heat against the inside of his skin.

But he managed a smile, soft with affection. She returned it, and his whirling mind settled a little. Noticing the way she narrowed her eyes against the sun, Suzaku took off his hat, settling it over her head with a few easy tugs. He didn't mind; he knew she stole it often.

With that, he turned his attention back to fishing.

In the way of Irish summers, rain came rolling in to squash plans into an unsightly, muddy mess. After a pleasant picnic lunch, the clouds had gathered, and no force of Aurora's will could keep the rain locked inside them until tomorrow. Suzaku just shrugged, pushing the sunglasses he no longer needed up on top of his head. In the drizzle, they packed up their gear, and headed out.

Both were crafted of tough stock, so there was no complaining about a hike in a little rain. Approximately twenty minutes out from the house, however, the drizzle became a deluge, the rain pounding down in sheets. While they'd been selectively damp before, now the trio became utterly soaked in a matter of minutes. With a long exhale, Aurora looked over at Suzaku. When their eyes met, she looked up at the sky, blew a resigned breath out of her nose, then shrugged.

"I guess Ireland is wishing you happy birthday the only way she knows how." The rain might have put a wrinkle in her plans, but if the thought that an ecosystem would put on a show just for his birthday tickled Suzaku enough to have his lips twitch, then it wasn't all bad.

The slog home was long, but not particularly arduous. Suzaku hopped the wall out back, holding out a hand for her to take and allow him to help her over. It almost irritated Aurora, before she decided it was charming. He was so serious about being chivalrous, it made her want to kiss his soaked hair, too heavy with rain to curl much and turned nearly black by the wet. Instead she took his cool, damp hand, and cleared the wall.

The rain had turned the yard into a muddy pit; Bannock had already coated three quarters of his legs with the sludge as he raced through it. As such, when she landed, Aurora skidded a little. She could have corrected herself, if Suzaku hadn't still held her hand, and yanked to pull her upright. It would have worked, if Aurora hadn't been trained since pre-adolescence to return unexpected force against her with its equal, if not exceed it. As such, instead of ceding to his help, she instinctively resisted it, with such power that it overwhelmed their balances, both of which were impressive, but compromised by slick footing. Even as they toppled in a slipping mess of tangled limbs, Aurora thought with a sarcastic inner laugh that they were both too tough for their own good.

Ever the good knight, Suzaku twisted to take the brunt of the fall, finding himself flat on his back in thick Irish mud with Aurora, a spot of it marking the bridge of her cheekbone, ranging over him. Her hand was still gripped in his, his arm having somehow looped around her waist during the whole fiasco. Suzaku saw something glimmer in her gaze; he wondered if she was upset. This was a rather compromising scenario, but he tried not to allow that thought much traction. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, a glob of mud the size of a baseball splatted against his forehead.

He stared at Aurora, stunned, even as muck dripped down his temples and back into his hair. That glimmer was easy enough to identify now, paired with a smirk arranged across her pretty lips; she was massively amused and dangerously mischievous.

"Sorry. I couldn't resist." She didn't sound apologetic, though; she sounded enormously entertained. He could hear the laughter in her words. Before Suzaku could rally his brain to utter something intelligent in return, Aurora shot up, loping away with a maniacal giggle. With someone else, on another day, Suzaku supposed he would have slowly sat up, wiped the glop from his face with a glower, and shut her down with a cutting phrase before stomping inside. Because this was ridiculous.

But not with Aurora. Not today. Before he thought it through, Suzaku launched to his feet with a playful growl, grinning like the devil himself as he caught Aurora's eye, and gave chase.

Like children, they mucked around in the mud and thick rain, handfuls of mire flying even as the occasional squeal or grunt shot through the air. Aurora had fought Suzaku before, but never with projectiles. He had an excellent aim, arm, and awareness. And while she'd started this mess, Aurora took her fair share of casualties with bright good cheer, not complaining in the least when Suzaku smeared the back of her neck with cold gunk, instead shrieking delightedly when he tipped them both into a puddle with a geysering splash.

Ban was not spared, and by now was completely brown, caked in the stuff. His lolling tongue was shockingly pink against his grimy exterior as he danced around the two of them wrestling, barking his encouragement.

Hands slid off of mud-slicked skin, the two of them slippery as otters as they both tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand. Laughter panted out, and when the braced heels of Aurora's palms slid in the mud as she ranged over him, bumping their noses together and pressing her body full-length against Suzaku's, they held still for a breathless moment, every slope and valley aligned without reservation or guile as they tried not to breathe, not to move.

His eyes dominated Aurora's vision; deep and green and achingly innocent. Because she saw a flicker of shock and fear race through that verdant color, Aurora pulled back slightly, even as every sliver of muscle yearned towards him. With a crooked grin, she tapped the tip of her mud-coated finger against his nose before rolling aside to her feet and galloping away. Even as her heart bled, she spun and laughed, daring him to come after her.

Suzaku shook his head like she'd clocked him in the temple, instead of gently tapping his nose. His brain still fried from that press of muscle and softness against him, he eventually got his head back in the game. They played like wolf pups as the rainfall lightened, until it misted more than rained, the mere suggestion of moisture drifting down at gravity's behest. And in the midst of these fairy tears, the two of them finally stood in the middle of the yard, thoroughly and wretchedly filthy, breathing hard and doing their damndest not to giggle, deciding the battle, though fierce, could be considered a draw. The sheepish grin Suzaku shot Aurora was startling white against the dark smear of muck against his skin.

"You're a mess," she said with an easy laugh. Suzaku just raised a brow at the glaring obviousness of her observation after glancing down at himself – he looked like he'd been rolling around in the mud for twenty minutes. Convenient, considering it was accurate.

"Because you're so clean," he threw back wryly, the glitter of her hair utterly obscured by a dense coat of mud, even as her eyes flashed and danced. Playfully, she stuck out her tongue.

Eventually, they figured out the best way to scrape off the worst of the damage – Ban was happy enough to be hosed off, because apparently a garden hose was in no way similar to the warm waters of a bathtub. On damp tip-toes, they gingerly crept over clean kitchen tiles, disgusting boots left by the door. Just then, Bannock gleefully trotted in, clean but dripping wet. Suzaku managed to snag his soaked collar, while Aurora lunged to the laundry room for one of the designated dog towels. Tossing one to Suzaku, they set to quick work, Ban happily squirming at the attention. Once he was dried and released, Aurora rolled up the hems of her jeans, stopping to wash up to her elbows. She waved Suzaku on to the downstairs bathroom, promising to drop off some towels once her hands were clean. He'd just managed to strip off his socks when she knocked, towels and a bottle of his shampoo in hand.

Just as she started down the hallway after dropping off her offerings, something made Aurora look back over her shoulder. The door knob was a little faulty, and the tiny snick as the mechanism slid free had drawn her attention. Moving back to pull it shut, Aurora froze as her eyes rose, her hand lifted ineffectually to the knob.

Through the sliver of an opening, she could see the reflection of Suzaku as he stood and stripped off his wet t-shirt. She knew what Suzaku looked like – she'd seen him sick and hurt, healing and strong. But there was something about the slope of his defined shoulders, the way his spine dipped to impossibly narrow hips, where his jeans, heavy with wet, currently hung a little precariously. The mud obscured some of the scarring on his back, but not all of it. The shiny swatches of burns, the ripples of old lacerations. And there, high on his left shoulder, was a small, brutal disk, an echo of the bullets that had almost killed him.

It made her palms damp, the wanting of him. The way Aurora wanted to trace her fingers, her lips, over the tapestry of old wounds. To ease what still pulsed with hurt; at the very least, to make his pain a little bit hers. Because Suzaku's damage made him, much the way hers did. And if she could take nothing else of him with her, then maybe she could carry a little bit of his suffering, gleaned from a contact that meant more to both of them than most would understand.

Loneliness bloomed like a dark flower inside her. It was something she rarely tolerated in herself, often choking it out of existence before it had a chance to take root. What right had she? – Aurora had family, even if it was one she'd made herself. But she was tired of holding herself apart, even if it was a last, desperate act of self-preservation. Tired of standing aside and wishing, even as every scrap of logic fluttering through her brain demanded that the distance wasn't great enough; this close to that kind of heat, she was bound to get burned. Badly enough to scar.

Gritting her teeth, she silently shut the door, careful to make sure the mechanism fell home. She turned away, pausing at the base of the stairs, her hand vising around the newel post. She wasn't stupid enough to throw away everything on a hot-blooded desire. But, apparently, she also wasn't smart enough to step far enough back to avoid lasting damage. Caught in an emotional no-man's land, yearning to go back but struggling to tamp down the urge to flee, Aurora worked to just breathe. Once she'd managed it, she began to the motions of climbing the stairs. Just a little longer, she reminded herself. Just a little longer, and her choice wouldn't matter. The pendulum will have swung; by then, she could bring herself to deal with the consequences.

For now, she needed to get cleaned up. Drying mud itched.

The clouds fell back, and a bright, deep summer sun flooded the wet land with its lingering light. Tea time came, and was observed with pleasantly weary muscles clothed in lounging pants and soft t-shirts. Suzaku had barely started into his Earl Gray when Aurora set a box on the table. Uncomprehendingly, he stared at it.

It was small, barely the size of a credit card. It was wrapped in shimmering burgundy paper, the fanciful golden bow just the sort of touch Aurora would affix to something. It was beautiful. And yet, he still didn't understand it.

"It's a birthday present, you goof," she said with a gentle laugh. Blushing a little, he took the box, carefully undoing the ribbon and swiftly and cleanly doing away with the paper. Still bemused, as the box was quite light, he lifted the lid, and stared at the contents.

It was a key.

He'd seen one just like it before. Aurora had used it to lock or unlock the doors to this house.

"I know you'll be leaving soon. But I wanted to be certain that you understood; that you believed. This will always be a safe place to you, a sanctuary should you need it. You only have to ask, Suzaku. And we'll be here for you." Her words were a little rushed, her cheeks a little pink. Because he was moved by the gravity of the gesture, he could comprehend her concern about making it, if not her embarrassment at revealing her vulnerabilities with such an action. Even if it was just a spare key, it still meant a great deal. It took Suzaku a while to master himself enough to speak.

"Thank you, Aurora. Sincerely." Uncertain, and a little embarrassed by what he intended, Suzaku reached forward, and gently cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin was so soft, the edge of her cheekbone and the fragility of her temple a manifestation of her strengths and delicacies. He weakened at the wanting slowly surging through him, and so stayed still, longingly, when her hand crept up to clasp around his wrist.

They came closer, drawn slowly like magnets, heads tipping closer until their foreheads rested together. They breathed one another's air, shared a warmth that they promised themselves could sustain them through the coming days. The summer light blessed them, dancing through the air to merrily bathe the pair in the light of the fleeting season.

Chapter Text

Aurora informed him that the key was only a part of his birthday present; there was still more pieces to the day. She bid him to go change into something appropriate for casual company before herself disappearing into her rooms, no doubt to work some female magic. Once he'd changed, Suzaku sat on the stairs, slowly fingering the key she'd given him. With reverent interest, he traced the ridges and dips, thoroughly memorizing the tiny notches. The little thing made him hungry – hungry for home, hungry for stability, hungry for reality.

The key itself sated nothing; only whetted his already razor sharp appetite for things he could not have. For a moment, it even made him angry. Suzaku imagined racing to the pond he'd found last week, heaving the key into it with all of his substantial strength. And so burying the representation of that which tempted him in the murky, peat-heavy waters.

Aurora had never intended her gift to hurt him like this. Never imagined that this show of support and understanding would slice into his heart and mind like slivers of glass. It was the implication of the thing – the symbolism attached to the small piece of metal. In the end, Suzaku merely sighed, tracing the pad of his index finger down the spine of the copper key. It was too precious to rid himself of – after all, he was accustomed to pain. He could bear it, for a worthwhile enough cause. At the sound of a door opening upstairs, Suzaku stood, and slid the key into the pocket of his jeans.

He knew her beauty too well by now to be stunned; instead, he drank her in, this thirst a solid, clenching pair to the key's hunger. The peach of her filmy blouse brought incredible color to her cheeks. It stopped just after her elbows, well clear of the bright clinking of the golden bangles around her wrists. Her skirt was a deep lavender, silver scrollwork and sequins winking in the light as she moved. Gauzy fabric floated and rippled, bringing to life the peacock feathers woven into the pattern. Suzaku's breathing accelerated as his stomach clenched, and yet he managed to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs like a proper gentleman. When she stepped down next to him, he offered his arm, managing to smile even as he wanted to run his teeth along the tendons of her throat.

"Where to, my lady?"

She smiled a little mysteriously, taking his proffered elbow with the smooth calm of a woman accustomed to being escorted.

"Some friends are having a bit of a celebration. Over by the standing stones. Are you ready?"

He nodded, and with one final smile, they headed out, into the warm, early evening light, Ban dancing around them like an eager shadow. Much of the moisture had lifted from the ground, and instead hung in the air like the warm press of skin. Aurora had anticipated the dew in the grass, choosing her nude patent flats, enjoying the swish of her skirt against Suzaku's leg as they walked side by side, arms still entwined.

She steered them north, a direction largely unexplored in their time here. Aurora was glad for it now, savoring the awe that moved over Suzaku's face as they crowned a hill, the dark stones spearing up before them in the flat of a small plain. Bathed in golden light, they were unapologetically primal, fierce and solid. Several of the crown stones had tumbled from their grand state over the centuries, leaving some pillars lonely in their thrust up from the rich earth. The two of them slowly drew closer; there was something in the air here, something sparking with ancient power and eternal strength. This was a place of ceremony and worship, calling to Aurora more truly than any church.

She reached out to touch one of the stones – perhaps it was her imagination, but for a moment, it felt hot as freshly spilled blood. Something instinctive had her stilling instead of retreating, and then the stone was simply sun-warmed, rough and pitted by time under her fingertips. Suzaku mirrored her, running his fingers along the stone near hers, a calm stealing over his eyes that seemed almost sacrosanct.

"It's… sacred," he said softly, the hand that had passed over the stone stealing over the one she still kept on his arm.

"It is," she agreed simply, tipping her head to his shoulder as they absorbed the quiet, humming with history and thick with magic. Ban felt it too; instead of cavorting around in his usual juvenile fashion, he kept close, even leaning against her leg with the occasional quiver. Finally, Aurora drew them away, skirting around the circle of stones instead of moving through it. He went willingly, with no desire to tread over holy ground. For it was, indeed, holy.

A little farther along, and Suzaku could make out an encampment. Even from some distance away, he could hear the laughter and singing, smell wood smoke and something rich and meaty. Colorful tents had been pitched, and he couldn't help but ogle at the horse-drawn wagons that circled all that activity, painted in a bright, rustic rainbow. As they approached, they were hailed – Aurora raised her hand in greeting, and slowed. Ban made low cooing sounds, looking up at her with pleading eyes, almost quaking with his desire to go meet new friends.

"Wait until you're invited, like a gentleman," she murmured to him, smiling when she caught sight of a large man tramping towards them. Maintaining her expression, she leaned over to whisper into Suzaku's ear.

"This particular group is an amalgam of Romani and Pavees, with more outsiders than a usual Irish Traveler band. They are something of a hybrid, and go on a pilgrimage every summer to multiple stone circles across Ireland from Beltane to Samhain. They're Catholic, but observe the old Celtic holidays. Just don't call them Gypsies." With those tips, she stepped forward, warm and open, to receive the greeting of the man who approached.

He was broad as a bear, with dark shaggy hair and gleaming black eyes. When he spoke, his voice seemed too big even for his large body to hold.

"Aurora! Little dawn child, you're looking fine, indeed. Lucky you, you caught us just before we moved on to the next circle. And who's your friend?" His words tumbled over the tails of each other, leaving no room for interjection in the midst of his jolly speech.

"This is Suzaku, Maloney. And today is his birthday."

Instinctively, Suzaku's guts clenched. Even as he leaned over to hiss reprovingly at Aurora, this Maloney beamed like a child on Christmas.

"Then we're doubly lucky at your visit. Come, come. You'll join us at the stones, of course. There's food to be had, and music! I'm expecting music from you, Aurora."

"I'd hate to disappoint," she replied cheerfully, and Maloney made triumphant noises with a happy grin before turning to lead them into the heart of the camp. Helpfully, Aurora would occasionally lean over to murmur tidbits.

Maloney was the equivalent of a rom baro, a tribal leader. He traded largely in scrap metal, but his family group was also well-known for its dog and horse trading. Even as she said it, a pack of dogs descended on them. They looked like pure bred greyhounds, with the occasional mix peppering the population, all distinctive with enormous liquid eyes and insanely long legs. Ban was a little broader, a little bigger in comparison, but he trembled as if terrified as they intently sniffed him all over. Aurora stood back, quietly watching as the dozen dogs investigated her hound.

Eventually, one, a creamy fawn, licked Ban's ear, rooed, and the entire group, Bannock included, raced away in a single stream of canine movement. Maloney noticed her worry, a grin dancing in his eyes.

"Your lad will be fine. A lurcher like him fits right in. Now let's get you some food. Suzaku, you could use a little more meat on your bones."

Both of them silently thought that Maloney had no idea.

Suzaku carefully listened as Aurora explained that Maloney's tribe were not strict observers of the customary itinerant lifestyle. Between the economy and old, ingrained prejudices, it was not an easy culture to maintain without some flexibility. Still, for this journey, especially, they liked to use the traditional wagons and tents, show off their handsome, bi-colored cobs. The horses were small, compared to the royal Britannian herd left over from Charles' day. They bore splotches of color like puzzle pieces, their lower legs garnished with long, flowing hair. As one cropped grass, the white mane draped along the ground, it was so lengthy.

They were handed steaming bowls of hearty stew amidst a familial chaos; Suzaku was a little surprised by his enthusiastic appetite as he observed his surroundings. There seemed to be people everywhere. Children raced and squealed, playing in circles or tumbling with puppies. Teenagers flirted and batted eyelashes, the occasional peacocking display by a boy making Suzaku wince in embarrassed sympathy. The woman chattered like birds, discussing the merits of scarves or spices, their multi-layered skirts swirling around them with bleeding colors. The men mingled or stood in small clusters, a serious discussion about a horse's bloodlines or a dog's racing potential sometimes audible.

There was an obvious and sincere deference paid to Maloney – he may be outrageously cheerful, but there was an underlying sense of power that demanded respect, even if it was demanded kindly. His wife, Cojini, reminded Suzaku a little of Kendra, with her dusky skin and thick, curling black hair, although hers was streaked with silver. She cooed over Aurora's skirt, nimble fingers tracing the patterning in the calf-length chiffon. Upon his introduction, she chucked Suzaku under the chin, even as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind the scent of cloves and wildflowers, along with her wishes for a happy birthday.

Word spread quickly. People wished him happy birthday before they knew his name, or he theirs. As the sun slipped below the horizon, though, and the sky was set aflame, order was gradually instilled. Then, as a group, the entire band, Aurora and Suzaku enfolded in their midst, made their way to the standing stones. Elders were helped out carriages, some mounted onto the sturdy horses. One such horse, a black and white mare, walked by Maloney at the front of the pillar of people, bearing a tiny old woman, her hair brilliantly white, her skin intensely lined and beautifully gold.

Suzaku's hand found its way into Aurora's, and there it stayed. The vivacity of the people had quieted a little, but the air wasn't quite somber. More… reverent. Children still giggled, but quietly, flitting throughout the people like fireflies. Dogs returned, threading through the crowds like the children to find their masters. Ban appeared, panting happily and leaning a little against Suzaku's leg. As they walked, old-fashioned lanterns were lit, flames dancing like fairies within their glass walls.

The Pavees circled round the stones, looming and ancient in the dimming light. While the majority of the people remained around the perimeter, five made their way through the crowds, stepping over the grass onto the hallowed ground. Two men and two women carried instruments, while one young woman was empty-handed. Suzaku guessed her to be related to Cojini, perhaps her daughter, as the resemblance was striking.

"Tiena is the best singer in the band. It is her honor to lead the stone song," Aurora whispered quietly, a warm presence pressed to his side. Finally, the sun only a memory and the clouds bronzed and golden, the first vibrating notes slid through the air, drawn from a fat, guitar-like instrument – Aurora breathed that it was a hurdy-gurdy. A bodhran drum followed, then a violin, before an acoustic guitar joined with its more recognizable strums.

A soft note rose from the people, both within and without the stone circle. Aurora pitched in as well, her familiar, lovely voice a soothing swell beside him. When that wave fell silent, though, a voice then rose alone, the central thread in a tapestry of sound.

It was… incredible. Pure and bright, it seemed almost inhumanly perfect. Tiena sang of trees and leaves, of a burgeoning, celebrated springtime. Of owls in a blue night, and lantern light holding back shadows.

Her voice surged, telling the stories of night ramblings and offered garlands. Quietly, the rest of the band joined her, contributing to the sound, but unable to overwhelm Tiena, her clear voice was so powerful. She knelt, resting a bundle of yellow star-shaped flowers tied with twine amidst the grass at the center of the circle. When she straightened again, she turned her eyes out to her people, and Suzaku was struck by the power swirling in those dark depths.

She continued, singing of ribbons tied to branches that marked the season, and birds singing eternal, even as the world spun. This time, when she returned to the chorus, only the women sang, and in its echo, girls, from those barely old enough to stand to those around Aurora's age, stepped into the circle of stones, joining hands in a ring around those weaving music in its center.

It made sense when Tiena sang of dancers clasping hands, her words marking the moment when the girls swayed and stepped, a gentle, easy dance even the very young ones could manage gracefully. Again, Tiena knelt at the center, this time offering a bundle of lavender, its spears dark in the gathering night. It was a ceremony done at the gods' door, in honor of beautiful work wrought in a dark world.

The girls danced; the women sang. In the final chorus, the entire band joined in again, Suzaku even daring to hum quietly along. After that, the music dipped and swirled, slowly drawing to a close. As the plain grew silent, every man, woman, and child moved to brush appreciative fingers over the nearest stone. Aurora and Suzaku respectfully followed suit, the flickering lantern light casting a golden, shifting circle as night more truly fell.

Honor now paid, everyone turned back towards camps. Aurora and Suzaku still remained in the midst of them, hands linked as the chatter slowly resurged around them. The both of them were content to listen until someone appeared at Aurora's side, having wended through the crowd. It was Tiena, who bumped hips companionably with Aurora, half a dozen flower rings looped around her neck.

"Long time no see, lassy. We were wondering when you'd deign to visit us again."

Now that she wasn't the shifting figure amidst flames and ancient stones, Suzaku could see that she was actually quite small, almost delicate. Her small size seemed at odds with her voice which, even when she wasn't singing, held a peculiar power. Rings glinted from most of her fingers as she gestured, flashing in the flame light.

"I pick my moments, Tiena – tonight was a good moment," Aurora said with a pleasant shrug. "Nice work tonight, as usual."

Tiena just smiled in response, an expression of feline pride.

"You'll be joining the singing later, of course."

"Of course. I don't think your father would let me leave before I've paid my due."

So Maloney and Cojini were her parents, Suzaku reflected idly as he listened to Aurora's laugh.

"Good. Now, who's your handsome friend here with the birthday today?"

Suzaku was a little startled to be drawn into the quick repartee between the two women.

"Suzaku. He already knows your name. I'm sure you're used to that," Aurora tossed back with a wink. Tiena just made a humming sound similar to her father.

"It's good luck to be born on a night of a stone ceremony. Not quite like a birthday on Litha or Mabon, or, in this one's case, Ostara," she continued with an elbow nudge in Aurora's side, "but still. It's the feast day of Saint Etto, a fine, hard-working saint. You married yet, Aurora?" Tiena suddenly asked, shifting the subject with blunt alacrity.

"No. Are you?" Aurora threw back just as fast. Tiena colored a little, but her answering grin was wide.

"No. Just the same, then. That's a relief. Wouldn't want you tamed."

Someone snagged Tiena's attention, and she looked back with a wave.

"See you kids later. Be sure to say hello to Grandmama, Aurora!"

Left in her wake, the sound around them seemed a little dim.

"She's… something," Suzaku carefully ventured after a few moments. Aurora chuckled.

"She is that. Tiena's quite a firebrand. In another life, she would have made an excellent diva."

They laughed together quietly, content to drift along with the current of people around them as they arrived back at camp.

Food was distributed, fires lit. Suzaku deferred the mead passed around, but accepted a sweet cider and another shallow bowl of the spicy stew, this time accompanied by a thick slab of brown soda bread. Once Aurora was similarly equipped, they made their way to the logs circled around a blazing fire, seating themselves to eat and watch.

There was an air of finality to the festivities; when Suzaku commented on this to Aurora, she mentioned that it was because tomorrow afternoon, the band would move along to the next stone circle. This was their last night beside the Camhaoir Stones, at least this year.

Cojini came to sit by them for a while, a sleeping baby cuddled in her arms as she gave them a sort of running commentary while taking a break away from some of the bustle. She knew everyone, in ways much deeper than name and parentage. Eventually, though, her duties as a sort of matron to the tribe called her away. Before she left, however, Cojini smoothly traded Suzaku his bowl and cup for the baby, which he was forced to take with terrified caution, like he was handling a live bomb. When he tried to pass the baby to Aurora with barely restrained panic, she turned towards him, but didn't take it.

"I don't know, I think she likes you. There now, support her head. Just like that. Bring that arm up and… perfect."

Suzaku knew that pattern of exhalation from her was disguised laughter, but he was too petrified of the sleeping infant to comment. Ban, who had flopped at their feet earlier, now stood, inching closer, staring at the baby with rapt attention.

Aurora struggled against giggling, the way the two males were held in utter, unnerved awe by a sleeping nine-month old girl. She'd bet a great deal of money that Suzaku had no idea his hands could be that gentle, that tender, as they were now holding the baby. He made quite a picture, she mused; handsome in red plaid rolled up to the elbows and a black t-shirt, tucked into jeans that now fit him beautifully well. Jenna knew her stuff.

His hair curled a little in the humidity, and once he forgot to be nervous and scared, he began to smile down at the little girl with a goofy warmth that made Aurora's heart tear into quietly weeping pieces. Briefly, the little girl's eyes blinked sleepily open, the two of them caught in each other's gazes before she gurgled, wriggled, then fell back asleep.

When the infant's mother came to collect her, it was all Aurora could do to hide the laugh as a cough into her fist at the affronted look on Suzaku's face. He relinquished her with distinct reluctance, the infant stirring discontentedly when she left his arms, but remaining steadily asleep. Aurora leaned over to murmur under her breath.

"Little Femi has no idea how good she had it. To be under the watch and care of the preeminent knight of the empire; no one could ever claim a more impressive babysitter."

Suzaku just looked at her askance, his nose wrinkling a little until he realized she was just teasing. Then his brow lifted, and he took a regal sip of cider.

Much of the camp, those old, or young, enough to enjoy a bit of late evening festivities, gathered around the roaring fire in the middle of the circle of wagons. More instruments were produced, and strings were rosined and plucked, the occasional testing whistle of a flute or quick series of thumps on a drum setting the tone of anticipation. Maloney moved through his people like the chief he was, eventually entering the round of light circled by the logs. He lifted his arms in an encompassing gesture.

"What songs shall we have tonight?"

Suggestions were shouted out, vetoed or agreed upon with equal zeal. Aurora just straightened her legs and crossed her ankles, cuddling a little against Suzaku's side. Finally, a tune was decided upon, and the first drumbeats moved through the air, quieting the talk and drawing attention. A guitar soon joined in, followed by a pair of airy flutes.

When Maloney began to sing, Suzaku could see that Tiena came by her skill inherently. The drama, the flair, and the incredible voice. Whereas his daughter's had a high purity, Maloney's voice was deep and rich, a baritone that reached into the bone. His subjects might have been prosaic – tapestry threads and mountain stones – but Maloney moved with a theatrical grace that held his audience rapt. Quick, tricky flute notes carried him to the value of a life and the perspectives in which to see it when sound and movement suddenly exploded.

A dozen young women, apparently waiting for this very moment, shot to their feet, sinuously dancing with scarves as the rest of the audience began to chant and clap in time. Aurora was content to sit until Maloney turned his eyes to her, beckoning for her to join. It took only a moment before the temptation overtook her. She launched up, snagging the royal blue scarf thrown to her as she moved to the pounding beat.

Suzaku was left to clap, and revel in the sight of her. Her curls bounced and whirled, her skirt rippling and swirling as she danced with sensual abandon. The scarf was a lithe extension of herself, the flames behind Aurora throwing her into shadowed relief. And yet, somehow, her smoky eyes seemed to burn, to tempt. For a moment, she didn't look real. Like some fairy come to steal hearts, or a siren to steal souls. Whatever she was, Suzaku would be hard-pressed to find any man able to resist.

Then she was back, dropping down beside him panting, laughing a little as Maloney resumed his song. The only proof of transformation was the scarf that slithered through her hands. With a grin, she looped it over her neck, then brought her eyes back to Maloney as he sang of golden lakes and lost sheep. Suzaku managed to drag his attention back just in time to catch the question if a man's worth is irredeemable upon his loss of everything, or if it was the start of something new entirely. It struck a little close to home, and it took him a while to fall back into the spirit as he sang of the true value of a man, the magnitude of generosity, and the truth that no one escapes fate's pitfalls.

It felt deeply personal, but Suzaku knew better than that. Still, it was a challenge to drag himself back out of his head. He suddenly didn't have a choice, however, when Aurora stood again, no doubt to return with the other dancers. What Suzaku didn't expect was her snagging his hand and try to tug him up to join in.

"Come on," she cajoled in a whisper.

"Aurora, no," he said woodenly, the thought of dozens of eyes landing on him turning Suzaku into concrete.

"Come on. Trust me."

He gazed into her eyes as she said it; that was why he knew he could trust it, and her.

Slowly, he came to his feet, grasping the other end of the scarf like a lifeline when she offered it. He tried to ignore the fact that the firelight lit them up, that strangers were staring at him, just waiting for him to make a fool of himself. Suzaku tried to just look at Aurora, to just focus on those blue eyes.

For a brief moment, the beat seemed to oblige, slowing enough for her to show him a few intricate steps he was apparently meant to copy. Then, the music was moving, them along with it. The dance was less structured than anything they'd practiced in the studio, and, after a moment's panic, Suzaku just let it go.

He spun and danced with her; it wasn't perfect, it wasn't polished, but it was exhilarating. For a moment, the drums slowed, and they circled, each on either end of the scarf. Then, Suzaku wasn't quite sure why, he tugged on the scarf, bringing Aurora into his arms as the music quickened like a heartbeat – his heartbeat. The fire and stars began to meld as they twirled and tightened, wrapped close as they became each other's balance. He was utterly taken by the feel of her in his arms, and when the song ended, Suzaku wasn't quite ready to let her go.

It took a moment to realize they still held each other like their lives depended on it. When they reluctantly parte, the firelight managed to hide most of the color that bloomed in their cheeks. The pair of them returned to their seat, still panting a little. After all that heat and energy between them, Aurora was a little reluctant to brush up against Suzaku – she didn't know if she could handle the sparks. Dropping down, she wound the scarf around her throat when the woman who tossed it to her told her to keep it, laughing a little as Maloney swung his wife into an extravagant circle before dipping her back and pressing a lavish kiss to her lips. Suzaku and Aurora joined the applause, clapping with abandon.

One of the younger women – Nareli was her name – approached, touching Aurora's arm lightly. The firelight danced on her raven hair, a baby just starting teething riding her hip.

"Aurora. Charani wishes to speak with you."

She felt a soft smile steal over her face. Charani. It had been a long time.

"I'll be right there."

Nareli nodded and turned away. Running her fingers through her hair, which had been thoroughly disarrayed by the dance, Aurora heaved a fortifying breath before glancing over at Suzaku, who tilted his head in question.

"Who's Charani?"

"She's the elder of this clan. She's very wise, and very old." Standing, she brushed at the seat of her skirt. "She also one of the few Seers left."

"What do you mean?"

"Charani can see the future, Suzaku." Grinning at his awestruck expression, Aurora made her way to the wagons.

Chapter Text

Only Charani's wagon had purple trim, a bright red bird on one side and a blue dragon on the other. Politely, Aurora knocked, waiting for the bid to enter before opening the small door. It smelled of linen and candle smoke, flowers and talc. Charani sat at what constituted both her kitchen table and her desk in the miniscule interior lit by a dozen candles, dexterously shuffling a deck of tarot cards.

They were oversized to begin with, but looked massive in the tiny old woman's hands. She didn't look over at Aurora's entrance, nor did she glance down at the cards she shuffled with such practiced skill. Her face was turned to the open window beside her, where the firelight flickered, making her appear somehow both ancient and timeless. Another song was starting; she could just make out the strains from here.

"Sit down, Aurora, dear."

As Aurora sat, Charani sighed with contentment. Still, she didn't look at her guest.

"Such happy sounds."

"No desire to sit by the fire tonight?" Aurora asked lightly, the clicking of shuffled cards a quick counterpoint to their words.

"Not tonight. Tonight was for the cards, and it takes me so damnably long to get anywhere these days."

"Couldn't miss the stones, though," she pointed out lightly. Charani chuckled.

"Not until I'm dead, little dawn girl. Now then," she said, finally turning her head to face Aurora. Eyes that had once been beetle black were now deeply clouded; Charani was the next thing to blind. She handed Aurora the deck.

"I believe you remember what to do."

She did, of course. Aurora shuffled the cards once herself, then handed them back. Charani mixed them one final time, then set them in front of her. Aurora cut the deck in half, which the elder then stacked and began to lay out the cards.

"Now, I've dealt for your past before, so no need to see there. I believe we'll take a look first into your heart before moving on to your future." Unlike many of a similar trade, Charani never dealt cards in the same pattern. When Aurora had asked her about it, she'd said merely that she laid the cards as they needed to be dealt. She did, however, like to include what she called a crown card, a single card that topped any arrangement upon the table. It was often encompassing, and disturbingly accurate, as were all of Charani's readings.

Once ten cards were laid upon the table, Charani paused, tapping a finger to her chin as her weakened eyes slowly catalogued them. How she could see them, Aurora couldn't say. The woman could barely see her well enough to tell what color her hair was. But when it came to the cards, she was unparalleled.

"Quite the womanly spread. Feeling your femininity these days, I see. And I'm hardly surprised to see someone of your lineage pull so many court cards."

She'd learned before to just listen as Charani wound through the reading – interruptions were not appreciated.

"The Empress; of course your crown is a Major Arcana. No surprise there. Femininity, yes, but nurturing, as well. You've been taking care of something. Or someone. Someone who brings out your romantic side, your need to be protector and knight in shining armor. Knight of Cups do so love being rescuers. The Sun – fun, simplicity, positivity, which plays in well with one of your classics, the Queen of Wands. Strong, determined, energetic. And look, lucky you – the Lovers. A relationship, yes, but also a dilemma demanding a choice. It may look negative now, but it's for the best in the long run. Another of your favorites, the Six of Pentacles. Still giving away your money like it's going out of style, I see."

"You know me," Aurora murmured, knowing that comments were usually only acceptable at the end of a row's explanation. Charani just smiled knowingly before returning her faded eyes to the cards, humming with interest.

"Now this is new. The King of Cups, but lateral. I would expect that emotional balance, generosity, and diplomacy, but something's going to upset it. Likely that Lovers' choice. Room for volatility and emotional manipulation there. Ah, and it's the start of a trend. The Queen of Swords is a standard for you as well, but she can be callous just as much as quick-witted and independent. The Three of Wands is a sign of waiting, the harbinger of expanding horizons and a larger world view, sometimes literally. And finally, the Page of Swords. Whatever's coming, you'll no doubt have the curiosity and energy to face it, even if it does mean your chronic mental restlessness."

Charani gathered up the cards, still musing them over as she began shuffling again.

"So. The Lovers, eh?"

Aurora laughed in what was supposed to be a natural cadence, dismayed to hear the awkward note that was impossible for Charani to miss.

"Oh. Well. It's, uh-"

"I'm assuming you brought him with you," she said easily, killing Aurora's graceless stall. Finally, she bowed to the wordless pressure.

"Yes. You'll want to read for him, of course."

Charani shrugged, her snow-white brows quirked in teasing.

"There. You can see the future too."

Aurora just shook her head as she again shuffled, then cut the deck.

"We both know that I have less of the gift than a dead log."

"For the future, perhaps," Charani conceded as she began dealing the cards again. "But don't sell yourself short in the present. Let's see now."

Coincidentally, this spread also had ten cards, now arranged in a square with a single card on top. It was not, however, the Empress again.

"Strength seems obvious, but the reality of it is more than its name. It's patience, compassion, control, stamina. It's strength that comes from within, against our inner demons. Two of Cups. You're quite serious about him, aren't you? It's the sign of a deep emotional connection, but one that isn't promised to last. And last it won't. The heartbreak of the Three of Swords. This grief is cause by knowledge, and a hard decision with no easy answers. But I do believe this is the first time I've ever seen you draw the sacrifice card: The Hanged Man. The hurt you'll feel by losing him, you'll have to let go. It's about emotional release and a change in your life." Charani looked up at Aurora, who swallowed against the gravity in her wizened face. A hard read made her feel a little lost at sea.

"But it'll take time. You have the lateral Queen of Cups to deal with. She's about emotional security and calm, but when you're forced to bottle up what you feel, it leads to disconnection and dealing with a wreck of emotions. Things will change quickly, though; Eight of Wands is a card of speed and action, and travel. You'll reach a teetering point – the sideways Chariot is a sign of control, will, and determination, but it can get aggressive, and potentially collapse under the pressure. Here, though, is your end game: the Ten of Pentacles is for home, family, security, a lasting foundation. And you'll need the balance, purpose, and long-term vision of Temperance to get it. Whatever play you make, it'll come to an end. You'll complete what you start, either with success or failure. But it will be over; that's what happens when you draw The World."

Again Charani gathered the cards, then gave them a cleansing shuffle. Setting the neat deck to her right, she sat back in her chair, gazing at Aurora for a moment, then smiling encouragingly.

"Not the worst spread I've ever seen."

Aurora laughed, the sound largely without humor.

"No. But things won't always stay this fun, will they?"

"Do they ever?" Charani asked with the beleaguered experience of the elderly, doubled by the hard knowledge of a Seer. Idly, she drew a card for the top of the deck, walking it through her knobby fingers. As it flashed by, Aurora thought she saw a trio celebrating with glasses raised. Her suspicions were confirmed when Charani set the card on the table and slid it towards her, revealing it to be the Three of Cups.

"Three always has been a sacred number for you."

Aurora cocked her head, her expression puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

Charani leaned forward, her hands laced on the table as she gazed all but sightlessly at Aurora, her eyes disturbingly perceptive nonetheless.

"Think about it, Aurora darling. You were born in the third month of the year. You are the third member of the Andrews' trio. You don't fall in love until the third man you become involved with. You meet him three years after the Emperor's death. You're together three months before he leaves. He'll pick another woman over you twice, before the third finally forces the choice both of you dance around. He'll bleed on your hands three times before this game you've only just begun ends – he has once already. And, perhaps most damning of all, you'll have three children."

Aurora just stared at the woman before she could rally herself enough to respond.

"What?!" she burst out. Not her most eloquent of responses, granted. But Charani just settled back again, a serene smile on her face.

"It's not that hard, Aurora. You're easier to read than most. Perhaps the universe is making up for such a convoluted past by laying your future out so clearly."

"Nothing you just said is clear. Except for the first part, maybe. And how the hell do you know how many children I'm going to have? I'm not even sure I want children, Charani."

The elder just clucked her tongue in admonition at Aurora's words, unwillingly tinged with desperation.

"Be honest, Aurora. It's not that you don't want children. You're just not certain if you should have children."

That was… stunningly painful. And shockingly true. Charani appeared to take pity on her, leaning close enough to rest her small, wrinkled hand over the one laying lax on the table, having fallen flat, just like her protests.

"Take heart, dear. Remember what you drew. Ten of Pentacles, the World. Those are cards of hope and completion – you've held strong for so long. Just keep it up for a while longer. I know you can; I've seen the truth of your heart. You're a dragon, dawn girl. Just like your man out there," she continued with the jerk of her head towards the bonfire.

"Go easy on him, will you?" Aurora asked with a crooked smile, straining to regain her balance after being so thoroughly tossed about by Charani's quiet words, the slight voice of an elderly woman somehow wreaking havoc with her emotions. It wasn't bad, just… chaotic.

"I can promise that he's never had his cards read, and you might spook him."

Charani just waved Aurora's warning away.

"Tough lad like him, I'm sure he'll manage to muscle through a few uncomfortable truths."

"Still. He's…" Aurora didn't know what to say that wouldn't betray Suzaku's pride, and still somehow convey the care Charani needed to take.

"I'm not one to bruise wounded creatures," Charani said grandly with affronted dignity. "And I don't need to read his cards to see his pain. I just don't yet know the cause why."

"I'm sure I don't need to say that whatever you learn…" Aurora didn't even finish that sentence. She didn't dare, not with the arch look being thrown her way.

"Girl, I am a Seer. My codes of confidence are stricter than the most honest of priests. I could curl your pretty hair even more than it already is with what I know. You don't need to lecture me on discretion."

Thoroughly chastised, Aurora smiled placatingly, seeking to soothe.

"Of course not. I just wanted to prepare you for the gravity of what you might see."

That seemed to mollify Charani, for now.

"I've seen war and death, strife and grief. Is there anything more terrible, anything I have not yet seen?"

"He's survived all of that, and more."

Charani seemed to contemplate that for a moment before shrugging.

"Nothing in this boy can frighten me – I've seen worse. I'm a Traveller by birth, and so I will be when I die. It's not a life for the faint-hearted." She said that with a firm nod, bouncing the bundle of fragile white hair atop her head.

"Then you have the heart of a tiger," Aurora said, taking to her feet to lean over and lay a careful kiss on Charani's papery forehead.

"Go now, and send your young man in. No doubt my Maloney will have you singing in minutes."

"No doubt. Evening, madam," she finally bid goodbye as she slipped from the carriage. Aurora took a deep breath as she stepped out into the warm night air, the small confines working on her nerves. And, if she was honest, the cards and their immensely powerful, very old reader.

The fire was still roaring, a song just now fading away. Aurora picked her way through the crowd, resting her palm against Suzaku's shoulder as she regained her seat. He turned towards her, his hands lowering from where they'd just finished enthusiastically clapping along.

"So? How'd it go? Are you going to meet a mysterious visitor, come into some money?" Leaning a little closer, he whispered teasingly in her ear, "Did you cross her palm with silver?"

Smirking, Aurora swatted his shoulder. Obviously, he'd had time to recover from his shock.

"No. I've already met the mysterious stranger," she said, her brows raised for emphasis, "and the last thing I need is more money. The reading is free of charge. As is yours," she added lightly. He looked a little disconcerted. "She's expecting you. Accommodating her would be the polite thing to do."

Oh, to watch Suzaku mentally twist and writhe against the burden of manners. Lazily, Aurora sipped at the cider she'd been offered, leaning back, her hand braced on the log. Finally, heaving a deep sigh, Suzaku stood.

"Purple trim, red bird on the side. Knock before you enter. And have fun!" she called after him as he marched away, walking with the straight-shouldered determination of a man going to a task he had no desire to complete. Smiling into her cup, she shared a giggle with Bannock. Not ten seconds later, Maloney invited her to join Lennor, his cousin, in a song.

This was utterly ridiculous. But after such warm hospitality, what choice did he have? It was all rubbish, anyway, but there was no reason not to humor an old woman. Besides, Geass and any power like it was outrageously rare – how likely was it that an old woman in Ireland possessed some cousin of it? Finding the carriage, Suzaku courteously knocked, waiting to be invited in. He had to stoop to avoid giving himself a concussion as he entered, the old woman quickly drawing his attention. She was the one that had ridden the horse next to Maloney on the way to the standing circle.

Frail and achingly small, she sipped from a glass of deeply red, dark wine. As he approached, she held out a hand to shake – her golden skin was like tissue, her joints hollow and fragile. Suzaku took her hand as gently as he could, afraid he would break her. She waved him to the small built-in bench across from her.

"You must be Suzaku. My name is Charani, and I am the eldest member of this tribe. Now sit, and I will begin shuffling your cards." Her hands were bent with arthritis, and yet she handled the large cards with adroit expertise. The cards themselves were beautiful; the backs were artfully designed with trees and leaves, roses and vines. As she shuffled, he looked around. The candles, he expected. But there was no heavy scent of incense, no crystal balls or polished stones. It was cramped, but clean and warm. It was only when he looked back at Charani that he finally noticed it.

"You're blind," he breathed.

"All but, I'm afraid," she chirped back. Suzaku colored – he couldn't believe he'd actually said that out loud. Once said, though, the questions that begged to follow sat heavy in his throat. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'm sorry, I know it's rude, but have you…"

"Always been blind?" she queried with a half grin. Suzaku nodded, forgetting himself, already drawn in by the answer.

"Of course not. Cataracts. My papa had them something fierce when he was an old man. Started developing about ten years ago. Had perfectly normal eyesight before these bastards cropped up." Charani paused in her shuffling, leaning an elbow on the table with a conspiratorial air. "But it could be said that my eyes failed because they've seen so much more than the average person all my days."

As she leaned back to continue shuffling, Suzaku stared at her, drawn in despite his best intentions. When she glanced up and threw a wink his way, he chuckled under his breath, reminding himself it was just a game, a way for a clever old woman to pass the time.

"Now then," she said crisply, "shuffle the deck. Whatever way you're comfortable."

Passably, he got it done, then handed the deck back. Charani shuffled one more time, with much more grace, before setting the cards down in front of him.

"Cut the deck."

Precisely, he split the deck in two.

"Let's see what your past holds," she murmured, and taking them in hand again, Charani began to deal. A thought suddenly occurred to Suzaku.

"But how can you see them?"

Charani paused as she dealt to tap the tip of her index finger against the remaining deck, gazing at him with those milky, blind eyes.

"I've been reading tarot cards since I was six years old, which is a great deal more years back than I care to admit. I see them in my sleep, in my daydreams. I saw them during the birth of my two sons, and during the birth of their children. I see them when my little Tiena sings, especially as she did tonight. I'll probably see them even after I die."

"So Tiena is your granddaughter," Suzaku said as she returned to dealing cards. There was a vague resemblance, and this was obviously who she had meant by Grandmama.

"Great," Charani said absently, her attention taken by the sixth row.

"Sorry?"

"Great-granddaughter. Maloney is my grandson. His father died four years back now, and left the tribe to him. Now hush. Let me see what there is to see." She perused the cards intently, spread out almost the entire width of the table. Finally, she straightened, and hovered her hand over the card closest to him.

"Your first card, your crowning card if you will, is Justice. It defined your past, that dedication to fairness, that belief that you should account for your actions and be judged accordingly. This also means that the consequences of your actions were a catalyst of what followed. The Ace of Swords is a sign of opportunity and raw, sometimes excessive, energy. In the beginning, you were a champion, strong of heart, mind, and will. No doubt aimed against the Hierophant. It's reversed, however, meaning a break from tradition and convention. You went your own way, tried to find your own path. Most likely in rebellion against your father and what he stood for. Which led to the conflict of the Five of Wands. Tension, competition; it's the struggle of having your point of view constantly challenged. In your case, it was actual fighting, combat."

Suzaku breathed carefully through his nose. It was luck, chance. It was a game using the perceiver's context. No need to be shocked.

"The sideways King of Wands means you're driven by will, power, and inspiration. You're a natural born leader and goal-oriented. But you can be aggressive, impulsive, and high-handed. Much worse, however, is that you have far too harsh expectations of yourself. The Knight of Cups is your capacity for romance, your tendency to be the chivalrous knight. But… it ended poorly. The Three of Swords for loss and grief. It was the knowing, the betrayal, that was the worst. And while you have happy memories of her, the reversed Six of Cups is the inability to move on, so you clung to what happened." When she paused, Suzaku glanced up. Their eyes met, verdantly clear and darkly clouded.

"I'm sorry," she murmured simply, carefully laying her hand on his for a moment, before pulling away and returning her attention to the second half of the spread. The show of sympathy was heartfelt enough to leave him feeling calm instead of panicked.

"A sideways Six of Wands is public victory and recognition, but it also shows a fall from grace after her death. Five of Cups is a card of mourning and despair, the Five of Swords a sign of more fighting. But this was a matter of win at all costs, negative ambitions, and callousness. It led to the Ten of Swords. Here, the promise of the Ace of Swords has gone terribly wrong, a collapse of beliefs and betrayal that you could no longer stand against. Which all led to this," she said quietly, picking up the final card.

"The lateral Hanged Man. You let go of what you knew, and your entire life changed. It's a sign of sacrifice, a willing victim to achieve a higher goal. Both for you, and the man that was your enemy and friend. But this card is a sign of martyrdom, which led to your loss of faith." Carefully, Charani set the card down again, staring over the cards spread between them.

"These are the cards of a soldier, one who began bright and believing before the war, and your loss, eventually broke you down." Then she raised her gaze, and looked at him as closely as she'd looked at the cards. "And yet here you are. Shall we see what's going on right now? What lies within your heart?"

Suzaku didn't know if he actually acquiesced. But Charani gathered the cards, and began her shuffling again. She didn't chat this time – how could she, when she'd seen his father and Lelouch and Euphie all spread out in fancifully illustrated cards? Mechanically, he completed his part of the preparation, his mind spinning, as she laid down cards again. There were a few less cards, but the arrangement was wider.

"Hmmm. Better, much better. Up top we have The Hermit. Introspection, soul-searching, away from the day to day. You've done quite of bit of that lately. The Devil was a situation not in your best interest. It had you bound, hopeless, and obsessed. More literally, it's the card of addiction. But The Tower changed all that – a sudden event that shook your foundation and released you from The Devil's hold on you. After, you've had the rest of the Four of Swords. A chance to recuperate, time away from your current circumstances so you could return and face the challenge. Now these two are naturally opposites: the Nine of Swords and Four of Wands. But they're both sideways. On the one hand, you have depression and nightmares, yet the eventual return of perspective. On the other, you have friends and family, peace and tranquility. But that home is now unstable, and there are outside forces demanding change."

Yes, Suzaku thought a little sourly. The Empire of Britannia could certainly be considered an outside force.

"And Strength. Not just the power, but the patience, compassion, and control. You've nicely cultivated that recently. And you too get the Two of Cups, a deep affection under tenuous circumstances. The Wheel of Fortune is a card of good luck and life cycles, turning points and destiny. While the Two of Swords is the conflict between heart and mind, and the struggle to make a difficult decision. Ah, I was wondering when I'd see this." Her fingers lightly rested on a sideways card, showing the picture of a winged woman on the back of a horse.

"Death. Both beginnings and ending, transformation and resistance. Sudden, unexpected change, and an unwillingness to let go. You're at a fulcrum in your life, Suzaku. Whichever way you tip, it'll send you down a path you cannot return from. You can only follow it to its end."

He nodded, because what could he say? Nothing he didn't already know; yet it was disturbing, to see it all laid out so clearly on the table. Again, Charani began her perpetual shuffling.

"And now for your future. Anything particular you want to know?"

He was tempted – tempted to ask when he would die, if Aurora would be alright, if he'd ever see her again after he left. But he bit his tongue, and gestured for her to go ahead. His part done, he sat back as Charani dealt out the cards one final time.

"The Magician for a crown card. Action, resourcefulness, focus on a single goal. You can use your will and resources to make the change in the world that's needed. But a lateral Ace of Cups is a sign of both love and compassion, and bottled up emotions. They become overwhelming once released. We see the Three of Swords again, but reversed. A sign of recovery and emotional purging, much like the reversed Five of Cups. An opening and healing; you'll be willing to take risks again. Another reversal: the Eight of Swords. You've come through a difficult time, but you'll be free, and no longer a victim to your past. The Nine of Wands is courage and persistence, the sign of a test of faith."

Unwillingly intrigued, Suzaku continued to listen carefully.

"The High Priestess. Mate, if you will, to your Magician crown card. Intuition and mystery, knowledge and wisdom. Sounds like a certain female we know. The Tower again. More change, more unexpected events to contend with that force you to question your beliefs. And then there's Judgement. Rebirth and absolution, it's an important stage of the journey. Deep wounds will finally heal, and then you'll be able to move on. And then it ends."

"What?" Suzaku croaked, taken aback by the finality in her voice.

"The World. It's means whatever you start, will end. It will be completed, and you'll understand the truth of your role in this time and place."

Finally. The vague mysticism he'd been expecting during this entire exercise of disquieting precision into his past and present. There was really only one explanation.

"Did Aurora tell you about me?"

Charani stopped as she gathered the cards, pinning Suzaku with a stare that made him swallow.

"Do you think she had to tell me anything in order for me to know?"

Wise enough to recognize a trick question when he heard one, Suzaku just shook his head. Charani resumed her gathering with a shrug.

"You're not the first to doubt, and I'm too old to be wounded by it. But I can promise you, Aurora betrayed no confidences. Although you teased and suggested I still get paid in silver."

Suzaku's gaze snapped to the window with narrowed eyes. That was impossible. He'd said that after Aurora had returned from the wagon, and there was absolutely no way that Charani had heard his whispered words from over seventy feet away through a crowd, roaring fire, and music. She just smiled and set the deck aside.

"You've come through much, Suzaku. That's commendable. You still battle your demons, your memories. That's admirable. But the fight is far from done, both against outside forces and within yourself. That final card, The World, is entirely dependent on you. You make your own endings. So make it one that counts."

Her gentle advice seemed to shiver through the air, glinting off candle smoke. He stared at her, unsure of what to make of the cards, of her advice. Of Charani herself. Then she shrugged.

"Then again, I'm nothing but a very old woman entertaining myself with some cards." She glanced over at him, smiling sharply. "Right?"

Taking the out so kindly offered, Suzaku just tilted his head to the side.

"Of course. Everyone knows none of this is anything but chance and tells."

But her words as he stood brought him up short.

"So says the man marked by magic's law."

Again, their gazes held silently. Then, Charani held out her hand, just as she had when he'd first entered.

"Blessed be, Suzaku. And have a happy birthday."

"Thank you, ma'am. Good evening."

Of course, she couldn't let it go at that. Just as Suzaku opened the door, Charani called out one final time.

"Oh, and, dear? Don't be jealous. She had to move on too, you know."

Completely confused, refusing to be baited into thinking about Aurora with another man, he just nodded and gently shut the door. As he made his contemplative way back to the fire, hands in his pockets, his mind chewing its way through the last twenty minutes, he heard the old woman's quiet chuckle through the open window of her wagon. Shaking his head, and smiling ruefully, he made his way back to the embrace of firelight, where Aurora waited for him.

Chapter Text

In the time it took for Suzaku to walk from Charani's wagon back to the bonfire, he brought himself, and his expression, under control. It took him a moment to search Aurora out – she'd moved, now sitting in the midst of several musicians, a glistening violin held competently in her hands. Impishly, she toodled the bow across the strings with a grin, eliciting a playful, trilling sound. He'd never seen her play the violin before; behind the piano, she manifested a sense of grandeur, a noble sort of sorrow. But she played the violin with charm and mischief, making the grizzled older gentleman sitting to her right laugh delightedly. He stood a little apart, hands in his pockets, content to watch as she amused herself and those around her.

To himself, Suzaku could admit that when Aurora caught sight of him, a smile moving over her face that glittered with warmth and affection, he felt a little proud. To be singled out, by a woman like her. She handed the violin off before rising to join him. Companionably, she linked her arm in his, much as she had earlier as they strolled back to their original seats.

"So? How'd it go?"

"Charani is… very interesting," Suzaku eventually said, deciding keep it vague. Even if he wanted to be specific, he wasn't even sure what exactly to say. Someone handed Aurora a sugared pastry, warm and redolent of cinnamon. As they strolled, she tore it in half, and handed him one of the two pieces.

"She is certainly that," Aurora said with a laugh as they skirted the circle of logs. "Older than the earth itself, or so she would have you believe. Probably somewhere in her nineties, and very spry, if you don't count the cataracts."

Could you even count something like that with a woman like her? Suzaku, however, didn't voice this thought, still a little uneasy with the subject of the tarot card reader.

"How long have you known Charani and her tribe?" he eventually ventured as they sat back down. The scarf she'd acquired during the dance earlier still glittered around her neck, and she played with the tail ends as she thought.

"I met them during my first trip to Ireland. I rarely go a visit without seeing them. Partially because they do some trading with Chandler, and have safe haven on his land, as long as it's respected. That technically includes the stone circle, but those belong to no one but themselves. More it's just because I like them, and they've always been very warm and pleasant to me. Maybe they recognize a fellow outsider," she said quietly with a shrug. Suzaku pondered that; was that why Maloney's tribe had accepted him into their folds for one evening so easily? Yes, he had a trusted escort, but did they see his immense isolation in his life back in Britannia, the way Charani had seen Euphie's death and his sentence as Zero?

Suzaku tried to shake the thought off – of course not. Aurora was a human version of VIP access. Doors opened for him simply because he walked up to them next to her. The mysticism of the evening must be getting to him a little, if he's indulging in fantasies like that.

A gangly teenage boy trotted up to them, and it only took one look to see that he was desperately in love with Aurora. Suzaku felt a flash of sympathy before he cued in to the violin in the boy's hands.

"Aurora," he said a little breathlessly, his voice breaking a little on the last syllable of her name. "Would you mind showing me that violin piece you mentioned earlier?"

She glanced at Suzaku, who felt that flash of pleasure again – to be Aurora's companion, to have her attention and consideration. It was a hefty honor. He rested his hand against her spine, gently pushing her forward.

"Go on. Show them how it's done." Suzaku even threw in a wink to sweeten the deal.

"Alright. Come on, Pat."

He was idly admiring the swing of her hips as Aurora walked away when Maloney sat down beside him.

"I do believe Patrin would kill you if he thought it would win him Aurora," Maloney said lightly as he dropped down beside him. Suzaku chewed this over for a moment before speaking.

"I can't say I blame him. She's a woman men would kill for."

"Aye. Lie, steal, cheat. Start wars, topple governments. She's a regular Helen of Troy, that one. Except, Aurora is not one to be left helpless on the sidelines, and would likely get what she wanted first, instead of driving a man to sin to do it. I saw that you talked to my grandmother earlier," Maloney said, switching subjects with the same bland acuity his daughter did.

"I did," Suzaku said carefully. Maloney rested his elbows on his knees, his large fingers threaded together as he gazed into the roaring fire.

"She's one of the clearest Seers left in the world, but even Grandmama cannot predict with perfect accuracy. You never quite know how the petals will unfold when it comes to the flower of the future. So take heart, and don't let it disturb you. Now let's see what Aurora has in mind."

She was currently giving Patrin and two other young violinists an example to follow. He'd expected something classical, but the melody drifting over was soulful and a little haunting. It took a few rounds before they grasped the melody, leaving Aurora to gather a few more people before setting her bow to strings again.

This time it was a concerted effort, and the notes that had been tickling at Suzaku's memory suddenly coalesced into a song he recognized. The first time he'd heard it, he'd thought of Aurora – appropriate for the woman who traded secrets to sing about them.

She lowered her bow as she sang, the trio keeping up as she sang of stories and blood-stained cuffs. Aurora was no Tiena, but then, who was except the little woman herself? Her voice was clear and a little soft during the first few lines, making Suzaku feel and yearn from across the clearing.

Aurora had a way of communicating through her singing; not just the words, but the way emotions flickered on her face, the tiny gestures of her hands and shifts of her shoulders, that shared volumes. When the music surged, so did her voice, and brought them all into the world of secrets taken, then given away.

When she wasn't singing, her violin joined in, leading the trio with a skill hard-won. When Aurora next sang, her words sank into Suzaku's heart like claws – no family left to blame, begging not to disappear. Through the flames, he could see the way it affected her, even if no one else could. All he knew of her, the confidences that she'd shared with him, added a dimension that resonated when her eyes met his. What was the fate of the secret master when she had no more secrets left to keep?

When the song crisply ended, the audience applauded, and even from his distance away, Suzaku could see the musicians' delight at getting their teeth into a more modern song. Aurora waved off the praise, handed the violin over, then made her way across the fire. As she approached, she mock-pouted.

"That's the thanks I get for singing? You steal my seat?"

Maloney just grinned, one stubborn mischief maker to another. With an exaggerated sigh, Aurora sat on the other side of Suzaku. It was only moments before she leaned forward, however, to speak to Maloney again.

"Think we can convince Tiena to sing a cieli song for us?"

The older man hummed consideringly.

"Perhaps, if you as her nicely. It'd have to be awful nice, though. Looks like she's flirting with her favorite lad at the moment."

"Hmm. Or, you could kill two birds with one stone, ask her yourself, and intimidate Zache into coming up to snuff and trying a little harder."

He just scoffed, then thought it over. Finally, Maloney sighed, heaving to his feet to no doubt perform what he felt was his fatherly duty of snarling at men after his daughter's attention. As they watched him go, Suzaku leaned over a little.

"Is a cieli a dance?" he hazarded. Aurora just smiled softly as she gently bumped her shoulder against his.

"Don't worry. I'll show you how."

By the time the trio tumbled into the house, it was early morning, just shy of dawn. The mists had tattered like torn lace around them during the walk back, the pearly glow of it the first hints of the coming day. Although he hadn't ingested a single drop of alcohol, Suzaku felt a buzz in his blood, an urge to never let the night end. Despite the hour, he was utterly awake, even if that awareness was tinged with a wild edge. He didn't want any of this to stop; he wanted to keep dancing, keep being, keep living. Like he could take on the world, in the most loving, expansive way. Aurora felt it too; the bright edge to her laughter was likely a result of the stimuli of the evening, still riding on the wave of people and song. She rattled around the first level, completely unable to settle down, darting from place to place like a bird. There was also the fact that it had been more than twenty-four hours since either of them had slept, and they were probably displaying a little of the loopiness typical of sleep deprivation.

Ban, however, was no fool. He crashed on one of his beds in a flopping tangle of long limbs, and was promptly asleep and snoring. It took Suzaku and Aurora a while longer, however, before finally admitting defeat. His brain wasn't the least bit tired, but there was a nagging ache of fatigue in his bones, especially his left shoulder. Someone had to be the adult here. But he knew any critical suggestion against Aurora's strength would be taken as an insult and a challenge; he was self-aware enough to know that he had the same trait. So instead, Suzaku fell on the figurative sword, claiming to be a little tired and gently mentioning that perhaps they should head to bed soon. Still, it took a while before they finally got to the staircase.

They'd begun to climb up, Suzaku's foot just resting on the first tread, when Aurora suddenly turned around. There was an expression of intent on her face that had him pausing, instinctively bracing. Yet he couldn't help his fascination at the way the birthing dawn light fell on her flawlessly. It seemed only appropriate that she look so brilliant in the time of her name, her hair sparkling copper and gold with the first rays, the brush of warmth gilding her skin. Queens and goddesses wished they looked the way Aurora did just now in the infant sunlight, resplendent and exquisite. The fact of her long day and even longer night didn't seem to matter; not to Suzaku.

"You know," she said casually as she began back down the stairs, her hand trailing over the railing. Something in the way she moved set off the faintest of alarms in Suzaku's mind – he's seen in before, but where? When? "You still have one more birthday present." That refocused his attention. With raised brows, Suzaku looked pointedly at the windows, the sky beyond heavily painted with lavender, amaranth, and bronze. The stars were gone, the moon having long ago hidden her silvery face.

"Aurora, my birthday has been over for hours."

She paused on the step above him, bringing her eyes level with his, close enough to see the spider webs of silver in her irises.

"A birthday's not over until the dawn that follows," she said quietly, gazing at him in a way that made his muscles quiver a little – it was hard to tell if it was fear or anticipation. He couldn't think of anything to say; he couldn't think of anything at all. Held in captive silence, he could only watch her, watch the way she moved, the way she breathed.

"We still have a little time," Aurora whispered, almost to herself. When she raised her hands, Suzaku froze, his mind slamming to a halt when Aurora's fingers tenderly carded into his hair, one thumb tracing the shell of his ear as her other palm slowly cupped the back of her skull. Her caresses sent shivers through him, through muscles held tight by an ignorance Suzaku suddenly felt trapped by. Everywhere she touched him felt singed, like she was a flame brushing against his naked nerves. Even as she leaned in, crushingly slowly, Aurora's eyes, incandescent and intense, remained open and on his.

Although the majority of Suzaku was petrified by shock and incomprehension, there was a part of him that knew, and waited, hands limp at his sides. When Aurora's lips brushed his, lighter than butterfly wings, eyes still locked together, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he wanted. So Suzaku simply stood there as her lips testingly touched his, before retreating slightly.

He could smell her. She smelled of smoke and wildflowers, salt and fruit, like some woodland nymph of legend. And she was killing him, even as her eyes searched his, looking for the slightest dissent. When she found none, her lips touched his again, this time a little firmer, rubbing slightly. He feels exposed under those blue steel eyes, sliced to the marrow by what he saw there, too vast to catalogue, too elemental for him to understand.

While Suzaku's brain had been blanked white by that first staggering meeting of lips, this kiss had color and pleasure flooding behind his eyes with a single spark. His mind swirled and spun, until he was dizzy from it. Or maybe it was because he was holding his breath. Something had him raising his hands to her shoulders – what, he wasn't sure, but he was possessed by a sudden need to touch her, to pass his skin over hers. It was monumental act of will to keep his fingers from digging into her supple flesh.

Aurora stilled somewhat at the contact, drawing back slightly, both of them searching for even a flicker of refusal in the other. He could feel her heartbeat, thick and fast, under his hands, as she stood waiting and acquiescent if he chose to push her away, if that was what he wanted. But he did nothing, didn't even twitch in protest, remaining still and supplicant when she slowly surged forward and her mouth met Suzaku's a third time.

Aurora sank into this kiss, grinding his mind to mush under the drugging meeting of lips, stroking a finger over the pounding pulse in his throat as she inexorably deepened it. Finally, Suzaku's lashes fluttered down as he was consumed by the devastatingly slow, thorough press of her mouth against his. Just as careful and gentle of a teacher as she ever was, Aurora led this dance, the first wet brush of tongues nearly yanking a reckless groan out of him. She tasted of cider and spice, the decadence of it nearly undoing him. Suzaku wasn't sure when his hands slid over her shoulders, down the long, lean line of her back, to rest on her hips. He wasn't aware of tugging her closer, of bringing her into the shadow of his body, where heat mingled and breath mated. The brush of her skirt against Suzaku's thigh nearly ripped his teetering control to shreds; only the shattering press of her mouth against his kept him together, kept him centered.

This kiss ignited something in him; something slow and ardent and searingly hot. It coursed through his blood, pressing against the inside of his skin with a demand he had no ability to recognize. There was a silvery sharpness to his need, a desire to possess and conquer, to brand this moment into his bones. But Suzaku was too overwhelmed by the reality of what was happening to pursue it. He could, however, revel – give himself over to the touch and taste and scent of Aurora. Sometimes they sipped, other times languorously feasted; it was all he could do to remind himself to breathe. Suzaku would never admit it, but after a lifetime of being starved for human contact, this moment altered him in a way he would never be able to describe. After an eternity of famine, this was a richness that obliterated him.

He could have stayed here forever in this drowning need Aurora had provoked, would have fought and bled to defend it, for just a few moments more. So when she slowly drew away, his eyes gradually drifted open, unwilling to relinquish his hold on her yet. But he was forced to let her go, reluctant and craving, staring at the plush color of her lips, the way the blue of her eyes had deepened to near black, her pupils deeply dilated and the flush of blood warm in her cheeks. She smiled a little, before brushing the hair back from his forehead and rising up to her toes to press a kiss there.

"Happy birthday, Suzaku," she murmured, before turning and heading back up the stairs. As her hands slid from his skin and she slipped from his arms, Suzaku suddenly felt achingly bereft, insane and starved and needy and stunned. He could only watch Aurora go, still planted, overwhelmed, at the base of the stairs, helplessly memorizing the line of her spine and the sway of her hips. The movement of her skirt reminded him of how she'd danced by the fire, like some pagan fairy tale brought to breathless life by the magic of the night. About halfway up the stairs, she turned slightly, smiling down at him a little sadly.

"I'll never forget you." Her words were warm and affectionate and blindingly painful. Memory was a sort of immortality; she offered him an existence safe from any other path he would tread, because he would remain in her memories as he'd been in Ireland, for as long as she lived. There was so much there in her eyes; knowledge and sorrow, wishes and acknowledgement. A war raged in her, one he was only now beginning to barely understand.

"And I'll always remember you," Suzaku returned solemnly. She had changed him, irrevocably; the least due he owed her was to always remember her. Aurora's lips quirked a little, feline and coy, yet he recognized it as just a mask to cover the depth of what she felt. There was vulnerability there that mirrored his, and he was humbled by it.

"I know." And with a shadow of a smirk, she turned, and eventually disappeared from sight. Suzaku stood there a long time, trying to control his raging emotions and thoughts, or at least marshal them into some semblance of order in the aftermath. He flexed his stiff hands, only now realizing that he'd fiercely fisted his fingers in Aurora's blouse when she'd kissed him. He'd clung to her even as she'd slingshot him out into the unknown. Yet he'd been there and present every moment, accepting and eager. As he stared down at his hands, Suzaku swallowed, barely resisting the urge to swipe his tongue over his lips, to see if a taste of her still lingered. He didn't regret it, not really; but he'd have to live the rest of his life unable to unknow the feeling of Aurora's lips on his. It was the sweetest kind of torture.

The sun had cleared the horizon. The staircase was bathed in sunlight, the sky now canary yellow and fragile robin's egg blue. Had it been only a few minutes? Never before had that kind of heat roared through him, leaving him wrecked and reeling in the aftermath. Suzaku felt himself being yanked in multiple directions, could hear the yearnings and fears in his head battle each other with bloody intent. It was all he could do to stand, to try and rationalize what Aurora's fire had ignited

Finally, he mastered himself enough to head up the stairs. He understood.

Chapter Text

Aurora didn't know what woke her. All she knew was that one moment, she was deeply asleep, vividly dreaming of driving Natasha over hills the color of Suzaku's eyes, distant ruins and wreckages only blots on the horizon. The sun was a bright, shining coin in the sky, glinting off the duchess's sparkling cobalt paint. Out of nowhere, though, a forbidding curtain of clouds slammed down, killing the light just as Aurora's eyes snapped open. It took only seconds to orient herself; when she did, a puzzled frown stole over her face.

Bannock wasn't on the bed, in his usual spot to her left. Nor was he by the bedroom door, or even on his baby blanket. He stood next to the bed, his head all but resting on the mattress by her face, staring at her with the spooky patience of children and animals when they wanted something from a sleeping parent. As Ban looked at her, so solemnly and silently, that for a moment, a crushing sense of apprehension stole over her. Then he tilted his head and panted right in her face, spurring Aurora into normalizing action.

Shoving aside the sheets, she swung her legs over the edge and dropped her face into her hands as the memories that had made it nearly impossible to sleep careened through her mind again. Oh, God.

She'd kissed him. Aurora had kissed Suzaku. Kissed his brains out at the base of the stairs, with the lame excuse of it being a birthday present. When the truth was she'd wanted him more than the next breath. Aurora just couldn't bear the thought of never having that moment, that memory as the future and its demands pressed down on them, so she'd grabbed what she yearned for so badly, and held on for dear life on the ride that followed. He hadn't protested, but he had been blindsided – Aurora hadn't been quite so taken with the kiss to avoid seeing that.

With a bracing breath, she pushed to her feet and tried to mangle her hair into some semblance of control. It was done. The reality of it was, they'd shared a few kisses, which had been, in all honesty, incredibly innocent. She should probably regret it, but she didn't. She refused to. Breakfast would probably be awkward, but they would be fine. Aurora could always depend on her and Suzaku being fine.

Ban had slipped through the ajar door, trotting downstairs to the kitchen. She followed, dumping food in his bowl as she prepped her tea. The dog stared at her for a long moment, long enough to have her frowning at him, before finally dipping his head and eating his breakfast. Shrugging, she gazed outside at the blankets of mist, the thick wadding of clouds pregnant with rain. It was going to be a wet day, and it would make things miserable for anyone traveling. Aurora took her first sip of tea as she approached the table to sit and think through what the hell she was going to say when she saw Suzaku at breakfast. She paused, however, confused, at what already was on the table.

It was Suzaku's pocket watch.

With hesitant fingers, her mind already racing, her muscles tensing in defense against a blow she refused to believe was descending, Aurora picked up the watch, running her thumb over the engraving on the lid. It sat on top of a note, extraordinarily simple. It read:

Thank you. For everything.

枢木 スザク

He'd signed his name in kanji, her knowledge of Japanese flailing as she fought to translate, to understand the intricacies of his name in his native tongue. The air in her lungs evaporated as the extent of what this meant slammed down over her. He was gone. Suzaku was gone. Suddenly, panic gripped her heart like a vise; still clutching the watch, Aurora shot upstairs, sprinting to the study as her breath scored her throat like razors, where he had spent so much time drawing and dreaming and deciding.

Heavy medical texts slammed to the floor like cannon fire as Aurora tore her way to the safe. It seemed to take an eternity to dial the combination, and she nearly screamed at the twisting dread burrowing into her bones. Finally, it clanked open, and she took quick stock. Suzaku's medical file and go box were gone. She drooped in sudden, draining relief. He'd listened. Thank all that was holy, he'd listened.

Time slowed to sludge as Aurora made her way downstairs, all but blind as she tried to wrestle with what this meant. Her mind was mired in too much of a haze to realize she picked up the note; all she knew was that abruptly, violently, she needed air.

Trudging outside, she suddenly froze on the porch, staring at the empty space where the rental car had been. Of course he'd taken the rental, she sluggishly rationalized, her brain struggling valiantly to catch up. What had she expected – that he walk all the way to Shannon? With slow deliberation, as if her bones were made of cracked glass, Aurora lowered herself to the porch steps, staring out into the muted light of a coming storm.

She didn't know what she'd expected. A goodbye, perhaps. Something painful and tragic that would end up doing more harm than good, she supposed. It was cleaner this way. Aurora figured if she told herself that enough times, perhaps she would eventually believe it. A goodbye had already been exchanged, when she could admit it to herself. Earlier that morning, as the sun had slipped over the horizon like a disk of fire. That was one of the reasons why she'd kissed him; because they could both feel that the sand had run out, and every second was selfishly borrowed from fate. So she took what she could, while she could. Aurora just hoped that Suzaku took something from it too, something he could carry without shame or guilt. Because there was so little in his life that was truly his without that sort of caveat.

Helplessly, Aurora read the note again. Nothing changed – no letters magically rearranged themselves to change the meaning into something she could stomach. However, in this murky light, she noticed a sort of shading, like colors bleeding in the paper. Flipping it over, she stared.

It was the dragon – his dragon. The black one that Suzaku had nearly discarded, and the one she'd suggested he color red. It was beautiful, fierce and forbidding and the shade of a warrior's heart-blood. Upon leaving, he'd left her a fragment of himself. Carefully, she stroked her fingers over the dragon's head, the high-quality paper almost deluding her that she was actually touching skin.

Finally, though, she set it aside. Then, the watch still clutched in her hand and the chain trailing, Aurora curled up, defensive and fetal, buried her face in her knees, and wept. Wept wildly with stormy, choking sobs eventually muted by the growing patter of rain.

She stayed there a long time. Ban came out at some point, squeezing through the door she'd left open. He laid himself down next to his crying mistress, staring stoically out into the gathering torrent as Aurora sobbed out the fractured pieces of her heart.

He'd had a bad morning, too. Suzaku had woken up early, after only a few hours of sleep. Ban had smelled the sad and scared on him, so he'd gotten up as well, following Suzaku around as he packed some clothes and a few notebooks. The bag had been little, like the ones his mama took on trips. Because he didn't like that bag, Ban had whined softly and rubbed his head on Suzaku's leg, asking him not to go. Suzaku had knelt and petted, rubbed and murmured. And then, he'd hugged Ban, and cried a little into his neck, the salt reminding Ban of Aurora's bad days.

Then he'd stood up quick, like Ban had bitten him, not stood quiet and still, and was gone, leaving behind the scent of trees and charcoal, ocean air and rich earth. He'd cried at the door for a while after he heard the rev of the car engine, but Suzaku did not come back. And now his mama was crying, holding the copper watch still smelling like its previous owner. Even the sky cried.

With a heavy sigh, Ban dropped his head into his paws. Still, he looked out into the rain. Maybe Suzaku would come back, if he waited long enough.

Chapter Text

Kendra had been right – it cost Suzaku a great deal of money to cross the ocean back to Britannia anonymously. He tried not to think about it; tried not to torture himself with thoughts of those he'd left behind, and those he was returning home to. It was an obscenely long flight, dumping him on the east coast for a few hours before the final leg. Suzaku didn't sleep a wink the entire time. He was simply going through the motions, doing what needed to be done. The vague wish for a weapon to field clean, just to occupy his time, dogged him, but instead contented himself with scribbling little doodles in the corners of brochures. By the time he landed the next day before seven AM, AIA was densely crowded, and it was easy to slip through, simply another body in the stream of humanity coming and going. First priority was getting to the nearest safe house he'd established in the sprawling new royal capital.

It was a bit of a misnomer to call them safe houses – they were bolt holes, with the basics tucked away should anything go awry. It was a practice he'd observed from Rivalz. Although, in those days, they'd been stocked with candy, comic books, and cash, as the man had fancied himself perpetually twelve years old. Now, Suzaku's versions were very different things altogether, yet the spirit of hidden safety remained the same.

He hailed a cab, hopping into the first one that pulled up to the curb. After fifteen minutes, Suzaku departed outside a diner, where he entered as if to grab a quick cup of coffee. Instead, he casually strode through like he was going to the bathroom before ducking into the kitchen and making a quick sprint out the back. The cook, underpaid and harried with the breakfast rush, didn't even notice when he dashed by. It opened to an alley that still dimly stank of the trash that had been picked up earlier that morning, the faint waft of urine and rot still relatively manageable. It wouldn't be after a few hours of brutal summer sun, but for now, Suzaku ignored it, switching out his black ball cap for a pair of sunglasses, slipping out of his windbreaker, reversing it, and tying it around his waist by the sleeves.

Even as he went about these changes, he never stopped walking, emerging from the alley now in a navy t-shirt, his bag hefted over his shoulder instead of dangling from his left hand. Idly, Suzaku thought Aurora would be proud, knowing that this sort of subterfuge is exactly what she would employ in such a situation, then winced as a lance of pain and longing shot through him with the crack of a whip, leaving him stinging and dazed. Marshalling himself and reestablishing the stride he'd allowed to falter, he pushed onward, hailing another cab and directing the driver to Creston Avenue. His face didn't change, but he was glad for the shield of his glasses – it took him a moment to bundle away thoughts of Aurora, the hope that she was alright, the regret, the guilt, the yearning. Later, he told himself. He'd deal with it later. Now, he had to focus on getting into the palace with the least possible stir. That particular splash was to be reserved for the court, malicious gossipers that they were. Anything less than a splashy return would be out-of-character for Zero, and he was nothing if not dedicated to the role he had to play.

As distracted as he was, it took Suzaku a moment for his eyes to land on the back of the driver's seat, where a month-old newspaper had been folded and tucked into the pocket. Suzaku nearly dismissed it, until a word drew his eye. Once he reached out and unfolded it, he could only stare at the broad, bold headline.

This was impossible. How could he have allowed this to happen? Why in God's name had she done this?

EMPRESS CHOOSES A KNIGHT

In the midst of Zero's suspicious absence, Empress Nunnally selects Sir Tritus Phillips, a foreign-born half-Britannian, to act as her personal Knight

Below was a grainy picture of Nunnally on what he recognized as the Gold Balcony at the palace, a fresh-faced, painfully young boy standing next to her, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze or restless fingers – it was hard to say. He looked to be around the same age as Nunnally, but Suzaku saw nothing but a child.

It was only when the paper began to rattle that he realized his hands were shaking. It took several swallows before he could manage to speak.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice barely noticeable over the sound of the animalistic traffic the cabbie was scuttling through.

"Yeah?" he responded carelessly, obviously irritated at being distracted from his downright heroic efforts to get them through traffic as quickly as possible, with little regards to their general safety. Suzaku held up the paper so that it could be seen in the rear view mirror.

"Is this…?"

"Crazy shit, huh? Guess when one boyfriend vanished, she just picked a new one. Old news, now, though. Wonder if the honeymoon has worn off yet."

Suzaku just silently slumped back against the worn seat that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Oh, God. What had he done?

Kendra had gotten the call yesterday – it had been Aurora, sounding like some robot running low on battery, informing her mechanically that she and Ban were heading out tonight, and would be back in England by tomorrow. She'd take care of a few things, get the house shut up before she headed out. No room for questions or concerns; she only answered that Suzaku had gone home, and it was time for her to leave Ireland as well.

It was the first time Aurora had ever hung up on her. Kendra didn't like it.

Not one bit.

All that evening, she was tense and distracted, snarling at Chandler at the slightest provocation. When he snapped back as to what her problem was, Kendra laid into her husband like a hormonal claymore. She couldn't say if she was really angry with Chandler, but he was the only place for her to direct her pained, impotent anger. Cute bloody couple, huh? Aurora sounded soulless and shattered, even as she tried to avoid sounding like exactly what she was; Suzaku had taken off back to the country where someone wanted him dead to take up a mantle that was killing him. But, no, of course they should get all mushy over each other, even though it was breaking her best friend's heart, because they were adorable. She fumed, even as Chandler looked a little deflated.

But he refused to stay that way. Eventually, he wound Kendra down, reminding her who exactly they were dealing with. Dammit, these two could take a hit, could roll with the punches with the best of them, if not better. Maybe all they needed was a little faith.

But that faith was in short supply when Aurora walked through the door the next morning. Ban trailed behind her, and any impartial observer would see absolutely nothing wrong. Aurora looked fit and strong, balanced and capable. Even the dog appeared delighted to be home.

For Kendra and Chandler, though, the change was jarring. The Aurora they'd seen in Ireland was country comfort and flashing smiles, dancing eyes and easy charm. The woman who stood in the kitchen, however, was another creature altogether.

What had once been soft flannel and loose jeans was now a military-grade olive jacket and tan cargos. Hiking boots had been traded for combat boots, and the long golden spills of her hair were now restrained in a tight bun high on her skull that made Aurora appear even more feline. Even more dangerous. Everything gentle and open she'd been in Ireland had been traded for sharp edges and distant eyes, and it hit her friends like a blow to the gut with its dangerous familiarity. She looked ready for a war-zone, which, inarguably, London had the potential to shift back into. But it wasn't just the way she dressed.

It was the way she carried herself, straight and forbidding as she strode in like a general, smiling her greetings with a touch of reserve as she set down her bags, hesitating a little and pulling away quickly from the married couple's welcoming embraces. Her expression was bright, as always, but her eyes were as flat as cold, frosted metal. Apparently, Suzaku wasn't the only one who'd left Ireland to return to a mask, one that hid emotions and vulnerabilities with such succinct grace, it was downright disturbing. Except Aurora's mask was her own skin, and that unnerving ability of hers to hide what writhed inside from manifesting even in her eyes.

It was a galling realization that Aurora wasn't ready for war; she was already fighting one. And by the looks of her, it was only a matter of time before she lost.

"It must be said that Lord Zero's support would be invaluable in these trade agreements."

Nunnally gave what she considered a valiant effort to avoid grinding her teeth in a visible, unsightly manner. Instead, she slowly drew a calm breath through her nose before turning her attention to the viscount that had spoken.

"Lord Zero's support is always invaluable, Viscount Cavanaugh, but to my recollection, he has never been particularly interested or well-versed in trade agreements."

"But his face and name mean something," the nobleman persisted. Nunnally wanted to tell them that the reality was, none of these over-groomed power-mongers knew Zero's true face or name, so who were they to barter with it? But that would gain her nothing except a whole new slew of problems. The current overwhelming tide was plenty. Before she could continue, however, a new voice weighed in on the issue.

"Empress Nunnally's face and name mean more, however. I find it both bizarre and tiring that the court insists on the approval from a phantom when the Empress's final say is the only one that really matters. Especially considering the work she's done to stabilize the EU and strengthen our ties."

Nunnally glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tritus, her Knight. So earnest, she thought was a warm, internal sigh. So eager to protect every aspect of her. That kind of dogged loyalty, once so familiar to Nunnally, was the characteristic that had initially drawn her eye.

Jesus, Suzaku thought to himself as he logged into the palace's coms and cued into the exchange in the Audience Chamber, making his way through the old servant's passages. They had been his preferred method of moving about the palace when he wanted to do so without attention. Either this new knight of Nunnally's is an infant, or an idiot.

Zero's endorsement was the closest thing to a guarantee this current political climate had to offer; the public adored him, and foreign powers respected his history of unpredictability and capacity for mayhem. The Britannian court had become accustomed to easy wins, at least in matters that both Nunnally and Zero supported. The prospect of actually struggling for motions that the Empress was behind proved to be something that both unnerved and divided them.

Which was exactly what he was supposed to prevent, and was spectacularly failing at. Suzaku quickened his pace, adjusting his gloves and telling himself, over and over, that the mask wasn't stifling. He'd been wearing the thing for three years now; he should be more than used to it. But a tiny part of his brain, screaming and wailing, didn't want to wear it anymore. Didn't want to play this game anymore. He just wanted to go home. Coming to an abrupt halt as his knees started to shake, his breath stalling in his lungs, Suzaku suddenly slammed the side of a black-clad fist against the wall, sending a fine misting of dust drifting down, winking in the cold lights like distant stars.

"This is your home, goddammit," he muttered, jolting, then a little sickened, at the sound of Lelouch's voice speaking his words. His masks were built with the capacity to overlay the original Zero's vocal tones onto the words Suzaku spoke. Zero's voice was very distinctive, after all, and Lelouch had mercilessly accounted for all possibilities when planning his requiem. In that respect, Aurora was similar to her late sibling.

"Just let it go," Suzaku continued in a forced whisper. Finally, he straightened, drawing back his shoulders and readjusting his waistcoat. As he resumed his quick stride, Suzaku tuned back in to the conversations in the Audience Chamber, dismayed to find the level of veiled hostility rapidly rising. Breaking into a run, he raced to his destination.

Schneizel had stepped in, effectively defusing the volatile situation this boy Tritus had so easily ignited. However, his appearance sparked new outrage – it was well known that Schneizel served Zero with unparalleled loyalty. The fact that neither he nor his half-sister deigned to honestly answer the question of Zero's location was starting to grate. So much so, new theories were beginning to find voice with dangerous implications.

"Perhaps his continued absence is a sign, Empress. Perhaps Zero no longer allies himself with you, or this court."

Interesting how quickly they'd dropped his honorary title, one Nunnally had given him years ago to cement his status as her advisor, when his loyalty was doubted. Suzaku could practically see the slight curl to Schneizel's lip at the rising waves of dissent. Questioning Zero's loyalty, after all, was tantamount to questioning his own.

"Perhaps he's betrayed us!"

"Gone on to a higher bidder!"

"Such an ambiguous creature could never be trusted!"

"The blow to Britannia could be immense!"

"He's done too much damage in the past to be trusted as a rogue entity!"

"Either he must be brought to heel, or put down!"

"Enough!" Schneizel's command wasn't a bark, but it did lull the tide for a moment, cutting through the frantic anger that was building, this hallowed chamber of discourse rapidly becoming the scene of a mob. His word sliced through the tension, bringing every eye to his tall form.

"Zero maintains his loyalty to Empress Nunnally, and always will. It is not for you to call his motives into such question – our Empress's faith should be our own." Instead of killing the burgeoning frenzy, however, Schneizel's words fanned the sparks into a flame that speared up into a collective roar.

"Then where is he?"

The desperate bellows were abruptly silenced, however, when the doors to Audience Chamber, tall slabs of steel oak harvested over three centuries ago, slammed open, revealing the distinctive sight of Zero, his cloak moving ever so slightly in the backlash of his movement.

The silence was absolute. Every eye turned, locked onto Zero as if magnetized. For he was, indeed, magnetic. As Suzaku began to walk down the aisle, a blue silk runner marking the demarcation between the Ector and Kay political parties, he couldn't help but ponder this effect Zero had on people, even those of the highest rank.

Suzaku had always hated it – how Zero commanded such absolute interest. Objectively, he understood the effect of Zero's status, that of all but a god on earth, power and revolution incarnate. Yet he could never forgive the mask for what it stood for, and what it had done – and Lelouch by extension. The reality of what it represented and what it had actually accomplished were moderate compared to actions taken by others throughout history. People that had admitted their names, whose faces were known. He'd never comprehended why it had appealed to Lelouch so much – why he had decided to build his legacy on a what was essentially a lie.

But he couldn't deny the power of that lie. The power Zero wielded over people by the sheer magnitude of his mystique. It wasn't Suzaku's to own; simply his façade to maintain. But he could admit that he wasn't above using it. As he walked, almost leisurely, towards the Empress, Suzaku came to something of a realization.

His time with Aurora had allowed for introspection, a luxury the likes of which he had never before indulged in. With his newfound perspective, Suzaku couldn't help but be a little… tickled, he supposed, by the awe, the shock, the utter confusion that painted each and every face he passed. He had literally become a human bomb blast upon his return, and as he walked through the stunned fallout, Suzaku almost found it a little funny. He was just a man in a mask, but there was something about this particular mask that made the man that wore it more than just a man. It just so happened that he was the current wearer. He couldn't quite decide if it was ironic, frustrating, or infuriating.

However, he had more pressing concerns. Upon reaching the end of the runner, Suzaku now found himself at the base of the royal dais, three steps leading up to where Nunnally sat, shielded by Schneizel and this boy, Tritus Phillips, at her side. Schneizel, always something of a sphinx, did look a little relieved. Phillips appeared as if he'd just been tased, and then there was Nunnally, resplendent in a wine-red gown and the crown of her office glinting from where it sat amongst her carefully coiffed curls. Her eyebrows were raised a little in surprise, but there was a tiny, gentle smile curling her lips, those giant lavender eyes relieved and ever so slightly misted with tears. Suzaku swallowed as he formally knelt to the only human Zero ever bowed his head to.

"Your Majesty. The reports of my defection have been greatly exaggerated." His words sent an embarrassed ripple, quiet as a traitor's bargain, through the gathered courtiers.

"I can see that. It's good to have you back home, Lord Zero," Nunnally returned gently, her expression warm, like soft sunshine. God, Suzaku had missed her. Suzaku stood, but still respectfully remained at the base of the stairs.

"My time away from court has been… extremely interesting. But I'm glad to return to Aurelius, and to my loyal service at your side, Empress."

She dipped her head in regal acceptance of his words, but he thought he saw a careful relief in her eyes.

"You will always have a place here, Lord Zero."

With that explicit permission, Suzaku mounted the stairs, nodding to Schneizel as he took his usual position to Nunnally's left. As she began addressing a few of the more vocal protestors, Suzaku murmured in Schneizel's ear that they would meet for a briefing shortly. The prince's minute nod of confirmation was like treading old territory.

But there was plenty new here to adjust to. The energy of the room, while mitigated, was still on edge. The courtiers gave him only a moment before a barrage of questions were flung his way. Where had he been, what had he been doing? Why had he been gone so long?

As a unit, Suzaku and Nunnally began setting about easing their fears. The questions he bothered to answer were vague at best, but the fact of his presence alone assuaged much of them. It really took so very little for Zero to hold them in the palm of his hand; there were a few still doggedly concerned about his absence, but by and large, most of them were enthralled. And if he acted like the young knight, now quiet, didn't exist, well. He could handle only so many problems on his already extensive list.

It almost felt like Zero was a star, a sun basking in the gravitational pull he exerted so effortlessly on the planets of people that orbited him. But no, that wasn't quite right, either. Zero was more of a black hole, a non-entity. A force of power so vast, it consumed even the identity of the man that wore the mask, until he devolved into a negative individuality; a mythology so immense, even the collapse in on itself had rocked the world and its moorings.

He'd believed that once. Had felt Suzaku Kururugi's identity being gradually stripped from him, like flesh slowly peeled from bone, sucked away by the demand of Zero's persona. Until that job in London and its life-threatening consequences had flung him free, a comet thrown from its orbit, free-falling through space, unfettered but utterly without support.

Until the gravity of a little, hidden star had snagged him. Had given him direction and purpose, space and time. Nothing short of the cosmic pull of Zero and the responsibilities woven into every stitch of the uniform could have torn him away from that tiny, private universe he and Aurora had built. His hands were cold inside those gloves, but he clutched the warm glow of her star close, sneaking it away safe under his ribs. Felt her in the way he tilted his head, the way he gestured with a certain angle to his wrist.

The bizarre weight of the scenario had him adrift, contemplative. Almost outside of himself. Suzaku realized now that while he had always worn the mask with the stiff, militaristic tendencies that came to him so easily, a defense hefted almost without thought, Lelouch's Zero had been anything but. Teasing, clever, even sexy. He thought of the glitter of Aurora's eyes as she'd run from the grouchy museum curator, the way she'd sparkled as she'd maneuvered a borrowed coin over her dexterous fingers, her intense beauty as she danced. It was like an echo through his blood, a ghostly touch along muscles that moved almost on their own.

Later that evening, some would comment over the change. The way Zero had given most statements with the equivalent of a verbal wink, the shift of his shoulders or the movements of his hands… alluring. Something had changed in the man, and none, not even Suzaku himself, could quite identify what it was. If he had to guess, though, he would point to the influence of a secreted star, shielded more thoroughly by every bulwark and protection he had at his disposal than his own heart.

Which left Suzaku shaky and defenseless. He played it flashy and cheeky, because it was easier than trying to be himself, or what he'd once been, inside the shell of Zero. Because it was Aurora and Lelouch rattling around inside his head as he tried to find a place to stand on this new ground, a way to give life to Zero without compromising everything he'd gained through so much hardship over the last three months.

The teeter-totter of want and need was exhausting, his mental connections strained from being tugged in so many different directions. Even as Suzaku played the role, said all the right things at all the right times, he felt it – just the tiniest shake in his fingertips. He wondered what Kendra would say about that; about the physical manifestation of his weakening control. Time away had gained him much, but had also cost him a great deal. It suddenly seemed so much harder to stay in command, to function without actually feeling. But then, that had never been a strong suit of his to begin with.

It took a while for Suzaku to admit that the tremors in his hands, his legs, hell, even his lungs, weren't going away. He managed as long as he could; he stopped gesturing as he spoke, hiding his hands in the folds of his cloak as they began to visibly tremble. A pressure began to constrict his chest, growing with sinister inevitability, crawling up from his gut like jungles vines. He let Nunnally or Schneizel answer, only stirring himself to respond when he absolutely had to. The memory of the wave of panic that had overtaken him in the tower in Galway swam to the surface, and Suzaku tensed. He couldn't afford that here; he dare not show that kind of weakness.

The sensation built, expanding from Suzaku's chest until blood pounded in his head, muscles straining under the pressure. Every molecule of air in the mask turned to mud, trickling down his throat and flooding his lungs. Breathing suddenly became a near impossible task, and Suzaku mutely struggled to bring his faculties under command, to maintain. But eventually, not even that was enough to preserve his final shreds of control. Suzaku touched Nunnally's shoulder, bending down to murmur quietly in her ear.

"We have much to discuss later."

She glanced at him, searching the blank plate of glass that was his face's proxy. What did she see there, when she gazed at the mask her brother had created? Instead of saying anything, Nunnally just nodded. Fighting in vain to control his escalating breathing, Suzaku straightened, sketching a courtly bow to his audience before turning, exiting the chamber through one of the small side doors reserved for members of the royal family and the staff that served them. As he wasn't the former, Suzaku supposed that he would be considered the latter.

Suddenly without the press of so many eyes, Suzaku's control shattered. He stumbled down the halls, panting furiously, his vision fraying like tattered cloth. Why was it so damn hard to breathe? Finally, he all but fell into an unoccupied office, slamming the door shut and collapsing against the wall, fumbling for the jammer in his pocket that would kill all video and audio feeds in a 5 meter radius. Suzaku's fingers felt like twigs, uncooperative and clumsy as he jabbed the button then frantically worked the catch to the get the mask off. When it finally came loose, Suzaku gasped as he dragged down the face guard and dropped his arms to his side, the mask eventually falling from his numb fingers to the antique carpet with a thud.

His entire body vibrated with panic and stress, his breathing little better than harsh pants. Every nerve felt engulfed in ice, Suzaku's knees all but knocking together. His inhales tasted like charcoal, heavy and dry; sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. Soon it was too much to even stand. Suzaku slid down to the floor, his head tipped back against the wall and his eyes closed as his legs folded like wet paper. The blood screamed in his ears, wild and desperate as a starved animal.

He'd always known, but the gravity of what he'd returned to pressed upon his very bones. It wasn't just his duty to Nunnally; it was the depth of this persona he was required to heft, this suit of armor that weighed so much. Suzaku had to figure out anew how best to stand under such a burden. At the moment, though, it was all he could do just to breathe.

Aurora hadn't even taken the first sip of home-brewed tea when Kendra's cell phone sounded. A dispassionate beep that demanded attention without emotion. Her work phone, then. Too tired to truly dial in, listening with only the most rote of attention, Aurora instinctively stiffened at the expression on the doctor's face when she lowered the phone and suddenly stood. Kendra had gone gray as concrete, her shoulders hardening against the impossible weight that had just descended on them.

"There's been a collapse in the Bones. We're to expect company."

What passed after was a blur of blood and bleats of pain. They'd had not even twenty minutes to prepare before the wounded and the dying descended on the clinic. Aurora resisted the temptation to ask which building had collapsed; a part of her wondered if it was the one she'd seen Suzaku fall through. It didn't matter – the reality of the situation was that the Bones harbored a homeless population that took shelter in the abandoned buildings. One of those structures had suddenly gone down in a scream of metal and a billowing cloud of rock dust, taking seven souls with it in the immediate aftermath.

Two dozen more were injured, ranging from cuts and bruises to broken bones to the old woman with a length of rebar penetrating her all the way through just below the outer left flare of her ribcage. Kendra's was one of the closest clinics to the disaster, and easily the best-outfitted, now that she'd revamped the OR following Suzaku's surgery. The call had been from Dr. Liz Jacobson, a friend and a colleague. She'd been doing volunteer work three blocks away when the building had gone down and, knowing the proximity of Kendra's clinic, had called to give her a heads up.

For a moment, Aurora had just stared at her friend, raw and exhausted. She couldn't do this. She'd couldn't become this, not when she still felt sharp shards at the edges of her mind.

But it didn't matter. Kendra put out the call for her grunts to gather, and between her and Aurora, they prepped the clinic as best they could for the swarm of injured about to rain down on them. Somewhere between snagging gauze from the supplies closet and taking stock of the blood they had on hand for transfusions, Aurora felt a click deep inside her head. It wasn't necessarily good or easy; but it was necessary. Emotional crises were for people with time on their hands, and she was too damn busy to wallow or try to effectively rebuild her brain's barriers. Sometimes, when an attack was too overwhelming, tactical retreat was more viable than a long, drawn-out fight. If her guts ached like she'd been cored out and left to dry, so what? Peoples' lives depended on her; time to get her shit straight.

It could have been worse. But Kendra also acknowledged that it could have been a damn sight better, too. She lost five within the first hour; two hours in, another two followed. By the time the sun set, she was almost relieved to lose another, a teenage girl who'd practically had her brain crushed, but had somehow held on for nearly six hours. The rest ranged from mild injuries already discharged to those too shattered to move but too tough or stubborn to die. She appreciated them, even as she hurt for them.

Aurora, however, was a different story. As a nurse, an assistant, an invaluable third hand, she was without equal. Even elbows deep in blood as one of their patients died, she maintained a cool control that Kendra had only ever seen in trained, experienced professionals. As Aurora had little stock in either qualities when it came to medicine, where, then, did her serene calm in the middle of screams and soul-crushing moans of pain come from?

Even as she depended on it, valued it, Kendra was a little scared of it, too. Something was going on in Aurora's head. Something dangerous and different. She was reluctant to consider what Aurora had sacrificed inside of herself to deal with the chaos they found themselves embroiled in. What she had shut away behind that fortress of a mind in order to function in a role she'd occupied with ease before Suzaku. From prior experience, Kendra knew that there were corners of Aurora's mind utterly inaccessible unless she willingly granted entrance; parts of her impervious to charm or manipulation or logic. Even Chandler, good with people in a way that Kendra envied and could never hope to emulate, could barely get Aurora to let down one or two of her defenses when she wished it otherwise.

Worst of all, though, was that Kendra had seen this before. This disturbing propensity of Aurora's to lock away what hurt the most and function around the edges of it, utterly unwilling to admit any sort of weakness. Fair enough tactics until the sore spot was so infected it broke free and bled anger and pain all over everything in her path, including her well-meaning friends. They'd been here before, and Kendra had so hoped that they'd never tread this road again. So much of her exceptional brain was focused on saving lives, however, she couldn't devote much to the puzzle of her broken-hearted friend and what exactly she could do about it.

Kendra regretted asking – regretted the fact that Aurora had to deal with something of this magnitude so soon after she came home sore and sad. But she'd needed her. Every person that survived today had Aurora's help to thank. The oath she'd taken demanded that she place the sanctity of others' lives above the emotional fragility of her best friend.

But she hated every second of it. And feared just what kind of aftermath this could bring.

By the time Suzaku arrived at Nunnally's office for their promised meeting an hour later, she never would have guessed that he'd survived a panic attack, then meticulously scraped himself back into some semblance of order. After a polite knock, he entered, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. Nunnally's tastes ran to the elegant, antique, and feminine here, the delicately carved cherry desk and soft lavender drapes adding an airy, almost fairy-like feel to her private office. He sat when she gestured, the obedience resurging with surprising ease. Then again, Suzaku thought with a splash of bitterness, he was predictably the epitome of a well-trained dog. He shook off the tang of it, though, as Nunnally rounded the desk and drew close, her eyes intent and concerned.

Knowing that her office was one of the rooms in the palace swept for bugs on a downright obsessive basis, Suzaku relented, removing his mask so that he could meet Nunnally's gaze with his own eyes. With the care one usually reserved for wild or wounded animals, Nunnally gently grasped his gloved hand in hers, the mist in her eyes allowed to coalesce into tears.

"Where have you been?" she whispered. Finally, for the first time today, he could hear it; the fear and anxiety in her voice that she'd been battling with for months. It made her sound young and fragile; the girl he'd carried in his youth when her brother hadn't had the strength. A pair of crystalline tears slid down pale cheeks, and he would have gladly taken another bullet to make them stop.

"I'm sorry," Suzaku returned quietly, stripes of guilt painting themselves across his back. "Nunnally, I'm sorry." He slid to his knees beside her, covering her hand with his, trying to comfort what his weakness had damaged. But she just sniffed, smoothing away the tears with an almost pious grace. Meeting his eyes again, Suzaku could see that she was once again in command of herself, once again his empress.

"It's alright, Suzaku. I just want to know where you've been, and what caused the delay. I'm assuming it was a matter of some importance. Sit now, and be comfortable. I'll decide later if it's worthy of penance." She said the last with a shadow of a wink, but Suzaku found absolutely nothing about this scenario humorous. So, heaving a breath, he began to tell her what had occurred over the long days of summer.

As she carefully listened, Nunnally couldn't help but notice how Suzaku seemed… different. Changed, somehow, in a way that she couldn't quite trace back to an obvious origin. Even to her, Suzaku had been so distant and cold these last few years, ice wearing away at the fire of his soul, inch by inch. Yet now, something kindled in his eyes, a warmth she'd almost feared him incapable of anymore.

With it, she could sense a vulnerability to him, like the scent of mint and lonely skies. Nunnally couldn't decide if it worried or encouraged her; she did know that this new Suzaku was completely beyond her experience. So she listened intently as he described the crucible that had forged this new version of her best friend and most valuable ally.

He spoke easily of his injuries, even though it made Nunnally pale dramatically. As for the men that had caused it, both briefly fell silent, all too aware of the implications such actions promised. When it came to Aurora, though, Suzaku suddenly found himself reluctant. The root of his reticence wasn't immediately apparent, only obvious when Suzaku caught himself nearly talking in circles around Aurora's identity and behavior. But if he spoke of it, unknowingly broke some fairy's law cast upon him that night at the stone circle, it might rob the magic from the private dream Ireland had become for him.

But he couldn't keep this from Nunnally. Beyond the fact that she needed to know as his ruler and commander, he couldn't justify hiding the truth of her half-sister's survival from her. Suzaku didn't know how Nunnally would react, but she deserved the truth, regardless of his emotional misgivings.

When he finally managed to shove the words out into the empty air, Nunnally didn't believe him at first - her face said what her words could not yet manage. Suzaku recognized that blank denial in her eyes; had seen it from her and Lelouch before. It was the instinctive recoil from a strike, the mental equivalent of a ducked head and closed eyes. Comprehension sacrificed in favor of self-preservation. Choosing instead to wait for the initial wave of shock to spend and ebb, Suzaku kept his silence, rubbing a finger over the key still secreted away in his pocket.

"You're sure?" Nunnally finally managed, her voice trembling a little under the force of emotion now coursing through her. After losing so much of her family, it seemed impossible to actually gain a sibling back. Suzaku nodded by way of answer, and she murmured, "She… She's well?"

"Very. She's safe, does good work, and you would be proud of her. Not to mention, I owe her my life." And quite possibly his mind and soul, but Suzaku couldn't quite admit that to himself yet. As it stood, it ached to think of her, thousands of miles away, still fresh enough in his mind that when he'd caught the delicate, wild scent of flowers earlier, he'd glanced around, waiting for her to step around the corner with a smile. He would take it to his grave, but when Aurora hadn't appeared, Suzaku's heart broke.

Nunnally was also rattled. Aurora had disappeared from her life the same night so much else had changed; her mother's death, her disabling injuries, the end of everything she'd known, the gaping expanse of a future she had no possible idea how to navigate. She would have been lost without Lelouch, and later Suzaku. But it had always nagged at her, the half-sibling also caught in the crossfire. It was boggling to consider that Aurora had slipped away that night, not to drown in the current of events, but also cut loose from the tether holding their lives together. It was mind-blowing, and delightful.

And interesting, Nunnally realized as she truly looked at Suzaku's face. There was a pain and nostalgia and longing there that she'd only ever seen him express in regards to one other person. A different half-sister, one that would never be shockingly resurrected the way Aurora had just been. As the implications rippled through her mind and settled, Nunnally was stunned to feel a thread of jealousy move through her.

For so long, Suzaku had been hers: her friend, her protector, her ally. The one Lelouch had chosen to be her shield, the one who had aided her in her post as Viceroy. He may have loved her sister passionately, but his loyalty to Nunnally had always been absolute. They were each other's links to the past, to all those lost to Lelouch's Rebellion. And she was his only confidant, the only person who knew what lay behind that mask, the reality of an empty coffin buried in the Court of Kings, and could face him maskless as she did now.

It rocked her, to realize she now shared that knowledge with Aurora, a sister who had faded from her mind in the intervening years until it had taken effort to conjure a mental picture of what she'd looked like in their youth. According to what he'd told Nunnally, Suzaku's injuries had been brutally life-threatening. But she couldn't help but wonder, seeing the way his eyes glowed and drifted at the thought of the woman who had saved his life, if he'd stayed for another reason entirely. She didn't know what to do with that thought; frozen by what it meant, or that she could think it at all.

Nunnally worked diligently to present the image of a competent, strong empress, but she was only eighteen. And throughout the most catastrophic tragedy and hardships, Suzaku was the only one she could pull close and cling to. Even if she had still been blind, it would have been impossible for her to miss the way Suzaku had devolved the last three years; truly, since Euphemia's death. But even then, he'd still stood by her side, protecting her, supporting her. After all the grief Nunnally had struggled through, she knew that Suzaku, weakened and tattered though he may have become, was better than nothing at all.

Now, though, he stood before her, healthy and alert, more so than in nearly a year. But she could see the way his mind was fractured, parts of him pulling away. Suzaku sat solidly at her side, but Nunnally realized, with the sinking feeling that often came before a war was declared somewhere, that there were parts of him that were no longer hers.

But then, he wasn't the only one who had changed in the time they'd been apart. Suzaku visibly gathered himself, then pinned Nunnally with an expectant look, brows raised and expression this side of disapproving.

"Care to tell me why you appointed a knight?"

Because it felt vaguely like an older brother questioning her choice in prom date, and because she'd fielded more doubt in regards to that choice than any other single action in her entire reign, Nunnally stiffened.

"Because you were gone, Suzaku. I couldn't afford to remain in a position of weakness, and needed a show of tradition and support."

"Schneizel-"

"Can't be trusted, as you well know, especially when you're not there to guarantee his obedience. Tritus, however, is trustworthy, loyal, and honest. Reminds me of someone I know." Nunnally knew that Suzaku understood her reference by the way his mouth twisted. He looked like she'd condemned him, not complimented him. Huffing in frustration, Nunnally just shook her head. If she could refrain from commenting on the possibility of new allegiances he harbored in his heart, then so could he.

"It was my decision, Suzaku, and one that I stand by. I won't tolerate more possessive sniping - I've heard more than my fair share of it while you were in Ireland. Besides, I merely did what my sister and brother have before; I gave myself a knight in the absence of one." Her tone was as gentle as always, but there was an arc of steel in her words. He'd learned, through repeated displays of strength, discipline, and determination, that Nunnally was, without question, the heir to her brother's vision. She wasn't his only full-blooded relation for nothing. And was Suzaku simply galled that she'd chosen an unknown, or that, unlike Euphemia and Lelouch, she hadn't chosen him? When she spoke again, there was a conciliatory lilt to her words.

"Suzaku, I need - no, I'm asking," she corrected herself with a soft shake of her head, "for your support on this. Zero remains unparalleled, and it would mean a great deal to me."

Suzaku tipped his head in acquiescence, but he wasn't done yet.

"Fair enough, Nunnally. But if he damages that trust, I'll tear his head off and scatter his bones."

Nunnally worked to bite back the smile. They loved each other; always had, always would.

"Your reputation precedes you; I'm sure Tritus would expect nothing less."

They spoke a while longer, of things both monumental and mundane. Finally, Nunnally seemed reassured of his health and his pending investigation into the machinations behind the assassination attempt on Zero. She bid him good evening with a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheekbone, strangely conflicted when he drew up the face guard and replaced his mask when she had thought herself long ago accustomed to it.

Suzaku mulled over his course of action as he moved through the cavernous hallways of the royal palace. Someone, somewhere, had the ability to imitate an order from the Empress; it was too dangerous to fathom. It was a simple matter of deduction to ascertain Justice Havens was the one who had carried out the attack on him, but did it end with the Head of Covert Affairs, or was he simply a pawn? It was a disappointing turn of events, as Nunnally, and Suzaku if he was being honest, set great store by him. Over the course of their service to the Empress, Suzaku and Justice had come to respect each other, and he deeply dreaded the conversation he would be forced to undertake tomorrow.

Eventually, he found himself wandering through the winter gardens, largely deserted this time of year. Soon enough, the fragile blooms housed here would have the undivided care of the gardeners, the word outside blanketed in snow. Now, though, summer was in high gear, and attention was devoted to watering what eagerly grew during these hot days. Which left Suzaku utterly alone, wandering through the stripped and waiting landscape.

Private and secure though it may be, he dared not remove his mask, contenting himself with the rustle and peep of the night creatures, the silent shine of stars softened by the ubiquitous city lights. Yet another thing to miss - the pristine brightness of stars seen in the Irish countryside. With an annoyed sigh, Suzaku rubbed his recovering shoulder, still faintly aching from being jammed in a crappy seat in coach for entirely too long. He was getting thoroughly sick of the self-flagellation he inflicted seemingly from habit. What possible reason could there be to torture himself with thoughts and wishes for something he could not have? He might as well obsessively yearn from the moon, all the more good it would do him.

Already, he missed the life he'd left behind with a creeping intensity, and damn near every aspect woven into the fabric of it. Missing Aurora was worst of all, no question, but uprooting himself had cost Suzaku things he'd only just begun to appreciate again. Friends, a dog, simple sunshine and well-brewed coffee. A normality so foreign, it was almost fanciful. God, but it made him angry to give it all up for a cause greater than himself, even as he willingly walked away.

Bitter experience warned that forcibly dulled pain receptors had the tendency to resurge with a vengeance - trying to cut his heart out to silence the screaming had left him bloody and crippled. Which meant, Suzaku admitted with resigned bitterness, he was just going to have to live with it.

He watched the moon, cataloguing its contours and secrets and whims, for a long time. Warning himself he was far too world-weary to actually believe such nonsense, the idea of Aurora standing under that same moon did offer some measure of comfort. The savage loneliness eased a little at the thought that someone, somewhere, gave a damn. If that was all Suzaku had, then so be it. With that to hold onto, he could consider surviving.

It was midnight before the last of the patients were settled, blood scrubbed away, and clothes changed. In the soft light of the kitchen, half-packed boxes shoved into the corners, Aurora and Kendra sat at the table, wolfing down sandwiches and guzzling water like they were returning home from a battlefield. Chandler sat with them sipping a beer with mechanical movements, having eaten his supper far earlier, snatched in between emergency meetings and hard-voiced commands for action.

He explained more details about what had happened, and how the people in London's heart were dealing with what had happened earlier today. Not up to his standard by half, but he was getting there. This would be a valuable catalyst to start work on at least shoring up the worst of the damage in the Bones, instead of leaving it to rot. It was valuable information, but Aurora was disengaged, seemingly uninterested in the political parlay that usual held her attention.

Aurora finished her meal and slipped away like a wraith after bidding them a quiet goodnight, Ban making more noise as her shadow than she did. The kitchen remained quiet for a while, Chandler slowly spinning his now empty beer bottle in its ring of condensation on the table and Kendra carefully cleaning her already clean glasses. Finally, the politician chucked the bottle into the bin in the corner with a sigh, waiting until he wife reluctantly met his eyes.

"You need to go talk to her."

Kendra just raised her brow as she slid the glasses back onto her nose.

"Why do I have to talk to her?"

Chandler just settled deeper into the chair, resting his temple on a pair of fingers.

"Because she's your best friend."

Kendra pursed her lips. There was that.

"What the hell do you expect me to say?" she countered, privately afraid to say the wrong thing and worsen her friend's hurt instead of easing it.

"I don't know, dumpling. Just talk to her. She probably has things she wants to talk about that she doesn't even know she wants to talk about."

Standing with a frustrated sigh, snapping that "dumpling" was an awful endearment and grumbling under her breath about ambiguous emotional nonsense, Kendra mounted the stairs, lips thinning more and more with every step. She'd avoided Aurora's room during her time away in Ireland, the empty space feeling a little abandoned despite the fact that she'd been only a day's trip away. Now, even though she was home and Kendra could hear the rustling and footsteps as Aurora prepared for sleep, it felt more empty than ever. Likely because Aurora had left something invaluable behind.

Knocking on the open door, waiting until Aurora's eyes swung to hers, Kendra dredged up the smile that felt driven to hide like a rabbit to its warren under the pass of an owl's wings.

"Hey. Settling in OK?"

Aurora nodded as she finished rubbing lotion into the abused skin of her hands, red and a little angry from repeated washings today.

"Sure. Same as always."

"I'm sorry today was so crazy," Kendra tried again, disconcerted by how easily Aurora had ducked out of that conversation opener. It had been years since she'd been so succinct. Kendra had forgotten what it was like to long for her bright, easy chatter.

"No problem. Part of the job, right?" she tossed back, adding a small, cool smile that was weak on any scale - near dead when compared to what Aurora was usually capable of. The dance continued as Aurora swept the blankets down and slid in, bracing her back against the wall as she checked her phone, loosely braided the tail of her hair, and neatly dodged every question Kendra threw her way. Frustrated, she ignored Aurora's less than subtle signals that she was about to go to sleep and Kendra needed to leave, striding over and plopping down on the bed next to Aurora's legs.

"Can you just tell me if you're OK? I'm serious, Aurora. Really, truly OK."

There was no possible way the answer could be anything but "no." But Kendra was not leaving this room until she got a shred of honesty from her friend, who'd been treating her like a bare acquaintance since striding into the kitchen that morning with the look of a combat veteran. Aurora gazed at her for a long time, her eyes searching and calculating. Not the least put off by that gaze, Kendra stared back, waiting her out.

"Sure," Aurora finally replied. "If you can do me a favor. I need you to lie to me."

Bemusement traced across Kendra's face as she took her friend's hand, more by instinct than design.

"I need you to tell me that I made the right choice, even if that's not really true. Please, Kendra, as a friend. I'm going to need that lie for the next little while." The quicksand of tears had begun to invade Aurora's voice, held back by sheer force of will. It was all there, waiting to be seen by eyes accustomed to pain: the glimmer of early morning stars on her lashes, the frantic bob of her throat as she swallowed back salt and heartache, the steel-cable tension she exerted on Kendra's hand. Dammit, sometimes it sucked being right all the time.

Kendra sighed, rubbing a soothing hand over Aurora's knee, turning to face her more truly. She tried to smile reassuringly, but settled for calm when her face felt like dried-out putty.

"I don't need to lie. It was the right choice to let him go."

In utter, haunting silence, Aurora gazed at her, tears beginning to track down her cheeks in steady, burning inevitability. Kendra held still under that ghostly stare, aching for both of them. Slowly, her gaze shifting away to the middle distance like someone shell-shocked, Aurora nodded. She made no sound, no move to wipe away her tears, obedient as a doll as Kendra stood to settle her down, cleaning her face and stroking her hair as the final swell of sorrow poured from the deep well inside, that thoroughly hidden vault where Aurora secreted emotions she could not control.

Finally, exhausted beyond measure and brittle enough to shatter at the first careless touch, Aurora fell asleep. Kendra took to her feet, waiting until Ban hopped up onto the bed and settled down in the curve of his mistress's legs to give him an approving pat on the head. As she shut off the lights and prepared to head to bed herself, she saw the moon through Aurora's window, well settled into its rise over London's battered streets, bright and bold and burning with echoed light.

She thought of Suzaku, far away and dangerously alone, having passed the moon from his sight, over an ocean, to them. Kendra had lost her faith somewhere along the long, hard journey of her life, the ornate, chaste Eastern Catholicism of her early days subsumed by the cold comfort of science, and the cruel fortunes of fate. But now, she offered a prayer to whatever goddess, spirit, or star that happened to be listening.

A prayer for her sister of the soul, and the brave fool stranded on far shores. It may not have been Aurora who looked up at the moon's white face and thought of Suzaku, but it was a friend. One who wished fervently for his safety and well-being, fearing all the while that it was pointless to hope for the impossible.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air in a haze of caffeine and resignation, Suzaku, resplendent in the court version of Zero's costume, nudged open the door to the office of the Head of Covert Affairs. Justice Havens calmly turned from where he stood gazing out his office window, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his suit pants. Carefully cataloguing the man's expressions, Suzaku noted the almost expectant lift to Haven's brows, the total lack of surprise on his face. Apparently, he'd been expecting this visit.

"Ah. Lord Zero. I was wondering when we'd get around to this conversation."

Havens strolled over to his chair, the men sitting in tacit agreement that Zero didn't need his invitation, and Havens wasn't frightened enough of Zero to forgo his home territory advantage. The spymaster tipped back in his chair, steepling his fingers, gazing at Zero over the spears of his hands, eyes slowly and pitilessly tracing over the masked figure's relaxed form.

"You're doing better than I expected. Although you certainly took your time."

Suzaku just casually shrugged.

"Your men are skilled, and ruthless. You should be pleased." His easy tone belied the fact that he was discussing Justice's attempt on his life. Havens frowned a little, a corner of his mouth tightening.

"I don't know about that. You are alive, after all."

The two men stared at each other, tension sliding through the air like the current of air under the wings of predators. Knowledge breathed, without needing voice. Havens already considered himself dead – Zero obviously knew he was the bullet, though not the one pulling the trigger, meant to take his life. Suzaku needed to decide how much information he could extract from this man, who believed he had nothing left to lose. Just as he was trying to reconcile the idea of using force against someone not only very physically dangerous, but the closest Zero could have considered a friend during his tenure in the mask, Havens tipped his head down to the side. Leaning over, he dragged open a drawer, straightening and tossing a thick, embossed envelope across the desk to Suzaku.

"No point in making you ask. This is the order I received calling for your termination."

Suzaku smiled grimly at the clinical term, distinctly remembering the blinding burst of pain as a bullet pulverized the bone in his arm. As he retrieved and examined the order, he struggled against the wash of dismay through his stomach. The order was printed on Nunnally's stationary, distinctive by the unicorn head worked under the embossing in the top right corner. It not only bore her signature, Nunnally v. B., but the stamp of her personal correspondence, a unicorn dancing on laurel leaves. And there, in neat, impersonal text, was the command for Justice to deploy a special unit to neutralize Zero on foreign soil.

"Who delivered it?" Suzaku asked, careful to keep his voice dispassionate. Justice still sat behind his desk, fingers now loosely laced and face calmly controlled, but he could feel the coiled potential lurking inside him. It was still yet to be seen, but neither man knew if Havens would walk out of this meeting alive.

"Prince Schneizel," Justice answered with flat finality. Suzaku hid the flinch that moved across his shoulders; he'd spoken to Schneizel yesterday about this, determining the man's innocence and ignorance of the plot. But the last thing he needed was it becoming common knowledge that the first prince had been the messenger carrying his death order.

"And you, Justice? No second thoughts about releasing the hounds on my tail?" His voice was light, almost teasing. Only the shadow of regret moved across Justice's face, leaving a blasé roll of his shoulders and quiet acceptance in its wake.

"That's how it is, Zero. We've been playing this kind of game long enough to understand that end goals devour sentiment. You know as well as I do that it wasn't the first such mission I've been assigned. You're not immune – neither am I. No hard feelings, sir. It doesn't matter, but I didn't want to do it. When it comes down to it, though, my loyalties are to the Empress first. When she calls tools like you and I to action, we don't hesitate, and we don't get squeamish. Do we?"

Suzaku slowly tapped a finger against the edge of his execution order, observing Justice Havens closer than he had in months. Perhaps more closely than he ever had.

The Covert Affairs head had a slim build and moderate height that hid a well-trained strength, and black hair like an otter's pelt. Dark, hard eyes shifted in a fashion similar to night-time waters, the scar marring his face lending an edge of danger to a demeanor carefully modulated to appear unthreatening. There were lines drawn by hard experience, shadows brushed against skin by sleepless nights – standard hazards of his position. He was a man of primed, coiled strength and ruthless, unflinching power. Surviving the reign of three different monarchs of the old bloodline, Justice had remained one of the most steadfast defenders of the Britannian royalty, despite its recent, and drastic, changes.

Until now.

Now cycling the paper from corner to corner between his gloved fingertips, Suzaku considered. Justice was a powerful force in Nunnally's court; he was the only man realistically capable of killing Zero successfully and skating through the immediate aftermath. However, if he did happen to fail, had these unknown foes intended for these exact circumstances to unfold? If he didn't manage to kill Zero, Havens would be thrown into question, possibly even eliminated. And if he did, but was discovered, same result. One, or both, of Nunnally's staunchest and strongest supporters, eliminated with a single slip of forged paper. It was lethally elegant – disturbingly so.

Suzaku's hands froze. He stared at Justice, his blood turning glacial as the implications washed over him. The feeling was familiar; machinations moving like titans, pieces falling into place with a succinct fatality. Gritting his teeth, Suzaku briefly closed his eyes. He'd been down this road, fought this war. Never again, he'd promised himself. Never again would he fall prey to the clever dealings of insidious minds. He wouldn't let them win, wouldn't let them, whoever the hell they were, eliminate an important ally on the path to destroying what too many lives had been lost to build. It was a flaw of his that was dangerously easy to take advantage of, his stubborn determination that tricked him into believing his options were winnowed down to the most severe. It was Suzaku's responsibility to remember that there was another way.

"No. We can't afford to hesitate or falter, not when the fate of the empire hangs in the balance," Suzaku responded quietly, almost to himself. Finally, though, he straightened, decision made, fully aware of how intimidating it was to have the glass plate of Zero's mask unerringly aimed one's way. Havens, however, didn't cringe in the slightest.

"Nor can Her Majesty afford to lose an operative and citizen like yourself, Councilor Havens."

Justice blinked, the only manifestation of his surprise.

"You can't possibly trust me after this."

Suzaku cocked his head slightly at Justice's flat, disbelieving tone.

"I think you're more valuable kept in place, and in play. Besides, I said nothing about trust."

The set of Havens' shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly.

"You want me to act as a double agent."

Suzaku dipped his head slightly in agreement.

"If you're left unscathed after my return, they might assume you're still a viable asset. As such, it's entirely possible they could try to contact you again. I'm assuming that if contact is made, the Empress or myself will be made aware." The arched brow was in his voice, invisible behind his mask. Havens' index fingertips began to tap together, a manifestation of the wheels in his head beginning to turn on the grist of a plan, finally believing that he wasn't about to be executed, but called into service. Always a good turn of events for a spy.

"Is that the only project you're giving me?"

"I'd prefer it if we could stop referring to the people targeting the Empress as 'they.' See what you can dig up about who they are, and what they want besides me dead and Nunnally weakened. The sooner we know their identities, the sooner they can be dealt with."

Havens nodded, his eyes lighting with the eager glow of a hunting dog loosed onto a scent trail.

"Anything else?"

Suzaku nearly said no, nearly stood to end the meeting, having achieved what he wanted. Instead, his mouth opened largely without his consent, the words spoken surprising him more than Havens.

"One more thing. Do you know anything about an information broker named Rory Seven?" Aghast with himself, Suzaku couldn't help but notice the way Havens' brows climbed, his mouth twisting in nostalgic irony.

"That name's ancient history nowadays. But, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We had a few run-ins during the height of her career. She nearly got me blacklisted, then saved my life. You could say I took a professional interest. Why are you asking? Do you think she's involved?"

"No, I just… She came up a few times while I was away, and I thought it prudent to know as much as possible. Apparently, she was quite the heavy hitter back in the day."

Again, Havens smiled crookedly at Zero's comments, almost the way one does about a wild animal, appreciative of its beauty but bruisingly familiar with its unpredictability. Aurora indeed utterly belonged to the species of the gorgeous untamed, like wild horses and jungle cats.

"She was that, absolutely. Some thought she was the second coming of Lucy Hay before she fell off the map. The tracks she laid made death seem like the obvious answer for her disappearance, but I had my suspicions otherwise. Always thought she was too clever to fall from grace unless she intended on landing on her feet like a cat."

"I'd appreciate it if you could get me any information you have on her. It could come in handy."

Justice accepted the directive with ease, all of his considerable attention already fixed on the challenge of ferreting out the people who had used him.

Later, Suzaku still couldn't decide why exactly he'd made that request of Havens. He tried to puzzle out if renewing Havens' familiarity with Aurora could endanger her, but decided it would only become an issue if they ever crossed paths – an astronomically unlikely possibility. On the move to meet with Schneizel about possible unrest in the Lilith region of Brazilia, Suzaku didn't react to the staff he passed, all trained to ninja-like standards to move through the halls with silence and grace.

One maid, however, was apparently still in training, new enough to be awed into clumsiness by the famous figures that roamed these halls. As Zero passed, she bobbled the stack of books in her arms, the heavy slap of thick texts against hard wood floor catching Suzaku's attention. His eyes narrowed, however; the sound was muffled through the right side of his mask, coming in weak on the side closer to the noise's origin. Frowning as he turned to continue on his way, he decided to have Lloyd run some maintenance on it, see if anything was wrong with his mask. And, oh joy, wasn't that a treat he'd managed to avoid thus far.

Lloyd and Cecile didn't have the slightest clue how to speak to him these days. Cecile tried, but the gag order slapped on them was so thick, they could hardly enunciate. Which, of course, Lloyd compensated for by being a total fool. Being around them tended to wear him out, and Suzaku found himself tired enough as it was.

Exhausted, in fact. Slowing his pace a little, Suzaku relented, reaching up to rub at the tension that seemed to harden into a throbbing rock at the base of his neck. However, he hadn't the luxury to wallow in his discomfort – gritting his teeth, Suzaku straightened, lengthening his stride and turning down another corridor with a snap of his cloak.

"Hey there, ladies. I'm home." Chandler had a moment to privately reflect that even though they'd spent the last three months largely apart, it took very little time for the rhythm to resurge between Kendra and Aurora. They were so used to working together, they nearly functioned in unison. They looked over at him in unison; when they caught sight of his face, they even paled in unison. When he tried to muster a calming smile, it flashed to a wince, however, as the motion pulled at his torn lip, which, of course, had them rushing to his side in unison.

From there, it progressed almost exactly as he'd imagined during the frankly miserable drive home. Between a whirlwind of gauze and iodine and distress leaking off the women like gasoline fumes, he ceded to the demands of explanation about what had happened as he pressed an ice pack to his jaw. Chandler Andrews had pride, after all, and it was humiliating to admit that he'd been jumped by a group of thugs not far from where his car had been parked.

Aurora's lessons had counted for something, however; they'd gotten away with his wallet, but not his car keys. He'd made them work for it, which was something to hold onto when his left eye was swelling like a plum and his rib cage felt like the pummeled keys of a pub piano. When he glanced at Kendra apologetically – the wallet had been a gift from her – she simply laid a cool hand against the throbbing side of his face, and leaned closer.

"Moron. I care about you, not some dumb wallet." The worry in her eyes made the aches on his face and ribs amplify, and he grit his jaw before the flash of pain had him loosening it with a poorly disguised gasp.

It wasn't until about five minutes later that they noticed Aurora was gone. When Bannock didn't appear at Chandler's weakly executed whistle, they glanced at each other, a sense of foreboding stealing across the room like smoke.

"I hope she took her phone. And money. And food."

Chandler just took Kendra's hand.

"I hope she took a gun."

One of the first lessons George had ever taught his pupil was about information. Not just how it could be obtained or sold, stolen or hidden. But how it spread and moved, a flow of energy intrinsically tangled in the web of life humans were much more familiar with. Brokers tapped into that flow, for both their livelihoods and survival. It was impossible for a single person to know everything; informants lived and died by each other, a hard, inescapable rule. And networks were essential to the control and understanding of information, a system Aurora had once sleekly moved through like a dolphin.

A difficult thing about networks, however, is that they are expensive, and often difficult and time-consuming to construct. Just ask any government, spy agency, or law enforcement bureau, George had once told her with a cynical laugh. So why not be efficient? In the underbelly of every city, large or small, there was already a network in place, one inherently linked to the most information-rich sources by its very nature. It was simply a matter of knowing how to tap in correctly.

The building was like the rest in the Bones; tattered, decaying, and dangerous. This one, however, still seemed relatively structurally stable. Aurora ducked inside, familiar with the fires burning in metal drums and the crinkle of newspaper used to stuff shoes and coats. It was high July, but nights could still get cold, and the unprepared all too often ended up dead. The air was heavy with the scent of wet wool and unwashed skin, cold floors and rusted metal. The people moved around her with wraith-like caution, shifting away like scattered mice at her approach. Until a few recognized the shine of her hair, the shape of the dog at her side. When they called out to her with a friendly tone of voice, she returned the acknowledgement with a protein bar paired with a ten-pound note, earning directions towards Clea.

Aurora knew that few information constructs were more effective than the homeless network. Working at Kendra's clinic had afforded her the chance to develop relationships within that society more thoroughly than she might have otherwise, lending a symbiotic note to their interactions. It was a simple system, one that lasted if respected. Thugs and mercs came and went, but transient populations were sorrowfully eternal.

Finally, tucked in the warmest, strongest corner of the house, Aurora found Clea. She'd been pretty once, before time and woe carved her into a wooden block the shape of an old woman. Her ancestors had likely once ridden camels over the sands of the Middle East; nowadays, Clea held court in the Bones, a rugged survivor and queen of those who had no place to call home. Aurora shook her hand respectfully, brittle skin draped over bowing bones, the air heavy with sweat and cloves.

"Wondered if you were coming back." Clea's voice was as rusty from years of smoking, not necessarily cigarettes.

"Had a job overseas. Done now, so I'm home."

Clea nodded – she already knew about the second part. Aurora's involvement in the treatment of those affected by the collapse yesterday had likely become common knowledge before she herself had been made aware of it. Ban, as was his way, wandered over to Clea, delicately sniffing her hands before gazing at her with quietly entreating eyes. Finally, the fireplug of a woman, a faded scarf tied over graying hair, smiled and stroked her gnarled hands over Ban's head before returning her eyes, dark as pitch and spider-webbed at the corners by wrinkles, back up to Aurora.

"And just in time, too. What can I do for you, Sterling?"

Aurora dove her hands into her jacket pockets, aware that fisting them unconsciously could set off defense mechanisms in the people around her she had no intention of tripping.

"Someone jumped Chandler today. Stole his wallet and tenderized his face."

Clea looked at her out from under the tattered hank of hair falling into her eyes as she continued to rub Ban's muscled shoulders. Oh yes, Aurora thought. Clea understood the lay of the land perfectly.

Kendra's clinic was well known for its open-door policy; practically everyone in this building, and frankly this district, had sought aid there at one time or another. Since she required payment only when feasible, Kendra was something of a patron saint amongst the homeless, providing a place they would be guaranteed care. All too often, their survival depended on the generosity of the good doctor. Yesterday's incident merely emphasized that fact. What fewer knew was that Chandler was often the one throwing his weight behind legislature that would benefit Clea and those like her, defending the people all too easily forgotten.

A threat to either of the Andrews was a threat to an entire population, and could be seen by some as an act of war. Clea's people may have had little in the way of outright power, but they could make life impossible for anyone that even brushed against the fringes of society. Aurora was petty enough to enjoy the idea, but she had something to take care of first. This was personal.

"Who's new enough to be that stupid? I have something I want to clarify."

Clea took in Aurora's expression and stance, far too experienced in the harder ways of life to miss the bulge of the shoulder-holstered Glock 19 currently ruining the line of the blond woman's tough brown leather jacket.

"A band of sharks have been making a nuisance of themselves down in the Corridors. Dug in like ticks at the old tire shop."

Aurora's brow quirked, leaving her looking austere and lethal in the flickering fire light. She appeared ready, even thirsty, for combat, and Clea didn't doubt the woman's capacity for destruction. Every inch of her was pulled taut with purpose, the pulse of breath, blood, and bone beating against a steely control. Her eyes glittered like a quick, cold death, and Clea could almost hear her teeth creaking from the way she had them fiercely clamped.

"Then I'll just have to dig them out, won't I?"

Clea gave Ban one final pat before accepting the customary offer of money and food. Aurora nodded, then turned on her heel, Ban slipping away behind her. If she wasn't so irritated at those little pricks, Clea would have almost felt sorry for them. Those guppies fancied themselves dangerous; it would be interesting to see how they'd handle coming face to face with a tiger shark.

By the time she stepped outside, a thin, cold rain misted down, sliding another layer of oily anger over the mess already roiling inside her. Turning up her collar, Aurora glanced down at her dog, muttering "Perto," into the chilled air. Bannock immediately glued himself to her side, the Porteguese word for "close" one of his hard commands. It was blatant enough by his mistress's tone and demeanor that this was no time for play; the use of one of his hard commands ensured the dog was absolutely obedient. After all, this particular task had the promise to be treacherous.

Quickly calling up her mental map of the city, Aurora set out, her boots grinding over the detritus of the streets with her determined stride. Things had changed in her time away; it surprised her, even as she chided herself, knowing it shouldn't have. Nothing stood still, not really. Even she had changed over the course of a mere handful of months.

Aurora shook her head, scattering those thoughts like droplets of rain shaken from a dog's coat. Not now. Now was the time to focus, to see to it that she completed her mission as safely as possible. Her heartache was her own – she refused to be responsible for more because of simple foolishness.

She found the tire shop easily enough. The defining characteristics of the exterior had rotted away long ago; the only reason anyone knew its original purpose was the large rubber facsimile hanging above the boarded-up windows, precariously clinging to its perch. Since the front windows and door were still blocked and unused, the men who had attacked Chandler had to access the building from another point.

Carefully ducking through a side alley, her eyes narrowed when she came upon a much more adequately barred door under a tilting overhang. A thin stream of water trailed from the left corner, adding a dissonant note of water pooling on cracked concrete to the hiss of rain. Rocking back on her heels and surveying the building, Aurora considered her options. Finally, she sighed. When in doubt, it was best to go with the classics.

Yanking the tie from her braid, she scrubbed her fingers through her damp hair. There was no convenient mirror, and the puddles were too dark to be of use, so she just had to hope that she looked like she'd tumbled out of bed, not off a garbage truck. Making sure the lapels of her jacket were pulled back, she tugged down the plain black tank she wore, enough to have the edge of her bra peeking over the hem. It was too late to wish for purple or lace trimmings, or concealer for the shadows under her eyes and a bit of mascara, but Aurora would just have to hope that her bone structure and the proffered curve of her breasts could carry the day. Finally, she glanced down at Ban, who'd watched her preparations with patient interest, lazily sniffing at the garbage scattered from a nearby, overflowing dumpster, layering the rain-heavy air with the scent of decay.

"Chosaint." The Gaelic word for "defend" had his hackles raising, ranging himself against her leg. With that, she heaved a deep breath, and knocked on the door. Arranging herself in an alluring slouch against the door frame, also conveniently blocking Ban from view, Aurora waited patiently for the door to crack open. When it did, the chain a thin defense, she pulled a seductive, inviting smile over her face.

"Evening, handsome."

The man, barely more than a boy, who had answered the door was, in fact, average at best, lank blond hair awkwardly parted. His pale brows jerked up, and the clouding of his watery blue eyes as they dropped down to her appealing displayed breasts told her that the ploy stood a solid chance.

"I heard you fellas had a few good scores today. Figured you'd be up for a little congratulatory fun."

He grinned lustily, revealing bad teeth and a soft brain.

"Hell, hard to say no to that. What would you say to a group rate?" He was already edging the door closed to the pull the chain.

"I think I can work something out," Aurora murmured as she pulled her gun free from the holster, flicking the safety off with a practiced twitch of her thumb. Pathetic, really, how the promise of a victory fuck was enough to allow a breech.

As the door swung open again, Aurora added to the momentum with a hard shove, sending Blondie jerking back and off balance, too confused at the sight of the barrel advancing on him, about to tap his nose, to reach for the gun on the cracked table. With absolutely zero remorse, she crowded close, kneeing him in the balls before cracking the butt of her pistol against his cheekbone, sending him crashing to the ground in a lump, his hands still raised.

Hearing the advancing thud of steps, Aurora whirled, her gun raised. For a minute, a black fury pulsed through her, demanding that she empty her clip into the thug coming at her like a freight train, easily twice the size of his compatriot. Better reason, and thicker guilt, however, won out – at the last moment, she stepped to the side, tracking the heavier-set brunette as he crashed into the table.

He came up with the gun in his hands, and Aurora moved quickly. Pulling in close again served her well; she kicked at his knee, and when he howled at the crunch, she snatched his pinky, bending it back with a crack and guiding him down to the ground. The gun fell uselessly from his unpracticed, slanted grip, and Aurora snagged it and economically tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, her Glock's nose pressed convincingly to the thug's forehead. Knee to his chest, she moved the gun to his right hand, pressing against his palm. Leaning closer, she let the anger light her eyes like sheet lightning.

"You're getting off easy," she murmured, and pulled the trigger. The man's scream competed with the second gunshot, and the sting on her upper arm warned Aurora to get her brain back into the game, and quickly. Before she had time to scold herself further, or even turn around and finish off Blondie, his wail rent the air, paired with a deep, vicious growl. She turned in time to see Ban's teeth latched onto his right wrist, throwing his entire, considerable weight against the man, eyes lit with an unholy fury.

Blondie twisted like a fox caught in a trap, whimpering and blubbering as long teeth sank into vulnerable flesh like a barbed vise. Burying her fingers in the big boy's greasy hair, she yanked his head up, then slammed it against the concrete, his eyes rolling back into his head, sinking obligingly into unconsciousness. Standing, Aurora approached Ban and his quarry, waiting until the man's teary eyes met hers.

"You, however, aren't so lucky," she said quietly, leveling her gun at his forehead. Blood and tears and snot streaked his face. "I need to speak with your boss. And he'll only let go," she jerked her chin towards Ban, "when you're willing to cooperate. So – you going to help me out?" Frantically, he nodded, sobbing as blood dripped on the dirty floor, oily in the weak light.

"Släppa," she said quietly, this particular command for release using the Swedish word. Ban loosened his jaws, allowing Blondie to collapse in a sniveling pile. He remained close, however, his lips lifted threateningly but utterly silent. The thug raised his hands placatingly, still openly weeping at the torn wounds on his wrist pumping blood. Stepping behind him, Aurora roughly snagged his collar, yanking him to his feet and propelling him forward, burying the nose of her gun in his spine as Ban stayed close.

At her quiet questions, he directed them across the cavernous stable of abandoned bays that still stank of metal, oil, and rubber, up rickety stairs, and down the hall. Aurora couldn't help but roll her eyes – they were either drunk, stoned, or dumb, not to come racing down at screams and gunfire. Or cowards, she silently amended upon kicking open the door her hostage had gestured to, shoving him to his knees and revealing a dank room full of stupid, scared street thugs, mid-debate as to who had to be the chopped liver sent down to investigate.

The few that managed to think clearly enough to grab a weapon lowered them in consternation when Aurora pressed one gun to the back of Blondie's trembling skull and produced the other from the small of her back, aiming it at a slim, dark-haired guy, a blue bandana wound around his upper right arm the only splotch of color in the otherwise drearily dying room. The quick, panicked glances towards him cinched the assumption that this was the leader.

"Now that I have your attention," she said pleasantly. "I have to inform you that you made a grievous error today, gentlemen. You took something with excessive force from a friend of mine. A friend with enough connections in this city to make this little wake-up call look like foreplay. Now, if I had it my way, this would be the last we ever see each other. But," she continued with narrowed eyes, the menace suddenly lacing her voice sending a few boys gulping in terror, "if you ever tangle with someone close to me again, it won't just be a slap-on-the-wrist like today. I will annihilate every single one of you, leaving the kind of remains behind that demand closed coffins."

More than one paled, only the leader daring to respond.

"Bitch, if you think-" His words, and his advance on Aurora, were swiftly halted, however, when Ban snarled then snapped twice, Blondie flinching like he'd been hit with a bat.

"Here's a piece of friendly advice," Aurora said conversationally. "When you're new to a town, take some time. Figure out the safe targets. News flash: the guy you hit today is off limits. As are me and mine. Trust me, kiddos. I play in the big leagues – this is one war you are not ready to wage. Call my attention to you again, and I'll rain down fire like the Demon Emperor himself. Now, before you say anything else stupid and testosterone-fueled, I want the wallet you stole today." She locked eyes with the leader, completely unfazed by the rage burning there, calmly engaging in the battle of wills.

When he turned towards a table littered with liquor bottles and overflowing ash trays, she tucked the acquired gun back into her waistband, neatly catching the wallet tossed her way with her freed hand. The good leather flipped open at the jerk of Aurora's wrist, and she frowned back up at the scowling head of the snake.

"I'm not even going to bother asking for the cash back, but you're going to hand the cards and ID's to Blondie here. Do anything stupid, and I'll redecorate the walls with brain splatter, starting with yours."

Oh, the little leader looked ready to tear her limb from limb, but he obeyed her request nonetheless. Her hostage still whimpered quietly, shuddering when the items were slapped into his hand, then presented back to Aurora. Satisfied all were accounted for, she quietly commanded Ban to retreat in Mandarin, rocking her weight onto her toes in preparation.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now then," she continued more softly, locking eyes with the leader – she hadn't missed the bloody bruising around his knuckles, likely damaged when they'd been driven into her friend's cheekbone and eye socket. "This is for Chandler." Lowering her gun, she neatly shot him in the foot. Before the rest of the group could react beyond stunned horror at the blue bandana's throaty scream, Aurora raised her gun and shot out the light, plunging the room into brittle darkness. To the sounds of panicked chaos, she slipped away, her shadow patiently waiting for her downstairs, and together they sprinted back to the door, still left ajar from her forceful entrance. As she stepped out into the misting rain with Ban at her side, Aurora took a moment to toss the gun she'd gained into the dumpster before loping home.

Kendra and Chandler jerked to attention when the kitchen door opened, admitting Aurora, exhausted and on-edge, and Bannock, his muzzle still bloody and his eyes pinned to his mistress. She paused next to Chandler, gently setting his wallet on the table at his elbow.

"Cash was a lost cause," she said coolly, heading towards the refrigerator and snagging a bottled water. "But everything else should be there."

Husband and wife stared at the wallet, good, simple brown leather, for a moment before lifting probing eyes to Aurora, damp and pale.

"I'm assuming no casualties," Chandler said, fighting to remove inflection from his tone. Aurora shrugged as she gulped water, and for a moment, his battered head swirled.

"Nothing fatal," she reassured them. "If anyone not tagged by Clea, Zwei, or Bruno show up here looking for treatment, well. That's your decision."

"You didn't have to do this," Kendra said quietly, her voice tight and hard like bone. Aurora just tossed the now-empty bottle into the recycling bin, her entire face blank and cold as she turned to leave the room.

"Yeah, I did," she returned, certain and calm. Kendra stood angrily, the screech of the chair against the floor drawing her friend to a stop

"No, you didn't. You took an enormous risk to get back a stupid wallet. God, Aurora, what if something had happened to you?"

Aurora had halted at Kendra's words in the kitchen doorway, her shoulders drawing up defensively, her back still to her friends. Even cloaked in her wet jacket, the painfully straight, strained line of her spine was glaringly apparent. For a moment, they watched her struggle in silence, watched her fists clench with breaking force. Then, on a soft sigh, they loosened.

"Please," Aurora whispered, the sound seemingly wrenched from her very core. Finally, she turned back partially to face them, her eyes bleak with a kind of pain that could rust out a soul if left untended. "Please let me protect you. Because I'm helpless here." She turned her hands palm out, achingly weaponless and deceptively fragile. "I can't do anything for him, not against the kind of danger he faces. And if I let the impotence set in, I'll go insane. So please. Let me keep both of you – all of you – safe." The naked pleading in Aurora's eyes had Kendra's knees wobbling, Chandler's throat tightening. What could the doctor do but nod?

At that, Aurora turned away, quietly mounting the stairs to her room. Kendra sank back into her chair, tightly gripping her husband's hand. Together, they stared mutely at the retrieved wallet.

Chapter Text

Straddling a chair and resting his chin on the hands he'd stacked on the chair's back, Suzaku patiently waited as Lloyd fiddled with his Zero mask. The scientist hummed tunelessly, always pleased with a puzzle. And as he was responsible for the bulk of the upgrades made to the mask after it had been bequeathed to Suzaku, he felt a proprietary possessiveness over it that helped snare his chronically wandering attention.

Cecile sat a little farther down to Suzaku's right, industriously typing away at her computer, running diagnostics on the mask's functions; Suzaku ignored her occasional furtive glances his way, slowly clenching his jaw against the awkward confusion she radiated like warmth. They'd spent years together – Lloyd and Cecile had been the voices in his ear through some of the most intense and pivotal battles of the last century. And yet, when all was said and done, they had no idea what to do with the patched-together puppet Suzaku had become.

Not that he was much better. What could he say, really? What was there left to say that they didn't already know, left to clarify that wouldn't make him sound weak and stupid? They'd been allies, colleagues once. Perhaps even friends. Now though, Suzaku looked at them through the lens of a well-informed acquaintance.

Cecile had allowed her hair to lengthen over the last couple of years, now tamed back in a neat, dense tail that fell straight as rain down her spine. Suzaku knew it was her gentle influence that had convinced Lloyd to get a new pair of glasses; his old pair had been crushed when he'd been arrested, and instead of going back to the same wide, wire-frame style, she'd persuaded him to smaller, squarer lenses and dark frames. It made him appear scholarly and dashing – Suzaku and Cecile knew better, but the impression certainly helped when he was making his dramatic rounds at fundraisers and charity events.

As one of the premier scientists of the Empire, Lloyd was something of a celebrity among the scientific community. His counterpart was, of course, Rakshata, and things could get downright interesting when both of them were in attendance at an event. Suzaku had refereed enough of those gatherings to know that the reason blood had never been shed had practically nothing to do with his presence, and everything to do with Cecile's. Besides her hair, little of her had changed. She was still the voice of reason of the department, still the subtle backbone to Lloyd's fluid conscience. And still a terrible cook, he thought with a suppressed grin/grimace, eyeing the plate of cookies she'd offered him earlier. Peanut butter and pickle relish this time.

He sighed through his nose, briefly letting his eyes drift closed and passing his palm over his mouth at the memory of the travesty Cecile had brightly proclaimed was a cookie. Once, he been the only one dumb enough to actually eat her concoctions. Now, she would look devastated any time he refused, depending on him to be her one reliable consumer. So, at the cost of a single awful cookie, he could make Cecile happy, if only for a little while. Small price to pay, but it was a miserable toll in the moment.

It took a few tries for the sound of Cecile's voice to filter around to his left ear. Tilting his head out of a habit that he'd been forced to build over the last few days, Suzaku listened with half his brain, the other half trying to slow its freefalling pinwheel into panic. The hearing problem had never happened outside of his mask before. Oblivious to his internal strife, Cecile carried on, her soft voice the cornerstone to several years of Suzaku's life.

"…and when I ran diagnostics on all the systems, I couldn't find anything a few upgrades won't fix. Its lack of use over the last three months did cause some minor issues, but there isn't any evidence of processes that had fully shut down." She stepped around his absence with the cool composure that came from years of winding through human minefields.

"And you know I have no tolerance for glitches in my work," Lloyd added, sauntering over to Suzaku, the improved mask balanced in the palm of his hand, casually offering it with a steady, probing gaze. "If there's an error, it's a human one." He spoke of Suzaku the same way he always had – with the banal indifference reserved for the necessary but unreliable parts of his machines. He would always just be a devicer to Lloyd, someone who operated his creations with an acceptable level of skill. But he would never forgive Suzaku for being fallible – for being human. Suzaku didn't know if he could forgive himself, either.

He stood, offering his thanks as he replaced the mask, turning away too quickly to see the worried glance Cecile and Lloyd exchanged. Suzaku was gone before Cecile had the chance to wish him a happy belated birthday.

Intent on getting back to his quarters to cautiously, and privately, probe out the cause of this sudden problem with his hearing, Suzaku was shocked to see Nunnally in his office, idly flipping through one of the few sketchbooks he'd brought with him from Ireland. He slammed the door shut before his conscious mind caught up with the impulse, the loud crash startling them both. Nunnally's huge eyes, soft as lilac in spring, jerked up to his like a startled doe's. It still jolted him on occasion, the way she could see him, the way her gaze carried weight and meaning – Suzaku had met her after her blindness. He'd never known a seeing Nunnally until after the Requiem had been set into motion.

The whip lash of anger surprised him – he had few, if any, secrets that he kept from Nunnally. Why, then, was he suddenly so desperate to keep his experience with Aurora to himself, safely tucked away from even the most understanding of eyes? It was all Suzaku could do to restrain himself from lunging forward, from snatching the notebook from her small, pale hands. As he approached at a measured pace, though, he could see the page Nunnally had stopped on.

It was one of the sketches of Aurora and Ban wrestling and playing he'd made the night following their first dance lesson. He'd liked this one, bright with laughter and affection as Aurora had enthusiastically rubbed Ban's ears, laughing as he'd licked her nose, enough to give it individual attention with the rainbow of pencils she'd gifted to him, all still back in Gallagher. With express gentleness, he slipped the book from Nunnally's grasp, closing the cover with the quiet sound of a boundary being erected, and set it on his desk, blatantly beyond her reach. Finally, Suzaku faced the empress, removing his mask to offer her the vulnerability of his face in compensation for the part of himself he'd just glaringly set off limits.

Nunnally stared at him, struggling to wipe the shock from her expression. Never, she thought. Never had Suzaku denied her anything, never laid down a line she was so obviously forbidden from crossing. He'd sidestepped before, adroitly nudged her away from things he didn't want to talk about, subjects he couldn't bring himself to discuss. But a door that had always been at least cracked open to her had just been softly yet inexorably shut, and she couldn't quite rally her brain as to the why of it, she was so rattled.

"Do you need something, Nunnally?" With a restless sort of confusion, she examined his face, his words. He'd gained a little weight during his time away, enough to soften the hollows in his cheeks from gaunt to artistic. His color was a little better, a warm, golden tint to his skin that had been absent the last few years. His hair was a little shorter, ruffled now from the mask. Otherwise, though, Suzaku was exactly the same as he'd always been, said those words with the same gentle inquiry he'd always given her, the polite interest of an older sibling etched in his expression. Why, then, did it feel like he was miles, not inches, away?

"I…" she began weakly, feeling more young and inept in the face of a Suzaku she couldn't understand or define than she ever had in her rule as Empress, ill-prepared as she'd been. "Is that Aurora's dog?"

"Yes," Suzaku answered simply, resting his palm on the sketchbook cover in an unmistakable gesture of possession and protection, gazing at it for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. "His name is Bannock. Dark gray and black, some kind of Greyhound mix, I think."

"Oh," she murmured for want of something clever, her voice small and unsure. Nunnally suddenly needed to touch Suzaku's hand, to reassure herself that he had indeed returned. But he'd become incredibly leery of touching her over the last few years, largely because of her talent to parse the truth from lies with a simple touch. Would an attempt at contact encourage him to throw up yet another wall to block her out, or remind him that, in the end, they were ultimately family?

He never gave her the chance to try. Suzaku turned away from her, setting his mask down atop the sketchbook before sitting, angling the chair to face her and tilting his head slightly. His tone and face were utterly calm, completely business-like. Yet Nunnally could practically smell the smoke, the fires of conflict and pain burning inside him. But nothing in his demeanor gave his suffering away. If she was being totally honest, very little of it ever had.

"After discussion with Schneizel and Councilor Havens, we've identified three factions within court that could be responsible for the recent trouble we've been dealing with."

"Trouble?" Nunnnally couldn't help but quietly parrot with a quirked brow. Only Suzaku would refer to an assassination attempt that nearly killed him as "trouble." The corner of Suzaku's mouth just curled, tipping his head in acknowledgement of his bald understatement before continuing.

"Two are built around noble families, one with close ties to the throne and the other with a history of opposition to your reign. The third is a guild, a descendant of the old merchant classes, who would like nothing more than to see us return to war. Conflict has a way of being very lucrative to those who know exactly where to place their money." How easily Aurora would deal with them, he couldn't help but think to himself. She'd use one of her enviable contacts to nose around the guild's accounts, find the thread that, with a single firm tug, would send their whole sordid ball of yarn tumbling into the light to be picked apart.

Suzaku, however, didn't have the time for that luxury. The guilds were considered free agents within court, and one could never predict their following or support at any single time. They could be adrift, or they could be rife with backers. Taking on the guilds was not something to be done lightly – a war on two fronts within her own home ground was the last thing Nunnally needed, especially if it was because Suzaku bet on the wrong horse. Squaring off against one of the noble families had its own consequences, as well.

Each faction was built around a young nobleman, the centerpiece for their particular display. The boys themselves, around Suzaku's age but outrageously immature by comparison, were hardly a threat. Keith Wellford and Richard Langley were the modern version of fops, and Suzaku usually made it his mission to avoid them at all costs. Not because they were dangerous; far from it.

They were incredibly annoying. Wellford was a pompous ass, focused on his perceived reputation as a lady-killer more than any sort of weight he could throw around in court. Langley was the opposite in that he was omnipresent in court, but young and dumb enough that no one took his comments very seriously. In a few decades, they might be able to manage trouble on their own.

The real danger of them lay in their lineage. Both were distant cousins of Nunnally, and both could stand to gain a great deal of support should the throne suddenly find itself empty. Wellford's faction had a history of tense interactions with the Empress and her council, while Langley's family had loudly voiced their support of Nunnally from the moment of her coronation. Too loudly, Suzaku thought now. It took an experienced eye to discern those that curried favor simply for power and those that felt a loyalty that could be trusted.

An eye that had seemed instinctual for Suzaku's father, and one that he'd inherited in only the weakest way. Schneizel was must more skilled at sniffing out traitors – Suzaku had depended on the prince's sixth sense before, and would likely have to again before this was over.

"It looks like they're the ones with the potential of the most immediate damage. We'll keep an eye on them, and keep you apprised of the situation as it develops." God, that was military training dripping out of his mouth, all appeasement and hefty, hollow words. But instead of the disgust he felt for himself reflected in Nunnally's eyes, she simply nodded, absorbing his words with relaxed acceptance. Suzaku was gearing up for a status report on possible unrest in the southern regions when Nunnally's soft voice cut through his thoughts like a scalpel.

"I didn't know you could draw."

"Neither did I," he said with a wry smile. "At least, not before Aurora handed me a pad and pencil to keep me occupied during recovery."

Nunnally chuckled, cluing in to the implied joke of an injured Suzaku barred from activity, and the royal hell he was capable of raising.

"You're very good."

This was always the worst part – Suzaku didn't know when exactly he'd become so appalling at graciously accepting a compliment, but the words stuck in his throat like clay. Protest was easy, but etiquette training from his youth made the words sour on his tongue. Nunnally seemed to expect a response, though, and his conscience was still smarted from the way he'd erected a barricade between them that had never before existed.

"Thank you," he managed after clearing his throat, barely restraining himself from choking on the words.

"I'll see you later for tea," Nunnally returned quietly, excusing herself with grace as she left the room. Suzaku watched her go, waiting until the door shut behind her before turning back to his desk, planting his elbows onto the polished oak, and dropping his head in his hands.

He was so tired.

So, of course, perversely, he didn't sleep for the next three days. Chased out of his first REM cycle by gut-clenching, bloody nightmares, it was the final image of Euphie dying in his arms that sent him fleeing to consciousness. Suzaku spent the rest of the first night drawing, then burning everything he drew while the sun slipped over the horizon, hoping to any holy entity possibly listening that it had purged his mind of whatever was haunting it.

The next night, the dreams got worse. This time, he watched Euphie die over and over again, in increasingly worse ways as he stood paralyzed, her screams tattooing themselves in his ears, even the one that hadn't picked up on any sound in days. By the time he wrested himself from the dark cling of the nightmares, Suzaku found himself curled in the corner of the room, hands bloody from scrabbling and pounding at windows that weren't there, looking for any escape. He took to pacing, swift, laser-straight lines that he desperately hoped would cage whatever lurked in his head.

But it didn't help. It seemed he'd only just closed his eyes, too tired to stand after over forty-eight hours without sleep, when blood splattered against his mind's eye. He flinched out of the dream like he'd been slapped, laying for a long time with his palms smashed against his eyes, the occasional tear leaking down his temple. Finally, his skin itching and nerves twitching, he sat up, elbows braced against his knees and hands dangling, and he watched the clock on his desk count down the hours, until he stood to don his mask to again become Zero.

Suzaku had survived this before – he was actually quite accomplished at completing his duties when he was little better than a zombie. He couldn't guess what had been unearthed in his psyche to unleash such horrors when his defenses were down, and he didn't know how to solve it. In a new, painful way, he ached for Aurora. Deep in his bones, he'd have given anything for her to be there, for her to help him through.

Beyond exhaustion and just shy of stumbling, Suzaku had pulled away from a lunch Lord Sellens was hosting, knowing that even if his mind couldn't rest, the least he could do was rest his body. As he all but tripped into his suite, engaging the locks behind him and pulling off his mask with numb fingers, Suzaku's eyes swept through the room in a pass that he couldn't prevent unless he was actually dead. When he noticed the anomaly, it took a few seconds for his fried brain to actually register what it was.

Oh, God. There was a bag of heroin on his desk.

What he wouldn't give for a whisper of relief, the tiniest easing of this immense pressure that was practically driving him into the floor. Sensory memory swamped him, and Suzaku nearly whimpered. It would be so easy, and he was so tired...

A thought shot through his tattered brain like a cobra, almost too fast to see or understand, but it left a lingering venom that stung so badly, his throat closed, yanking him back from his tumble into desire.

It was a wish, a tired, desperate need to alleviate constant agony. He wished… He wished he'd never known Euphie, never loved her. Yearned that she'd never existed at all. So he would never have to suffer like this, spared the war zone that had become his brain ever since the loss of someone he loved so deeply.

He didn't mean it, Suzaku hurried to reassure himself, so shocked that his determined march to his desk trailed to a stiff halt, bracing his hands on the back of his chair as his knees nearly buckled, repeating to himself, over and over, that he'd loved Euphemia. He loved her. He'd never wish her gone. But instead of his light, his compass, the memory of the princess now felt like a toxin, nursing an immense anger that seemed too big for his skin to contain, not without tearing him apart at the seams or running so thick through his blood that Suzaku would stroke out before he ever rid himself of it.

His eyes drifted shut at the injustice of it all. It wasn't supposed to be this way; it was sad, and brutal, and… wrong, that Suzaku's feelings for Euphie could be affected by how his mind was trying to break itself down.

The memory of Euphemia was supposed to be hallowed, free from the corruption of Suzaku's emotions and fallibilities. He couldn't even pinpoint the moment when it had changed, when the fabric of memories had started becoming twisted and stained by the ugly pollutant swirling through him. It was appalling to realize that the heroin hadn't just numbed him; it had tainted the one thing he held sacred.

Was it his fault? Something in him that was essentially broken, responsible for distorting the memory of the love of his life into something lethal?

What could he do to fix it? He couldn't just stop loving her, after all. Even if he could, he wouldn't. His treacherous brain had already betrayed her enough. No, Suzaku had sworn his heart, his duty, his soul, to Princess Euphemia, forever and always.

But there was one thing he could do. Snatching the small bag up, he all but ran to the bathroom, emptying the contents into the toilet before slashing his hand at the handle, watching the white powder flush down the drains in grim silence.

He stood there a long time, staring into the toilet as it washed away his poison, refilled, then eventually fell silent, swaying slightly. Finally, he shuffled towards his bedroom, blindly stripping off his cloak, gloves, shoes, and cravat as he went, leaving them where they fell in a scattered trail across priceless antique rugs. Collapsing on the mattress like he was boneless, Suzaku let his eyes fall closed. Finally, he slept.

Today had been quiet.

Kendra sat at the kitchen table, idly playing gin rummy with Aurora. Chandler, who had gotten the day off for no particular reason, was ensconced in his office, spending his off hours tackling a few of his pet projects that were in need of attention. Several schools across the country enjoyed his patronage, along with four orphanages and two animal shelters. The doctor just shook her head at her husband's generosity as she laid down three sevens, telling herself that the quiet was nice. Not even considering the baby readying itself for its entrance into this world in two and a half months, quiet was in short supply here – always had been, likely always would be. Even as it annoyed her, Kendra determinedly appreciated it.

Chandler had been banned from the game as soon as he'd suggested it, leaving Kendra and Aurora to play, who were much more evenly matched. Just as she was about to start rallying for her final gin, though, Kendra's phone rang. Glancing at Aurora apologetically, she stood to answer it, frowning only briefly at the unfamiliar number before answering it.

"Hello?"

"Kendra? It's… it's Suzaku."

Even as she whipped around to tell Aurora, she was standing as Chandler summoned her to his office. He looked exceedingly confused, explaining that someone had called for her on his office line before shutting the door behind them. Ordering her thoughts, and closing her mouth, Kendra leaned back against the counter, taking a deep breath before responding.

"Hello, Suzaku. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Fine, my ass, Kendra thought swiftly. You wouldn't be calling me unless it you thought you were dying or losing your mind.

"That's good. What can I do for you?"

"You did a physical for me after my surgery, right?"

Her brows knitting, Kendra angled her head in a confusion she kept fiercely from her voice.

"I did. It should be noted in your file."

"It is," he replied quickly. "But I wanted to ask you about something in particular. Specifically, my hearing."

Now intrigued as well as confused, Kendra began patting the top of her belly mound in a light, even rhythm.

"I believe that when I gave you your physical, your hearing was fine. No defects as far as I can remember. And I don't recall you or Aurora mentioning that you had hearing problems during your recovery. Has that changed?"

Silence vibrated through the phone, but Kendra held her tongue.

"I've… lost my hearing in my right ear," he finally answered. Kendra blinked, shocked. Sudden hearing loss in an otherwise healthy young man, localized in only one ear? Sensorineural hearing loss was a possibility, but unlikely in someone his age. She'd seen no sign of infection, trauma, or diseases that could explain it. What the hell had happened?

"Has anything happened recently that could explain it?"

"Nothing," Suzaku replied definitively. Right, Kendra thought with a dark sort of affection. You're the kind of guy to call arterial trauma a scratch – I can't trust you to tell me if you were really hurt. You and I classify pain very differently, my friend.

"Other ear is fine?"

"Perfectly."

"Any pain or dizziness? Vertigo? Ringing in the ears, or ears feeling full?"

"None of that. Except for one ear losing all hearing in a matter of days, everything's been totally normal."

"How about in the past? Have you ever suffered an injury to that ear before?"

"No, I… Wait. I did, but it was minor."

"What happened?" Kendra prompted.

"Someone shot at me." Three guesses who. "The bullet passed close enough to shatter the earpiece I was wearing. I had a small perforation in my eardrum, and had tinnitus for about a week after. But that was years ago, and I've never had issues before now."

"OK. Suzaku, you need to go see a doctor."

"I am."

Kendra rolled her eyes at his stubborn duck of orders.

"Over-the-phone diagnoses don't count. I can't give you the answers you need; go to one of the doctors we listed. They can give you a better idea of what's going on."

"I trust you."

And didn't that speak volumes, she mused with a sigh.

"I know, dear. And I know it's upsetting and disconcerting. But without more information that I could only get in person, I'm shooting in the dark."

"Just give me your best guess," he pleaded. The sound of his voice, low and worried and tired, lanced through Kendra like a spear.

"OK. I don't think it's a disease – you're too young and healthy for some, and others would have shown up on your blood panels or in your physicals. If you're not experiencing any pain, vertigo, or discharge and you don't have any other issues with your head or throat in general, I don't think it's an infection. Any hearing loss from your more recent trauma should have shown up months ago." She paused, waiting for him to contradict any of the symptoms she listed. He said nothing.

"The past injury you mentioned has fully healed, or you would have had issues before now. That isn't to say it's impossible that it hasn't regressed for some odd reason. Your history with the military could have exposed you to situations that hasten hearing loss, but, again, you're young, and it would be odd localized only to one ear. I have no idea as to your genetics, so it could be some disorder that's been traipsing around your family tree." She trailed off, the burn of failure and impotence coating her throat.

"Anything else?" Suzaku probed, waiting for an answer from the list of impossibilities she'd given him.

"No, I'm… Wait," she said abruptly, her mind tumbling through a series of observations, diagnoses, treatments, and procedures. Everything she knew about the health and past of Suzaku Kururugi raced through her brain, puzzle pieces bumping against each other until they settled enough to form a possibility. She hated herself a little for the conclusion, as it felt like a cop-out, but it was the only thing she could think of that made any sort of sense.

"It could be psychosomatic."

Suzaku took a moment before responding.

"You mean it's all in my head?"

"That is not what I mean," Kendra said adamantly, more for his mental health than her pride. "What I mean is you are still dealing with severe PTSD. You've just had your routine enormously interrupted, and are constantly dealing with traumatic scenarios and reminders all the time. You work for the sister of the person who initially caused your hearing injury. I'm sure things are tough right now, Suzaku, and it could be this hearing loss is your brain and body trying to work out some sort of return to normalcy."

He seemed to be digesting what she was saying, and Kendra took the opening to push a little further.

"How is everything else going? How are you sleeping?"

"Fine."

She knew that voice; she'd heard it before. Translation: Bad.

"OK. I still think you should go see a doctor, ideally a specialist. I know there's at least one on the list. My guess could be totally off-base, because that's basically what it is: a guess."

"I know. Thank you, though, for giving me at least a guess."

Like a thread fraying, Kendra could sense him pulling away, unwilling to risk either of them any longer.

"Take care of yourself, alright, kiddo? And let me know if anything changes."

"I will. And thank you again, Kendra. For taking the time. I appreciate you listening." "Do you want to talk to Aurora? I can go get her-"

"No!" he barked into the phone. "That's alright. I have to go. Goodbye." And with that, dead air echoed in her ear. Slowly, Kendra lowered her phone, marveling at the whole episode, hoping she'd done more good than ill. Sometimes, when it came to Suzaku, you just couldn't be sure.

When Aurora stepped slowly out of Chandler's office, Kendra straightened, their wide eyes meeting across the kitchen. The doctor knew she looked shell-shocked, but was surprised to see an equally stunned expression on Aurora's face.

"I just had the weirdest phone call," Kendra began conversationally. Opening the fridge and just staring into it, Aurora shook her head.

"I promise you, whatever it is, I can top it."

The day after his phone call to Kendra, Suzaku tried to resign himself to his deafness being permanent, and possibly without reason. It was hard to swallow, but if he hadn't been able to traverse the morass of his mind to clarity before, he had little hope now.

Still, he tried to function normally. Court was deserted, and Nunnally and Suzaku spoke of several new legislations that had come up in discussion earlier, a few cause for raised brows. Their quiet exchange was interrupted, however, by Lord Wellford. Suzaku glared at the queen's slight cousin, forgetting the uselessness of facial expressions when wearing Zero's mask. The lapse still happened now and again, especially after being spoiled by Aurora's sensitivity.

"Your Majesty," Wellford said, bowing with pretentious elegance and a small smirk on his thin lips. Nunnally politely nodded in return, waiting for Wellford to speak his intent. Engaging the young man in witty banter would trap her in a conversation with him for an hour, and the empress simply didn't have the time. Left without the furrowing of his brow, Suzaku resorted to crossing his arms. Historically, it hadn't been that threatening of a gesture from him. But since donning Zero's garb and gaining four inches in height, it had done wonders for his already commanding physical presence.

Left without verbal encouragement, Wellford awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm, ah, glad to see you looking so well, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Lord Wellford," Nunnally replied simply.

"I'm also glad to see the Barker Initiative moving forward. It could do wonders for the Britannian economy." It had been suggested by those in Wellford' circle, which was cause enough for suspicion.

"If it doesn't completely expose our borders and allow for an influx in organized crime," Suzaku added brusquely. Wellford glanced over at him, a slightly pinched look on his face. But he carefully smoothed it.

"Of course, Lord Zero. Ever the soldier," he said with a small, sly smile. Suzaku stiffened, and he could see out of the corner of his eye the way Nunnally's fingers whitened over the arm of her chair.

Zero had been many things in his flamboyant career. Terrorist, general, freedom fighter, fugitive, even match maker. But there was one thing he had never really been, and that was a soldier. One man who had always been, and would always be, a soldier, however, was Suzaku Kururugi.

Did this little rat know? Before Suzaku could snarl something subduing, Nunnally lightly laughed.

"Yes, Zero is quite militant in his protection of me," she agreed, glancing up at Suzaku. The expression on her face, however, wasn't one of gratitude or warmth. It was a quelling command for calm. Suzaku tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, his hand unconsciously flexing for the knife in his boot. He didn't want to have to kill the idiot, he really didn't. But if things went any further…

"Hmmm. So that's what he was doing during his three month disappearance?"

Even Suzaku's breathing stopped. He could already see how the young earl's blood would splatter against his mask when he slit his jugular, the arterial pressure spraying the blood into the air like a fountain. Something, a voice that had been ground into his head by recent repetition, said simply that it didn't have to be that way. Reaching deep, Suzaku uncrossed his arms, setting a hand on Nunnally's chair in a protective stance.

"You'd be surprised at the lingering dangers that still remain a threat to Her Majesty. But I intend to root out and destroy every one, be they abroad, or at home. I take the security of Empress Nunnally and the realm very, very seriously, Lord Wellford. An enemy of the Empress is an enemy of me. And it's no secret what I am willing to do to my enemies." It was an true enough statement, but with the right inflection and pause here and there, it became downright menacing.

The little weasel swallowed nervously, and suddenly his narrow-eyed intent evaporated. Suzaku could practically see his courage bleed from him.

"Indeed. Well, Your Majesty, you are blessed in your bodyguard, there is no doubt. Good day," he said weakly before making a quick escape. The queen and her guard watched the man leave in silence, both narrowing their eyes at the seemingly pointless exchange. Once Wellford had left the room, Nunnally spoke.

"I think I'd like to go to my study, Lord Zero."

Suzaku nodded, and they made their way quietly to the empress's private office. Once the door was shut, the interference wave engaged, and the curtains drawn, Suzaku removed the mask with a deep breath.

"He knows," he said immediately, with curt gravity. Nunnally frowned as she stopped behind her desk and turned on her computer.

"I think not, Suzaku," she returned gently without looking at him, quickly clicking and typing away at her private correspondence. He approached the desk with a rapid stride.

"Why else would he mention my being a soldier?"

Nunnally glanced up.

"Because he's a moron."

Because her thoughts had so mirrored his, Suzaku managed to choke back the laugh at her word choice. Yet even when saying something rude, Nunnally's voice still made it sound almost kind.

"He is merely the puppet of his faction, yes?"

"Yes, but his backing absolutely has the capacity to be a threat."

"Worry about them. He's hardly a ring leader, and a danger only to the clueless ladies who think him cunning."

Rubbing his brows in an attempt to relieve the aftereffects of the tension, Suzaku paused when Nunnally spoke again.

"Although, I must say, I'm rather impressed with how you handled him. Normally, you don't deliver your threats quite so… meticulously."

Suzaku couldn't help the smile as Nunnally tented her fingers.

"Just something I picked up."

She gazed at him over the tips of her fingers pressed together, the curve to her lips tiny. Her eyes may have been big, but she was also developing the familial poker face.

"In Ireland?"

He stilled at the question.

"Perhaps," he managed, his gaze going distant as images of his time with Aurora raced through his head.

"Have you heard from her?"

Suzaku really shouldn't have been surprised that Nunnally knew who he was thinking of.

"No. I haven't been in contact with her." He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. It wasn't safe, for either of them, and he wasn't sure he could survive it. Just speaking to Kendra briefly had been hard enough, although part of him had soaked up her voice like parched earth.

"I have."

He'd been walking away when Nunnally spoke, intending to sit on one of the sofas. At her words, however, Suzaku stuttered to a halt, spinning around with wide eyes.

"You've… why?"

"To invite her here," Nunnally answered simply.

"What?" Suzaku managed to grind out.

"I've invited my sister, one of my few remaining family members, to come to my home. I'd like to see her, and thank her. And you, Suzaku, will be escorting her here."

He was speechless. It was easy to forget sometimes that sweet little Nunnally was an empress, and that her spine of steel could put admirals to shame. Since he had no idea what to say, battered by a storm of feelings and fears, Suzaku simply said nothing at all. He replaced his mask, and, with a bow, walked out of the room.

Chapter Text

In the days that followed Nunnally's announcement of Aurora's impending visit, Suzaku's sleep was patchy at best. Last night, between hungry, flinching thoughts of Aurora and cold, hard reprimands that sounded through his head in his father's booming voice, Suzaku wondered idly if he could even remember what it was like to sleep well, and for more than a few hours at a time. It only made it worse, though, to recall it, vividly – he'd slept like an exhausted infant regularly during much of his time in Ireland.

It was in the wee hours of the morning before he finally obeyed his own commands for sleep. And now, he was rudely awakened from his hard-won rest by the alternating beep and buzz of his phone. Peeling one eye open, half of his face still pressed deeply into his pillow, he cast out his hand for the device, snagging it on the first try with an accuracy that spoke of habit. Zero was often summoned at inopportune hours, but this was one of the few times it actually dragged him out of sleep.

Squinting his one free eye in irritation, he stabbed his thumb at the green phone icon, rolling over just enough to free his mouth and answer with a curt, husky, "Yes?"

"Sir? This is Stevens."

The head of external security, steady as an ox and tough as granite. Suzaku sat up, sleep draining from his system like bathwater emptying from a tub.

"I was calling to give you an update on Her Majesty's special guest. Lady Simmons' plane has landed, and she will be arriving at the palace in approximately forty-five minutes, accounting for traffic."

Even as the shivers worked up and down Suzaku's spine, he nodded, his voice calm and unaffected.

"Good. Let me know when they've reached Rience Avenue." It was the quarter mile marker to the palace, commonly used as the point marking the final approach of arriving visitors.

"Of course, my lord."

Suzaku didn't wait for the dead air to hum in his ear – ending the call, he slid to the edge of the bed, details tumbling through his brain like blocks sent rolling across a child's floor as he stood to head towards the shower. Lady Simmons was Aurora's cover, ostensibly one of Nunnally's distant relatives visiting while in the country to check on her family's mining operations just west of Aurelius. As far as covers went, it –

Suddenly, one of the blocks rolled to the surface, stopping Suzaku in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder at the phone he'd left adrift amongst the rumpled sheets, then down at his hand.

His right hand.

Moving entirely on auto-pilot, he'd answered the phone with his right hand, holding it to his right ear. Slowly, he raised his hand, fingers curled and tensed. When the tension was released and the dry snap of his fingers cut through the silence, Suzaku blinked in shock, the sound perfectly audible in the ear that hadn't heard anything in over a week. Silently mouthing his confusion and disbelief, Suzaku scrubbed a hand through his hair, then swiped both over his face.

He didn't have time for this, he decided brusquely. With a determined stride, he headed towards the bathroom. If, during his shower, he ran a finger thoughtfully over the edge of his right ear, well.

There was no one to see.

Forty-two minutes later, Suzaku stood, thoroughly armored in Zero's garb, at the Alabaster Gate. He was too well trained to rue the layered, dark uniform, made oppressive by the late July sun – he'd tolerated far worse. This particular lacy, black wrought-iron gate was reserved for family and close friends of the crown, intimidatingly tall and topped with spikes that appeared quaint, but were edged sharp enough to discourage a blithe climb over. If that didn't work, the outrageously thorough and vicious security system worked overtime to keep the palace and grounds safe. Totaling over eighty acres, the property was extensive, the buildings varied and massive, as per the Britannian imperial norm. Built in 1894 as a getaway for the Emperor's favorite consort, Taliesin Palace had long acted as a summer retreat when the heat of the palace at Pendragon drove its occupants to cooler climes.

When the Pendragon Imperial Palace evaporated under the god hand of a F.L.E.I.J.A., however, Lelouch had been forced to relocate the capital. Settled against the eastern flank of the forested spine of the continent, Aurelius was naturally protected and intrinsically secure. Taliesin Palace was already considered a royal symbol to the people, and it was the obvious choice. Now, it was the seat of the Britannian Empire; Nunnally's home, her sanctuary. And Suzaku's duty was to keep it, and her, safe.

At the moment, however, he was acting on his vow of obedience, away from his Empress's side. The gates swung silently open on well-oiled hinges, and Suzaku felt the rush of nerves cascade over his skin, the back of his neck prickling as a sleek town car pulled in, the windows deeply tinted and the black paint glossy enough to sear unprotected eyes.

A staff member approached to open the car door, and Aurora stepped out, the tilt of her head betraying the calculating sweep of her eyes as she took in her surroundings and the looming palace. And finally, him. Suzaku grit his teeth, bereft of breath and yearning with a ferocity that seemed to ring from the core of his bones.

She looked every inch the part of the noblewoman she played, no surprise. Expertly tailored black slacks were paired with a bright cobalt blazer, a filmy ivory blouse softening the severely perfect cut of the jacket. Her hair was tamed back in an elegant French twist, her eyes shaded by amber sunglasses. As she walked towards him, the click of her fierce black heels on ivory Venetian tiles the only sound breaking the silence, he caught the twinkle of diamonds dangling from her ears. They had to be collectively at least five karats each, and he had no doubt they were real.

Remembering his role with a well-disguised start as she came close enough for him to see the intricate lights and streaks to her hair, achingly familiar, Suzaku placed a gloved hand over his heart, bowing slightly before straightening and speaking in a tone he kept ruthlessly modulated.

"Good morning, Lady Simmons. I hope your trip was pleasant. Allow me to welcome you to Taliesin Palace." The cool, impersonal words tasted like ash in his mouth. She gazed at him, and he could make out only the suggestion of her eyes behind the lenses. Finally, Aurora tipped her head back, her attention trailing over the crenulations and fanciful towers.

"It's as lovely as I remember," she murmured, and Suzaku had to remind himself not to be transfixed by the smooth column of her neck, even if the eye was drawn by the fiery, bejeweled strand of platinum that circled it, culminating in an elegant cluster of diamonds that sparkled with a savage brightness, nestled in the hollow of her throat like bristling twists of cold fire.

It had been nearly fifteen years since Aurora had walked over the pale ground of Taliesin Palace. But despite her nostalgic interest, the entirety of her attention was fixed on the masked figure before her. He was like the worst kind of lie – one you knew had a core of truth. Which is what made it, dangerously, all the more effective.

She'd come to know the slope of Suzaku's shoulders, the angle of his hands, the habitual distance he planted his feet, in the three months of tight proximity. And it was all there, buried under the disguise of Zero, the anti-identity. He wasn't the same as the Zero the world had known from the Rebellion – anyone paying a little attention could see that. But it didn't really matter.

Especially when he spoke with Zero's distinctive voice.

She'd nearly stumbled at the first words she heard echoing across the plaza, every speech and command and declaration that had rung out over the globe scorching through her brain, making her ankles momentarily wobble. It was like a hammer strike – hearing Suzaku's words and tone with Lelouch's voice, certainly an effect achieved by his technologically advanced mask. Her throat clamped shut, and Aurora desperately cleared it before she made a fool of herself. Neither of them were interested in misty inanities. But before she could say anything, Suzaku – Zero – continued.

"Please, follow me. Her Majesty will be joining us in the Violet Parlor." He angled slightly with a hand gracefully gesturing towards the palace, a courtly maneuver of invitation without relinquishing directional control. It was the sort of thing a noble was trained in before adolescence, and something Suzaku had no doubt been forced to pick up along the way since taking on this particular mantle. Few ruling families still perpetuated manners so elegantly passive aggressive. Aurora only recognized it because she too had once been an imposter working desperately to catch up, a chameleon having to learn its colors only after it had entered the jungle, lethal in all its elusive intricacies.

As another successful veteran of those particular political waters, Aurora nodded regally in acceptance, removing her sunglasses and tucking them into an internal jacket pocket once they stepped into the cool, quiet interior of the palace. The air smelled of wood polish and lilies, and the antique wallpaper faintly glittered with gilt. The staff was impeccably trained, melting away once she tilted her head in subtle dismissal. Staying close to her escort's heels, Aurora catalogued doors and windows as they passed through the labyrinthine halls, mentally marking exits and choke points. Part of her appreciated the stunning beauty; too much of her was extremely aware of the risk she was taking for sentimentality, the danger she was knowingly exposing herself to simply because her baby sister had asked.

It was possible for Aurora to admit to herself, though, away from Kendra and Chandler's concerned gazes, out of sight from the plate of dark glass of Zero's mask that made one feel as if you were staring at something alien, that her motives weren't entirely pure. She'd come for Nunnally, yes. She would never had risked it otherwise.

But she'd come for Suzaku, too.

Knowing the answers to some of those lingering concerns, though, wasn't as easy as she'd lulled herself into believing. He was alive – one question answered. But with the wall of a fictional monolith between them, finding out anything more would take some creativity, and time she simply didn't have. Aurora was meticulously working her way through her options when they entered the elevator. Part of her shook her head, while the rest was far from surprised. The place was, after all, massive – five stories tall, at least. And with the Empress confined to a wheelchair, the grand, sweeping staircases were no longer sufficient.

The smallest lurch, then the hum of cables cycling as they were drawn upward. The human silence, however, was deafening. Finally, Aurora couldn't take it anymore.

"How are you?" she murmured, glancing over out of the corner of her eye, unsure how deep Suzaku's protections of his identity ran in what was effectively his own home. Her concerns were resoundingly resolved when he raised his hand and removed his mask, lowering his face guard as he turned his head to meet her eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked, and Aurora's heart dipped.

"Fine. You?"

Oh, she knew that answer, the shallow deflection and succinct redirection. Knew achingly what it really meant, the vastness of what Suzaku wasn't saying – and he knew it, too. But now hardly seemed the time or place to address what he wasn't telling her, what he refused to admit. So she said the only thing she could.

"Fine."

In the weighted quiet that fell, Aurora took Suzaku's measure, hurt creeping in at what was there, and what was gone. He'd lost weight – his cheekbones were sharp again, his eyes huge in their sockets. Not gaunt, but it didn't take much to throw him off his feed. The guy could be as finicky as a Thoroughbred, battling that monstrous metabolism and a busy, difficult mind. His summer color, that beautiful bronze, was already fading. The shadows under his eyes were a delicate lilac instead of the starkly bruised purple they'd been back in April; his hair was mussed, but thick and healthy. It was impossible to know if he was using again, but she stubbornly clung to the hope that he was still clean. Suzaku's hands and eyes were steady, and his shoulders still maintained the muscled breadth he'd regained. Those eyes, the ones that haunted the quiet corners of Aurora's mind, were hard to read. Whatever lurked behind them was too well shielded to be extracted with a simple glance. Still, in that long, quiet moment, Aurora wanted nothing more in the world than to draw him to her, to reassure herself with the beat of his heart under her hand.

But too much stood between them; time, danger, politics, truths, lies. Empires.

A kiss.

Suzaku had always known that beauty was a Britannian royalty trait. There was something about the way a royal family member's face was formed that was predictably lovely, even striking.

Stunning.

The part she now played was another facet of the gemstone that was Aurora Sterling, another hue in her palette of paints to create the shades of whatever mask she wanted. This particular part was the princess, the life she could have led, had Fate dealt a slightly less cruel hand. It was either an inherent genius, or George Hampden had been an exquisite teacher; it was so easy to believe that Amelia Simmons, smelling softly of Chanel and casually wearing a fortune in diamonds for a brief family visit, was a child of the Crown's bloodline.

Under the trappings of a fake name and cover story, though, was the undeniable truth that Aurora's blood ran rich with the lineage of kings and emperors, traitors and titans. The irony of her cover was how closely it sheered to the truth. Her youth had been dedicated to making that the case for every part she played, every mantle she chose to shoulder. It made her unspeakably dangerous, and more than a little brilliant.

And it was killing him, being this close. Seeing, but not touching. Hearing, but not feeling. His instincts couldn't care less about the political intricacies of the layers to Aurora's identities. Suzaku wanted – needed – to protect her, to keep her safe. Now this close again, it was something he could effectively do. And his bones hummed with the urge to never let her go again. His mouth trembled open, likely to say sometime vulnerable and damning – he couldn't actually be sure.

With a rigid mental jerk, Suzaku reined himself in like a hard rider on an unruly horse, his teeth clicking together just as Aurora turned her head towards him. A few more yanks had his emotions firmly bridled, eyes forward and glazing slightly as long-instilled discipline took over. His proverbial gums may bleed a little, but he had a responsibility to honor, first and foremost. He didn't deserve the sort of emotional connection his heart was pounding for.

Not anymore.

Aurora hadn't noticed when the stylish arrow came to a stop on the number four above the door. She was instead spellbound, watching silently as Suzaku disappeared beneath the face guard and mask, shuttering away everything that made him unique from his predecessor.

It was… awful.

She obediently followed as he stepped out of the elevator, the artwork and furnishings familiar in their opulence as they strode down the hall for the parlor that was their destination. Aurora vaguely remembered it, a purple room fogged in her memories by time. As she stepped inside per Suzaku's polite gesture, the cobwebs were abruptly gusted clear.

The furnishings were all some shade of purple or gray, the plum curtains stately against the lavender and pewter striped wallpaper. As she stepped onto the dove gray Aubusson rug, garnished with large violets, Aurora suddenly remembered something from a very long time ago – the royal children gathered round one of their many nannies, a pretty young thing with dark eyes and a lovely voice. She'd read to the younger children, Schneizel brooding at the window, Clovis doodling in one of his countless sketchpads, Odysseus occupying himself with a huge puzzle spread out over one of the side tables. Aurora, Nunnally, and Euphemia tumbled together like puppies on that very rug, a comforting fire crackling in the hearth of near-black marble. Lelouch and Cornelia, as the elder siblings, had deemed themselves too dignified to pile in as well, and had compromised by sitting on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, close by.

Aurora blinked, and the memory faded – sunlight reigned, the fireplace was cold, and so many of those siblings were far beyond her reach. All but one. And she was beginning to realize that she wasn't nearly as ready for this meeting as she'd believed.

Zero stepped out into the hall briefly, trying to alert Nunnally that Aurora had arrived. When it failed to connect, it was safe to assume that the meeting with the South African consulate had run long. Stepping back into the room and shutting the door behind him as he finished the text to the Empress, Suzaku found himself at a little of a loss as to what he should do until Nunnally arrived. Tilting his head a little, he tried to read Aurora's profile, the set of her shoulders drawing his attention.

She was a little pale, a little stiff. As her eyes regained focus, returning from whatever internal journey she had just undertaken, Suzaku had an inkling of what she was experiencing. If he was right, then it was a terribly lonely thing to feel. He would know – he felt it often.

Setting out the jammer he carried in his waistcoat pocket, the green light blinking on at the push of a button, Suzaku removed his mask. He hadn't taken it on and off so many times in so short a span of time, well… ever. The risk was just unnecessary. But it felt so wrong, so fake, to face Aurora, to truly speak to her, as anything other than himself. Why bother lying to someone who already knew the truth?

As Suzaku approached her, he glanced down, noticing the way each of her index fingers restlessly rubbed against her thumbs. Looking back up at her face with furrowed brows and a little smile, he gently touched her elbow.

"Aurora, are you nervous?"

She jerked a little under the contact, then looked as if she was going to toss out a flippant denial. But when their eyes met, she shut her mouth again, glancing down with a small shrug.

"A little. The last time I saw Nunnally, she was just my younger sister with poofy hair and a gap in her baby teeth. It's been over ten years, and now she's the Empress of Britannia. And I'm not exactly the ideal prodigal sister returned."

"You're going to impress her," Suzaku said firmly. She looked at him with an arched brow.

"And how do you know?"

"You always impress me," he returned softly. Feeling a little satisfied at the shocked look on Aurora's face, considering the number of times her simple statements of faith or solemn compliments had floored him in Ireland, Suzaku heard the quiet voices and hushed rolling that signaled Nunnally's approach. Tugging the face guard up over his jaw and mouth, he raised Zero's mask to his face. He missed the sorrow and regret that flashed in Aurora's eyes as it clicked into place; he probably wouldn't have understood it, anyway.

Nunnally entered, and not alone. Just behind her stood a young man in elegant court dress, his sandy hair defiant of taming and his hazel eyes gentle and curious. If Aurora had to guess, she would put him at no more than seventeen, the same age as the Empress. That was how old Lelouch and Suzaku had been at the beginning of the Rebellion. It was astonishing how young the boy looked. Had Suzaku looked that painfully fresh and innocent before the revolution had started, too? It made Aurora feel old, and sad.

"Your Majesty, may I introduce Aurora Sterling. Aurora, Her Majesty Nunnally vi Britannia, the one hundredth Empress of the Britannian Empire, and her personal Knight, Tritus Phillips."

Placing her hand over her heart, Aurora bowed in a copy of Zero's earlier greeting. She felt too awkward and foolish to even attempt a curtsy, although she knew how quite well. Not to mention, it would look ridiculous in her slacks.

"Your Majesty," she acknowledged in a low murmur. Looking up, she caught Nunnally's grin.

"The last time we talked, you called me Naly."

Feeling her taut face crack with a smile, Aurora knelt down by Nunnally, resting her fingers very gently on the back of the young empress's hand.

"We all had different names for you. But Lelouch was the only one who always called you by your full name." She all but felt Tritus and Suzaku stiffen at the mention of the Demon Emperor's name. Nunnally merely tilted her head consideringly.

"I suppose that while you were caring for him, you would find out." The Empress turned her hand over, and gripped Aurora's, understanding things that couldn't, perhaps shouldn't, be explained.

"Pretty inevitable," she agreed quietly. Flicking her eyes up, Aurora glanced at the Knights. Both of their shoulders were rigid as steel, one of Suzaku's fists clenched while Tritus's brow was deeply creased.

"I hope you're doing well," Nunnally said gently, effectively shattering the tension.

"Well enough. And you. You look positively gorgeous."

It was true. Her gown of navy blue and white silk decorated with gold filigree was stunning, and regal. A perfect dress for a monarch, the small gold crown perched in her curls a subtle statement as to her power. Nunnally giggled, and Aurora got her first full glimpse of the girl she'd known in her youth.

"Oh, hush. You're just as beautiful as ever. And so tall. I think you look a bit like Schneizel now that you've grown into your eyes."

Aurora rolled those eyes good-naturedly as she stood, following Nunnally as she turned her chair and left the room, Suzaku and Tritus lurking after them from a distance that she supposed they thought constituted privacy.

"You only say that because I'm tall and blond. Facially, I most resemble Cornelia."

"I suppose you're right. But I haven't seen Cornelia in a long time. She married her Knight Guilford, you know."

Aurora found herself enjoying the conversation as she flashed a half smile. But it was strange. Nunnally was so… adult.

"No surprise there. Where did they end up settling?"

"Australia, for now. That's where Tritus is from." Nunnally smiled over her shoulder at the young man marching behind her, who looked a bit taken aback now that the attention had landed squarely on him.

"My lord," Aurora said with a small bow.

"Please, milady. You are the Empress's sister, and a princess. It is I who should bow to you," he said quickly, bobbing his head in an adorably flustered manner. God, had she ever been that young? Aurora laughed gently.

"Here now, Sir Tritus. As I told… Zero, the only thing that warrants my status as a princess is an accident of blood. In every other regard, I am a commoner at best."

As Tritus smiled at her cautiously, Aurora almost kicked herself. The pause had been microscopic, but she'd almost said "Suzaku" instead of "Zero." An amateurish mistake. She'd been trained better than that.

Recovering smoothly, Aurora returned her attention to her half-sister.

"Now then, tell me how the meeting went. I hear Britannia's trade with the South African Alliance is poised to take off, should certain mining and foresting restrictions be met."

"Well enough, I suppose. Britannia doesn't necessarily need those rights, but a country, or an empire, is always stabilized by an influx of resources, especially natural ones. And I want nothing more than a stable, prosperous empire."

Intrigued, Aurora listened to her sister knowledgeably, and ruthlessly, pick apart the finer points of the treaty they'd been discussing today. It was especially entertaining to hear the occasional cutthroat tendency cooed in Nunnally's exceedingly soft, gentle voice. Considering it was the fourth draft, the empress seemed hopeful that they would find a resolution soon, in a manner that would allow both parties to benefit.

As they meandered downstairs before wandering out into the gardens, Aurora took the measure of the woman her sister was becoming. Nunnally was someone incredibly easy to make assumptions about – only a fool allowed them to stand upon further inspection. Delicacy was an inherent part of her, but it was truly only physical. When it came to her mind and spirit, the empress was absolutely deserving of the crown she wore and the legacy she fought hard to live up to. She was, without a doubt, her brother's sister.

"I've been meaning to ask," Aurora mentioned casually as they strolled by a splash of crimson carnations, "how did you know who to call?"

While Kendra had been answering Suzaku's questions about his hearing, Chandler had summoned Aurora into his office, flummoxed to offer the phone with the Empress of Britannia on the other end of the line. Nunnally smiled, suddenly inspecting the flowers with elegant intensity.

"This may surprise you, but I do remember Mr. Andrews. Of course a story of a noble's exile from his family caught my attention – similar experience, and all that. I've known about Mr. Andrews' work in England for some time, and, from what I've heard from a… a mutual friend, it wasn't difficult to guess that London was your base." At Nunnally's words, Aurora felt her brows lift. That was… not what she expected.

She hadn't expected her soft baby sister to affect such an experienced tone, nor had she expected Suzaku to speak openly about their time together. She was further surprised when Nunnally read the expressions on her face as if she'd spoken aloud. Few were able to manage that, and she wasn't being particularly careless with what she manifested on her face at the moment.

"No, he didn't tell me," she said with a soft smirk. "He didn't have to. I have my sources." What Nunnally didn't tell her sister – who was so rarely discomfited much like their late elder brother, but appeared entertainingly so now – was that she'd first connected that particular English dot when she'd caught a glimpse of one of Suzaku's sketches, a beautiful piece of a man that strongly resembled Chandler Andrews holding hands with a pretty dark-haired woman with glasses and a smoky smile. Paired with the fact that Suzaku's last point of contact before his disappearance had been in London, Mr. Andrews would have at least been able to provide some direction. Luck had been on Nunnally's side; Aurora lived in Chandler's house.

Nunnally watched out of the corner of her eye as her sister, so tall and beautiful and proud, rocked back a little, tucking her hands into her trouser pockets as a rueful smile flickered over her face. She beckoned, and Aurora obediently knelt, the two of them painting an charming picture of enthroned empress and poignant princess. With express gentleness, Nunnally settled the flower into the upsweep of her sister's golden hair, smiling a little at the bright splash of crimson.

"It suits you," she murmured as Aurora stood. It was true – as with most natural blondes, Aurora wore color well, whether it be her preferred blue or the sizzling red flower in her hair. She smiled at the compliment, running her fingertips over delicate petals as they resumed their meandering stroll.

But as Aurora told a few of the sillier stories from Ban's early years to her chuckling sister, movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Out of habit, she glanced over, the sight of Prince Schneizel in all his blond, raptor-eyed glory five yards away killing her words like a punch to the voice box. He appeared to be in deep, serious discussion with several nobles, well-fed, overbred men who had jumped into a conversation with a shark with apparently casual disregard for their safety.

Just the sight of him nearly had Aurora squeaking in fear like a frightened mouse – like a frightened child. Noticing her sudden silence, Nunnally glanced over her shoulder at her gorgeous, lethal half-brother. Aurora sensed when Suzaku stepped closer, his presence a warm, stalwart fire at her back; no doubt Zero was long ago inured to the muzzled threat that was Schneizel el Britannia.

Whatever Schneizel's business was, it concluded smoothly. As soon as the two men walked away, the prince's eyes, pale as the petals of a saffron flower, tracked slowly – inexorably – to their small party. When their gazes met, Aurora was six years old again, and embarrassingly outmatched and outclassed. The royal siblings were hard enough to keep up with as it was, but Schneizel had always been in a class all his own.

As had Lelouch.

He looked at her, and he identified exactly who she was – Aurora could see the recognition glimmer in his eerily pale eyes. Those eyes moved over the four of them in calculating sweeps, and he comprehended the entire scenario from a distance, without a word being spoken. When his gaze returned to Aurora, she made a sincere effort to stand tall, to meet his piercing gaze like an adult, not some terrified, star-struck child.

The seconds dragged, and it felt as if the prince was peeling back layers of protective armor to peer at her soul. Still, hands faintly shaking, Aurora stood fast under his perusal. Finally, he angled his head, then slowly dipped his chin. Mirroring the gesture, she watched mutely as Schneizel straightened, glanced over them all one final time, then turned to saunter away.

She practically deflated as he disappeared, the gentle touch of Nunnally's fingertips at her wrist nearly making her gasp and flinch. Instead, Aurora nervously chuckled, trying to ease the cloud of tension blooming around them. The whispered confession slipped out, though, before she could quite control it.

"He was the only sibling I was ever truly afraid of." Speaking louder and scrambling to regain her confidence by the second, she continued, "And he still intimidates the hell out of me."

"Me too," came the response, murmured feelingly. Aurora, Nunnally, and Suzaku turned, eyeing Tritus with surprised interest. The knight colored slightly at his slip, then straightened his shoulders, hazel eyes glittering like mica with defiant honesty.

"Well, he does. Like when he looks at you with those eyes as if you're a rat in a maze, and he's the scientist watching to see how fast you wriggle through."

The three stared at him for a long moment before glancing at each other. Just when fear began to flicker through that patina of certainty on the young man's face, the trio burst into laughter. Nunnally looked a little surprised when Suzaku stepped forward, clapping a companionable hand to the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry – you'll get used to it."

Smiling and trying to glance at her watch covertly, Aurora looked up and met her sister's huge, penetrating eyes.

"How much time do we have?" the empress asked, just loudly enough that the knights heard her, their talk dying as they waited for her answer. Aurora dredged up a smile from somewhere that felt a little sticky and sore.

"Enough. Let's head back inside."

As the two men turned to lead the way back in, Aurora rested her fingertips on Nunnally's shoulder, applying just enough pressure to slow her down, establishing a growing gap between them and the knights.

"I have to ask you something," she said, the words carried on her breath with a mere suggestion of sound as she intentionally dawdled. "And I hope you'll forgive me for asking this."

"I've forgiven far worse things than a question," Nunnally replied quietly with a cynical chuckle.

"What's more important: the man," Aurora asked, her eyes pinned to the broad shoulders cloaked in black disappearing around the corner of the hedges, "or the mission?"

Looking back at Nunnally, Aurora swallowed back the rough salt of tears – she knew a doomed stand for what it was, even as she made it. Didn't mean she would stop it, though. Nunnally appeared thoughtful, but not for nearly long enough to assuage Aurora's concerns.

"I suppose it depends on the man, and the mission. You have to understand, Aurora, that my choices don't just affect me – they affect my family, my empire, even the world at large." Her tone seemed to be lacking a depth of feeling that caused alarm to tingle along Aurora's nerves.

"You still have a choice." It was patently inappropriate, having the temerity to remind a ruler of such a thing. But her old training couldn't quite quell the older instincts of sisterhood.

"I do," Nunnally replied with a blithe tone and a single nod of her head. "Lelouch had choices, too. Hundreds of them in the beginning, and with every one he made, the list shortened, the scope narrowed. Until he was left with two in the end: live damned, or die redeemed. I'll never forgive him for what he did, but I'm unspeakably proud of the choice he made. How could I undo all of that, simply for the sake of personal sentiment?"

"But it's Suzaku," Aurora breathed, worlds of pain in those words. Nunnally mimicked her volume, but the steel frame of her words held up the thick fabric of her royal responsibility.

"He's not just Suzaku, not anymore – he and Lelouch saw to that. Don't you think it breaks my heart, seeing what he's become, when I so loved who he was? But this is my last inheritance from my brother. It's not just a matter of my choosing to maintain the status quo. I don't think I have to right to dissolve the gambit so many died to build."

It was a blow, of course – guilt lance through Aurora even as she tried to rationalize the animal-like fear that was building inside her. It was impossible to say why it suddenly felt so necessary to take Suzaku back to a place he'd be safe. Even if it was kissing cousin to a war zone.

"Besides, you know him – honestly, do you think he'd walk away, even if I gave him the choice?"

There was, of course, that. Aurora had to concede that point. But she still wasn't certain exactly how the modern Nunnally felt about the modern Suzaku.

"Doesn't it scare you?" Because the thought of him staying here sure as hell scared Aurora. Nunnally looked away, and, for a brief moment, she saw the armor crack, revealing the young woman trying desperately to be equal to the insurmountable task left to her.

"It terrifies me, Aurora," she whispered, and, for the first time, she sounded her age. Quickly, though, Nunnally recovered her calm poise. "But what can I do, realistically? I'd have to exile him to free him, and I truly believe it would break him. Haven't you noticed? He's a bit stubborn."

Aurora had to laugh – what else could she do, but chuckle drily at the character trait of Suzaku's she too had done battle with.

"Yes, I've noticed he can be astoundingly obstinate."

Nunnally laughed softly.

"Truer words."

Tritus and Suzaku came back around the corner, finally noticing the distance that had grown between them. Aurora and Nunnally deflected their questions, speeding up to avoid suspicion. After a few moments, Nunnally continued under her breath. "So to answer your question, I value the man and the mission, because they're completely tangled together at this point. All we can do is move forward from here." Aurora was familiar with the feeling of losing; her repeated exposure to it had forced her to learn some dignity in the face of it. And this time, she truly meant it.

"I hope you can forgive me for asking that question."

"I hope you can forgive me for giving that answer."

Nunnally's fingers curled through Aurora's, and they returned to the cool, perfumed halls of the palace, hands clasped as they ran out of time.

"Thank you," the Empress murmured. "For taking care of him."

Hugging her sister quickly, Aurora pressed a kiss to her hair, remembering the last time she'd hugged this sister in the Violet Parlor.

"Same to you. Blessed be, Naly." She didn't want to linger here – Aurora was already trying to acclimatize to the grief of saying goodbye to a sister it would realistically be very difficult to see again. Much as he had escorted her inside without comment, Suzaku led the way out in silence.

When they found themselves back in the elevator, Aurora pressed the emergency stop button when they were between floors two and three. As the lights dimmed and the elevator bumped to a stop, she heaved a breath, certain that she shouldn't do what she was about to do. Coming to terms with the fact that she was about to do it anyway.

Suzaku was staring at her, the lights reflecting oddly on the glass plate of the mask. It was a bittersweet sort of hurt to realize that she knew the exact moment he was about to say something, from the tiny tilt of his head and the shift in his shoulders. Because she was certain she'd lose her mind if she heard him speak in Lelouch's voice one more time, Aurora rushed out her words to beat him to it.

"Do me a favor; can you take the mask off? I have a question for you, and I don't want to ask it to the persona of my dead brother." Aurora would have bet serious money that his brow quirked at that last statement, but Suzaku held his diplomatic silence, instead simply reaching up to release the mechanism and draw down his face guard. Her heart ached at the sight of him, becoming even more swollen and bruised when he spoke, and it was his voice.

"What is it?"

Aurora didn't usually consider herself a sore loser, and she could admit that it was childish to keep asking the same question to different people, hoping she would get a different answer. All that could go to hell, though; she had to give this one last shot. For him. And for her.

"Will you come back with me?"

When surprise, and something more, leapt into his eyes, Aurora knew she'd misstepped. But there were some bridges you crossed, even as you burned it.

"I know all your reasons for staying – trust me, I do – but I can't walk away without asking you one last time. Please, Suzaku. It scares me, the thought of leaving you here. Every time that mask goes on, I'm afraid another piece of you is being worn away. Soon, there'll be nothing left."

The same hand that had rested on Tritus' shoulder settled gently on hers, and Aurora's heart cracked like cheap porcelain.

"You know you're the only reason there's anything left at all."

Aurora grit her teeth, unspeakably angry and moved at Suzaku's almost saint-like acceptance and grace.

"Which is why I'm pissed at the thought of you staying here. Come back, make a new life for yourself, seize your second chance. I could help you. You could be happy." Too close to the truth, too vulnerable to bear. The same feeling from that day at the edge of the cliff careened through her, and Aurora couldn't stop herself when she reached for him, her desperate hand forcibly gentled as it grasped his upper arm, her right palm cradling where so much damage had been done. Who could say who stepped in, closing the gap between them down to warm breaths and climbing tensions, but in this half-light of almosts and maybes, it didn't seem to matter.

"Not when I'd have to live with all I turned my back on. Maybe I am losing pieces of myself here, but if I left with you, I'd be leaving too much of myself behind to survive." A few realignment of muscles, and they were home, arms wrapped around each other, swaying in the shadows. "I hope you know how much it means that I want to say yes, but how important it is that I say no," he spoke softly next to her ear, and Aurora squeezed her eyes shut, trying to navigate her way to an acceptance that would allow her to survive.

"I know. I know, and I so sorry for asking. But I had to try."

"I know," Suzaku said with a gentle, almost smiling understanding that nearly made Aurora twist her hands into his cloak like chains and scream. "I'm sorry for disappointing you."

She just shook her head, slowly opening her eyes as opportunity closed one final door.

"You didn't. Dammit, Suzaku, you've never disappointed me."

They pulled away from each other, Suzaku tentatively reaching up to brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes before stepping away. Aurora gazed at him hungrily as he leaned over to switch the elevator back on, painstakingly reassembling the shield of her control as she mentally mapped out his face, determined to remember every detail.

A strong, sharp jaw, exquisite cheekbones, straight nose, agile brows. And those big, green eyes. She memorized Suzaku's face as he gazed at her for a moment before pulling up the face guard and raising Zero's mask, replacing it with deft movements. This would very likely be the last time she'd ever see Suzaku Kururugi's face. At the thought, something in her shattered, but not one of the muscles in her face so much as trembled.

As the elevator hummed to a halt and they departed, Zero escorted Amelia Simmons from the Britannian palace. They walked in silence, the sense of each other's presence familiar but fleeting. Once they reached the promenade of the Alabaster Gate, she bowed, and he nodded, without so much as a word before she turned away.

As Suzaku watched Aurora walk away, her shoulders straight and her stride long, the rich coil of her hair glinting in the late summer sun, he felt a stab of something. He couldn't identify much of it; what he did understand was envy.

She could walk away.

From Britannia, from Nunnally. From him.

And he had to stay.

He hadn't thought it would be so hard to let her go.

Was this what she had felt when she'd awoken to find him gone that morning in Ireland? He allowed himself to feel the regret he'd refused till now. She hadn't deserved this. Knowing that she'd hate the words, especially in Lelouch's voice, he whispered his apologies in his head. For leaving her, and letting her leave now. And, after a moment, his goodbyes. Spinning slowly on his heel, watching her until she disappeared in the town car and it pulled away, Suzaku walked back into the palace of his duty and destiny.

His prison.

Chapter Text

Business as usual.

That's what Suzaku told himself whenever he faltered, whenever he turned, feeling Aurora at his shoulder, and finding himself devastatingly alone. He just had to keep moving forward, business as usual.

Of course, nothing could be farther from the truth.

At the moment, his greatest challenge was the clock merrily ticking away on his desk. Suzaku glared at the thing, his paperwork left scattered and half done across his desk, a pen still held in his hand, primed but forgotten, his attention consumed by the clock.

It was stupid, he sternly told himself. But he hated that clock.

It was a supremely innocuous piece of desk decoration, a handsome silver and mother-of-pearl piece. Suzaku had first noticed it two days ago as he'd plowed through some of the back log of security reports awaiting his perusal and seal. He was vaguely thinking to himself that he missed the music from Ireland, something to keep his brain moving through the deep crevasses of silence as he churned out the leaves of a massive bureaucratic tree. And then Suzaku had noticed it. The tiny, clean clicks of a desk clock.

He didn't remember it being there. That was, in and of itself, disturbing. Had someone taken it upon themselves to deposit the thing upon Suzaku's desk without his permission? He was certain he'd never chosen or asked for it, and the possible impingement upon his privacy sent a chilly trickle down his spine.

Even worse, had he become so compromised, so blitzed out in his desperate attempt to take a sledgehammer to his memory and mind, that he never noticed the clock clicking on his work desk? He couldn't have known, but the frown that crossed Suzaku's face at the thought was fierce enough to send the most hardened soldiers cringing and flinching.

The worst implication of the clock, of course, was that it wasn't his clock. Now that thought sent him flinching. He'd relinquished the pocket watch to Aurora, he reminded himself, as he well should have. It was something that belonged there, to the one who had known the Suzaku he'd been in Ireland. That handsome creation of brass and glass and gears, holding the measured steps of the universe in its small casing, had no place here, in his life as Zero. And, foolishly, sentimentally, he'd wanted to leave something of himself behind for her – the sacrifice felt meaningful, even if he couldn't quite explain why.

In the end, he had nothing to mark the time now. Not until he'd noticed the clock on his desk. Which Suzaku furiously resolved to throw against the nearest wall as hard as he could every other hour or so, but always talked himself out of it.

So stupid. He was still debating with himself regarding the fate of a desk clock.

With a deep, frustrated breath, Suzaku yanked his attention from the clock, leaving it where it sat for now, focusing instead on the expansive list of challenges and missions and documents that demanded his, and only his, attention. So, much as he'd done before, he plunged himself into the work, knowing with hard-fought experience that it was the only thing that would offer him even a modicum of distraction.

Justice was being frustratingly vague about his progress; if he didn't know that was how the spymaster always worked at the beginning of a mission, Suzaku would have been ferociously suspicious. But from prior experience, he knew that the councilor was an adamant proponent of assembling a web of informants that was both as sturdy and as sensitive as a spider's. That was a process they both knew took time. Still, the forced inaction nearly rubbed him raw.

Nunnally and Tritus were growing closer in each other's confidences with each passing day. Seeing them together elicited a tugging, clenching sensation in Suzaku's chest that took him days to identify, as it was a myriad of feelings as dense and complex as a Gordian knot.

Part of it, unattractively, was jealousy, he finally admitted. For a long time, he and Nunnally had clung to each other in the aftermath of Lelouch's revolution, isolated from so many others by the depth of their damning knowledge. But now, she appeared intent on moving on, moving forward. Without him, it would seem. It was another strange new landscape he was having to learn to traverse even as it shifted around him.

The jealousy and fear were a part of him Suzaku reviled, and one he tried to systematically strangle. But like the rest of himself, unfortunately, it proved to be disconcertingly hardy and difficult to kill.

A different part of his reaction, the biggest and boldest aspect of the emotions, bristled with protective instinct. His pack may have been sliced down to a single person, but the wolf in him raised its hackles, threatened by an unknown element trespassing on his territory. It was hardly flattering or fair to either Nunnally or Tritus, but that was what growled in the corner of his head when he saw them side by side heading down a hallway, or when he walked into Nunnally's office to find the young knight relaxed in a chair in front of her desk, an ankle hooked on his knee, laughing at something Nunnally had said with that twinkle in her eyes.

What pulsed brightest, though, was the sensation of bittersweet pride, a kind of aching nostalgia for the days when she'd been a tiny, spindly bundle of limbs, light and fragile as a porcelain doll when he'd carried her on his back through carnage and chaos. That delicate child was irrevocably growing older, old enough to not only rule an empire, but rule herself. It made Suzaku immeasurably proud, even as it gently broke his heart.

In the end, it was Schneizel who offered him the distraction he so badly needed.

The prince had been working on the creeping crisis of human trafficking, especially in the forgotten, fraught nations caught between the might of the EU and the Chinese Federation. Those displaced by war without the means to assimilate into their titanic neighbors were easy targets, drawn in by the promise of documents and work and a new chance in the Empire itself.

Schneizel settled himself down in one of the wingback chairs in front of Zero's desk and gracefully switched the dossier from one hand to the other, reaching up to brush his perfect waves of flaxen hair back from where they fell over his brow.

Aurora had been right. The bone structure like a Valkyrie was a trait she shared with Cornelia. But it couldn't be denied that in Schneizel, sitting there with a calm confidence that should have been arrogance – but somehow wasn't, or was so genial he could convince people not to mind – the ghost of his half-sister was strikingly apparent.

Blinking furiously, Suzaku realigned his thoughts; this meeting demanded his unfettered attention. Schneizel rarely called a conference with him; rarer still since the botched attempt on Zero's life. If he didn't know the prince better, Suzaku would have assumed it was guilt. But he'd known Schneizel long enough to understand that the man was incapable of that particular emotion.

In fact, since the instatement of his Geass command, the prince's emotions were superficial at best. That spidery mind had been brutally bridled, leaving little room for him to swing the weapons of his charm and strategy to their full, mighty extent. Perhaps it was because both of them had the blood of millions on their hands, but Suzaku couldn't help but pity the automaton Schneizel had become.

Of course, just because he guardedly pitied the man didn't mean he wasn't extraordinarily aware of just how much of a threat Schneizel posed, and how much worse it would have been had he been left to his own devices without Lelouch's intervention. And after the dissolution of his own Geass command… Suzaku was aggressively aware that Schneizel could never be allowed any measure of freedom should his leash dissolve to tatters.

It was moments like these that he hated Lelouch.

Not the way Suzaku hated him for Euphie, or the Geass command, or just about anything related to the Rebellion and its crushing results.

No, it was the indulgent, wondering hatred one had for an impossibly genius friend. Because it just never ended. Even as his bones turned to ash in the ground, Lelouch kept proving that he was always right; that he was always one step ahead; that he would always win.

Frankly, it was exhausting, but the realist in Suzaku was grateful for it.

Because if something outside of Lelouch's expansive web of magic and control removed Schneizel's muzzle, someone, something, had to put him down like a mad dog. Suzaku had told Aurora once that Lelouch had created contingencies for everything; it wasn't an exaggeration. In a black binder thick as a dictionary the Demon Emperor had given Suzaku during one of their last Requiem brainstorms, there was a whole chapter devoted to Schneizel, and the last ten pages strictly focused on his extermination should he become out of control. It was currently secreted away in a biometrically locked safe coded only to Nunnally in the same vault that housed the crown jewels.

Gazing at the prince sitting across the desk from him, Suzaku was a little surprised to find that he didn't want Schneizel assassinated because the presence of Zero either evaporated or was no longer enough to hold him back. Because it would be such a bloody waste, and Suzaku was desperately tired of wasted life. Those he loved and his own were more than enough.

"I've received some interesting information, Lord Zero."

Suzaku rocked back in his chair, lacing his fingers in a replica of the original Zero's famous gesture – Lelouch had spent a solid month hounding Suzaku to learn his mannerisms and phrases, enough to satisfy curiosity. They had always been close in height, and musculature could be covered by the cloak, but the visible aspect of Zero was his theatricality, something that didn't come naturally to Suzaku. Besides, Lelouch had assured him, the public didn't know if any of the Zeros were the same as the first that had claimed responsibility for Clovis's death. The world didn't care about originality; they cared about a show. Still, though, even after all this time, the seam where Suzaku ended and Zero began felt rough and ragged in his mind. Maybe that was simply due to the number of times he passed over it.

"To attract your attention, Prince Schneizel, it must be intriguing, indeed. Please, continue."

Schneizel's intelligence proved, unsurprisingly, perfectly accurate. Standing in his new Zero combat uniform – a project he had charged Lloyd with not long after Nunnally's coronation, never truly believing that he would use it – Suzaku listened as the captains of the two tactical units assigned to this particular mission argued over the best method of taking control of the warehouses in question. Suzaku kept his silence, carefully perusing the layout through a set of night-vision binoculars.

According to what Schneizel had discovered, this particular series of warehouses were acting as a depot – drugs, weapons, and people were shuttled from this hub throughout Aurelius, and subsequently throughout the Empire. Taking this warehouse could not only cripple the trade, but expose more of its roots. Roots that Schneizel was eager to attack, following through to their bitter, bloody ends.

As was only appropriate for such an asset, it was heavily guarded – from this single angle alone, Suzaku could count a dozen men, armed with semi-automatic machine guns and clustered together in pairs or wandering lone guards. When he lowered the goggles, Suzaku could make out the pinpricks of crimson revealing the cherries of lazily smoked cigarettes, bloody stars against the dark blanket of the buildings.

Frowning as his brain took up the strategic calculation of lives lost versus objectives achieved with the rusty skill of a professional musician taking up an instrument they haven't played in a long time, Suzaku cued in to the argument that still cycled behind him. Bevin and Wilson were very different men – Bevin was a twenty-year career man, only a handful of years away from retirement with hundreds of operations under his belt. Wilson was young enough to be Bevin's son; his fresh-faced appearance, however, belied a mind clever as a cobra, and determinedly ambitious.

Concerned about the size and spread of the warehouses and the potential number of men guarding it, Havens had assigned two units to this particular operation; he didn't protest when Suzaku volunteered to oversee it. It was far from his first position of command, but Suzaku was a different man now. He pondered this as he listened to the two men each trying to establish the validity their preferred tactics.

Bevin was a traditionalist – he was an avid chess player, and set great store in the value of man power. Bolstered by a second unit, Bevin was adamant that the men could sweep through guards that, if they were trained at all, were poorly trained at best. Suzaku found it almost amusing that Bevin had apparently forgotten his presence, regardless of that fact that Lord Zero had technically been given field command.

Maybe it was the outfit, he mused. Still very much a man of the battlefield when Nunnally had taken the throne, Suzaku had commissioned Lloyd to create a uniform that was influenced by the image of Zero, but suited for combat. Gone were the cape and purple trousers; gone were the cravat and tailed coat. Instead, Lloyd had prepared a carbon fiber body suit reinforced with plating as strong as Knightmare armor and as light as Kevlar – the suit covered every inch of Suzaku's skin from cheeks to toes, his core, elbows, knees, and the defensive flats of his limbs given the most protection. For the sake of camouflage, the fiber was black, the plates dark gray, although both possessed a faint metallic shine. The comm link on his left wrist quietly blinked with a tiny purple light, the only gold the small emblem on his right shoulder. It was, of course, the crest of his queen. The mask, now sleek, nearly indestructible, and linked to the suit with an advanced biorhythm monitoring system, would look vaguely familiar to someone used to gazing at the dark purple plate of Zero's suggestion of a face.

He had to admit, though – the pervasive smell of newness was odd. Suzaku's usual mask seemed as normal to him as his own skin after so much time spent in it. This new suit wasn't too far removed from the armor he'd worn in the past, but the crisp scent of polymer and plastic rife in every breath was a tiny thorn at the base of Suzaku's neck.

Whatever he was wearing, Wilson was perfectly aware of who Zero was and why he was there, and yet continued to advocate his own ideal strategy without asking for command input; one that struck at the heart of the supply source, sending the rats either running or scrambling to defend, now at a disadvantage with the Britannian teams all but sitting on their most valuable assets. While on the surface it seemed the most ideal way to secure victory here, the side effects were apparent, and unacceptable.

It was the most dramatic way to secure the warehouses, certainly, and would be a coup for the commander that achieved it. However, that particular strategy completely ignored the most devastating part of this mission – one of the warehouses housed a shipment of children, war orphans waiting to be sold into sex slavery, drug running, or worse. They knew which warehouse stored the guns and drugs, but not the children – boxes were to expected in warehouses, children less so, meaning they were more carefully guarded and hidden. If they didn't secure them first, the guards would assuredly kill the children once it became clear that the facility had been breached.

It was the only point of agreement between the two men, unnerving Suzaku; time and men couldn't be wasted trying to find the children first. The operation could roll up and disappear in a matter of hours – it had in the past, prompting Schneizel's intense focus and determination to pin them down here and now. If they didn't get it right this time, it was difficult to say when they'd have another chance without months of continuing collateral damage.

Again, Suzaku glanced over his shoulder at the arguing commanders, then back through the binocs at the scattering of guards. In his head, a cacophony of voices not his own argued, bandying the pros and cons of his fledgling idea back and forth. Finally, a whisper silenced them, soft and sweet in his ear and flavored with the brogue she could shed and affect so easily.

You can do this. If anyone could pull this off, it would be you. And that means you must.

Straightening slowly, Suzaku didn't bother looking at the commanders or the men they led again before slipping silently from the room unnoticed.

This far from the docks, light was a fitful, fickle thing. More than half the overheads were broken, and most within the outbuildings were left extinguished, creating murky pools of dark that Suzaku slid through with reemerging effortlessness. As he eased around a corner and silently climbed a ladder to the roof of one of the outbuildings, he assessed his weapons. A sizable combat knife was strapped to his right thigh, and he had two small throwing blades tucked into the plating on his forearms. Asking for a gun would have drawn attention, and he preferred to stave that off until it was necessary. Suzaku wasn't terribly concerned about the lack of a gun, however. It would be all too easy to acquire one.

From the shadowed edge of the building, he counted the guards in the immediate area. Two to the south, and three clustered around a partially open doorway leading into one of the smaller personnel buildings some twenty yards away from the first pair. The light inside marked it as occupied, but the noise and shadows suggested no more than seven people inside. Quiet was ideal, but the reality of his plan meant that would likely dissolve rapidly. Quick, however, wasn't an option. It was a good thing that quick was something he was adept at.

Suzaku crept back to the hulk of ventilation units, standing and slowing his breathing, invisible in the thick ink of night and shadow.

This was stupid, prideful folly.

He was desperately out of the game, coming back from devastating injury.

A solo mission that didn't thread a nearly impossible needle of odds was doomed to fail.

Suzaku was entirely too aware of these facts, and yet, here he stood, ready to bodily throw himself into combat. There was a part of his brain aware that this could result in his death, but Suzaku found himself surprised that he considered the concept with the sort of detached acknowledgement one usually harbored towards the inevitable death of the sun and earth. It was an eventuality, but not worthy of immediate concern.

Ordering his brain into strong, hard lines gone soft with neglect, Suzaku ran through his mission parameters. Objective: secure the safety of the children. The fighting and agitation of the guards would surely draw the attention of Bevin and Wilson; he was confident enough in their skill and experience to handle the drugs and the guns. Suzaku knew that while it was unusual, a lone man could secure a group of hostages against significant numbers with the right position, weapons, and experience. He was aiming for the first, could gain the second along the way, and had earned the third long ago.

As he cycled through options and routes, he was surprised to unearth anger roiling inside him, magma pressing at the back of his throat. Suzaku tamped it down within reason, all too aware of the value and burden that kind of rage could pose. He recognized that when he thought of the exploited children huddled in one of those warehouses, he imagined what Aurora and Kendra had looked like when they'd been that alone and afraid, that vulnerable and young. The mental image was enough to send a violent fury flooding through Suzaku that would help no one and just end up bringing about his eventual, and, at this point, useless, demise much sooner.

With careful precision, he leashed his emotions – if there was one thing Suzaku could do, it was drop into the cool, quiet space where fighting was nature, where motion cycled simultaneously with thought. It was almost meditative, if it wasn't completely reliant on destruction. Usually, it was silent here, calm and dry. But he hadn't tread this ground since Lelouch's death, and things had changed. Suzaku huffed a breath through his nose, almost smiling at himself – yeah, that was saying it lightly.

A beat grew out of the silence in his head, thick and primal. He hadn't known it back then; Suzaku had heard the song for the first time this summer. And God, it felt good to get his teeth into a mission, to feel like the pounding of his heart had a purpose beyond maintaining his miserable existence. Slowly, measuring his stride, he stepped forward, a countdown beginning in his head. Marking the distance to the southern edge of the roof, Suzaku slowly drew a deep breath, closing his eyes for one last, long final moment. Then, flicking them open as the timer in his brain clicked to zero, he sprinted towards the ledge, and leapt.

His mind spun forward even as time slowed, as it was wont to do while sailing through the air. It had been a long time since he'd executed a side aerial off of a second story roof, but his body, so long uncooperative, responded with easy alacrity, a machine left to rust joyfully brought back to purpose. Suzaku had twisted as soon as he'd pushed off, sharply flinging out his hands and sending the two blades burying into flesh, one hitting the bigger of the two guards in the jugular while the other dug into his thigh. The shock of it was enough to buy Suzaku time as he landed and rolled up to his feet, the jarring of his bones warning that he was still unaccustomed, and perhaps unprepared, for this sort of ordeal – rust wasn't so easily shaken off, not when it had sunk into the bones.

Time, however, wasn't a luxury he could afford to worry about. He freed the combat knife from its sheath as he moved forward with lethal swiftness, ducking behind the other guard who hadn't yet recovered from gaping at his comrade's slumped form. Reaching around and grasping the man's chin, Suzaku jammed the knife into the side of his neck, severing the spinal cord with a backwards jerk, not even reacting to the brutal scrape of bone against blade. As the body began to drop, he locked his shoulder and yanked, utilizing the draw of gravity to help him pull his blade free, already turning his head to check the placement of the next three guards. Suzaku had just cut down two men, and he felt nothing but cold, clear purpose. As always, he depended on that callous capacity for violence, even as it had always frightened him.

Pausing for just a breath to make sure they weren't yet running his way, Suzaku readjusted the hold on his knife, making certain the blood wouldn't cause his grip to slip. A quick scan at the carnage revealed a pistol at the second guard's waist – the magazine proved to be full when ejected. Quietly pushing the clip back into place and deliberately clicking the safety off while switching the knife to his left hand, Suzaku pressed his back against the building, peering around the corner with the least possible exposure as his chest heaved in sharply controlled movements, his heart beating fast, but strong and steady. His brain was still clear, still clicking through the obstacles ahead.

Knife fighting was close and messy, but as soon as he pulled the trigger, he was on a clock, the difficulty increasing exponentially every minute. And somehow, he had to deal with the three guards, ideally without alerting the half dozen inside. He could sit, mull it over for a second. Then again, that wasn't his style – at least, that wasn't the style that had once made him legendary. Suzaku took a bracing breath, then slipped around into the eastern alley.

He moved as quietly as possible through the shadows, experience and his suit turning Suzaku all but invisible, his brain taking in the planks, oil drums, and other debris he passed. It was an old habit, cataloging possible cover and weapons. The three guards were clustered together, apparently watching something on one of their phones – extraordinarily non-threatening, except for the semi-automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. Once he was close enough, Suzaku did not hesitate; he rammed the knife butt just above the closest guard's ear, the satisfactory crunch and sudden boneless drop proving that the man's temporal plate had shattered on impact. These men, however, may have been caught off guard, but they weren't shocked into paralysis like the first.

"Hey! We've got some asshole out here who-" The man's words ended in a gurgle when Suzaku lunged from the shadows and plunged his knife into the soft palate of his lower jaw, pivoting and twisting practically into the arms of the man he'd just killed to avoid the muzzle of the rifle that swung his way, using the corpse he'd just created as a meat shield. The brutal tattoo of gunfire cut through the night like a chainsaw, and a part of his mind he had once known so well became seeped in red.

No point in holding back now.

Dropping to one knee as the body fell, he planted three bullets in a tight cluster mid-chest of the remaining guard outside, rolling clear as the man's death grip kept the trigger of his gun down, his collapse sending the bullets in a wide spray that pumped into the building behind Suzaku. He heard a short scream inside, and a glint of metal to his left caught his attention even as they began to stampede out. Pulling the pin, Suzaku wasted only a moment to shoot the one about to bellow into a radio in the head before giving his find a soft toss and diving for cover behind a trio of oil drums.

Sliding behind the mess of planks and roofing to his left, he winced as gunfire cut close, shrapnel raining down on him like hot fists. Then the flash grenade went off. It didn't have any firepower, but even behind the protective plate of his mask, Suzaku knew to squeeze his eyes shut and angle his face away. Once the sun-like burst had receded, he dropped the guards where they screamed without leaving the cover of detritus. That countdown began again in his head, and he ran to grab what he could.

The radio had survived the gunshot that had killed its carrier, and Suzaku exchanged his pistol for one with a full clip and a waist holster he clipped to his belt. He generally didn't care for AK knock-offs, but it could do a lot of damage, and was a big enough weapon to be versatile. While he was at it, he snagged the extra clip one of the men had tucked into a jacket pocket. The enterprising guard who had carried the flash grenade had two more spilling out from his jacket, blood marring the labels. Tucking them into loops on the suit's utility belt at his hip, Suzaku sheathed the still-dripping knife and swung a rifle's strap over his shoulder, jogging north until he found another ladder to the roofs.

Climbing it one handed, he crouched in the shadows as soon as he cleared the edge, plugging the radio into his mask and hooking it on his belt, adjusting the volume so Suzaku could keep apprised of the traffickers' movements without deafening himself to his surroundings. Slowly slipping to the western edge of the building, he watched as a group of half a dozen men ran to the carnage he'd left behind, the first panicked questions bouncing over the radio. Deciding that distracting six was better than fighting them, Suzaku crept to the southern edge of the roof, pulled one of the flash grenade's pins, and heaved it as hard as he could. It bounced once off a roof three buildings over, then detonated as it tumbled into the alley.

Four ran; two stayed. Betting that these particular pawns were likely done moving on the board until the game intensified, Suzaku slunk back down the ladder, slipping away through the dark, retrieving his knife as he aimed for the cluster of warehouses at the center of the complex.

As he moved with powerful stealth towards his target, Suzaku silently dispatched two others, brutal knife blows that took their voices as quickly as it took their lives. The third, however, proved to be a challenge.

Ex-military, if Suzaku had to guess, unlike the other undisciplined gangsters he'd dispatched already. Broad and burly, with arms like tree trunks and a cap of close-cut, thinning hair. This man, impossibly, heard him coming, and threw up a block that had the shock reverberating back up Suzaku's arm to rattle his chest. Rocked back onto his rear foot, he only spared a moment to gasp a thin breath into stunned lungs before launching forward again, that countdown flashing through Suzaku's brain again in blinking red numbers.

His blade, however, sliced through empty air, hard hands descending on his wrist and shoulder and sending him flying in a skilled defensive throw. Landing flat on his back hard, Suzaku's brain went stunningly white as his entire system screamed that it was suddenly depleted of all oxygen. The knife was still in his hand, his fist instinctively clenching upon impact, but the pistol was gone, likely sent tumbling to some dark shadow in the alley. His vision returned in time to see the man loom over him, the muzzle of his rifle aimed at Suzaku's face, his expression obscured by the flickering light above.

For a long, terrible moment, Suzaku couldn't move.

Instinct, though, was a hard thing to silence. It had him rolling to the side a breath before the man pulled the trigger, sending the bullet plunging into the hard ground where Suzaku's skull had just been, the suppressed report sounding more akin to the slamming of a door. Enough of his systems had resumed operation for Suzaku to manage a fairly balanced kick-up back to his feet, sweeping out with a leg that took the man's feet out from under him, sending him collapsing hard to the ground and his rifle skittering out of reach.

But just as he swung the strap over his head and balanced the weight of the stolen rifle in his hand, stepping closer to mimic the execution shot he himself had just nearly suffered, Suzaku was forced to dodge back, avoiding the glinting metallic swipe of the knife the man produced from an ankle sheath. Breathless surprise had receded enough for Suzaku to feel the oncoming tide of crimson rage overtaking his brain. Exhaling hard, he wrestled for control with sweaty hands. His grip slipped, though, when his opponent plunged his knife into Suzaku's thigh.

Well, he tried. At the risk of inviting an egotistical display of monstrous proportions, Suzaku would have to thank Lloyd. The armor plating deflected the blade, and the carbon fiber repulsed enough of the momentum so that instead of sinking past flesh and slamming into bone, the blade cut through a few layers of muscle on the outer side of his right thigh, just above the knee. The bright splash of pain tightened the rings of Suzaku's scattered focus, and fury closed a hot hold over his throat, shattering the careful cages he'd wrought around his bloodlust.

The man had found his feet, the knife out, glinting evilly in the sporadic light, and waiting for Suzaku to foolishly rush close and strike, light enough on his feet to be anything but an easy target. Enraged and cognizant of time slipping through his bloodied hands, Suzaku found no reason not to oblige his opponent. Knowing that in the time it would take him to raise the rifle and sight it, the man could be on top of him with his knife between Suzaku's ribs, he decided to toss the cumbersome weapon aside. Freed and furious, Suzaku lunged forward, a quick dodge and twist locking the hilts of their blades together. Now it was strength against strength, will against will, the only sounds the rasp of feet against the ground, the screeching grate of clashing steel, and the harsh pants of men fighting for their lives. Suzaku felt a sort of gritty triumph leak through the searing anger; he never lost these kinds of fights.

But just when he locked his shoulder against the weight of the onslaught in a practiced shift of weight, Suzaku's eyes flew wide when he felt the killing, damning give of something, somewhere in his left shoulder and arm. It wasn't particularly painful, but it was more terrifying even than staring down the barrel of a rifle inches from his face. What had once been a thirst for action tempered by the need for speed became a frenzy. Because he had to end this now.

A swift sweep of his eyes gave him what he needed. Suzaku could see in the shadowed suggestion of the man's craggy face that he was surprised by the sudden ferocity Suzaku unleashed; angling away from his compromised side, then suddenly allowing the man's weight to surge past him, he struck out with a brutal kick that had the man's knee crunching in and a thin cry scraping past his lips. Having sent him down onto his shattered knee, Suzaku grasped the man's head in both hands, slamming his knee against the side of his opponent's skull. Again, he acknowledged that this was no street thug.

Instead of toppling over like a felled tree, the man caught himself on his free hand, stunned and barely conscious. Still, though, he managed an instinctive slash, wide and wild, but enough to send Suzaku back from the distance where he could best inflict damage. Dismay, colored by expletives he knew but rarely used, surged through him when he saw that he'd sent the man to the ground within reach of Suzaku's discarded rifle, and that he was blindly reaching for it, fingers inches from the butt, at this very moment.

What happened next, happened very quickly, even in that odd, Technicolor slow-motion of combat. Suzaku dove away, reaching for what he'd seen earlier when his shoulder had failed. He rolled up to a knee, sighting in time to see that his opponent had grasped his rifle and, despite what was undoubtedly wavering and refracting vision, had his weapon aimed directly at Suzaku.

It came down to a question of who had his finger pressed against the trigger already. Holding the pistol that he'd lost upon being slammed into the ground, Suzaku – always fast, always first, always unfailing fierce – felt the gun kick in his hands, his opponent finally falling permanently to the ground, the bullet drilling through the man's eye to pierce his brain.

Limply lowering his weapon, Suzaku just panted for a moment, his brain scrambling to reconstruct the lines that would allow him to finish the mission, incinerated when the rage had overtaken him. Even though parts of Suzaku now screamed and shook; perhaps he was no longer the warrior he'd always believed he was. But he didn't have the luxury of time for a meltdown, or even battling through the drop that followed a deadly fight. Pushing himself to his feet, suddenly viscerally reminded of the rather sizable cut on his leg, Suzaku limped over, holstering his pistol and retrieving the knife he'd dropped when he'd lunged for that last-ditch effort at victory.

He left the rifle where it was, gripped in his dead opponent's hand. It seemed… rude to take it. Besides, blood had soaked into the strap by now, and he didn't want to breathe in the copper consequences of his actions for the rest of the evening. There would be plenty of time for self-flagellation after he had saved the children, or died trying. Hadn't so far, so it wasn't all in vain yet.

Instead, he took the man's lost weapon, finding it to be the same model as the one gripped in the hand of a cooling corpse, conveniently requiring the same ammunition as he'd already acquired with the other gun. Ejecting the magazine proved that it was equally full. Suzaku had just straightened, checking his pistol clip and calculating the risk of searching for any ammunition on the body, when he cued in to the squawks over the radio, hearing the pound of feet approaching, no doubt drawn by his gunshot.

Slapping the magazine home, Suzaku turned and ran. It was easy to ignore the tear and burn of the injury on his leg; therapeutic, familiar almost. He dodged through the rat maze of buildings and warehouses, taking full advantage of the suppressor on the rifle to down three guards with neat, well-trained double-taps without breaking stride, hopefully avoiding drawing much attention until it was too late. His path may have appeared random to anyone tracking him, but Suzaku's perusal of the compound from the impromptu base earlier hadn't just been to get a general number of opponents; he'd been mapping the lay of the land, pairing what he could see through the dark with the schematics provided reluctantly by the shell shipping company that owned the complex.

Pausing at a deserted branch in his path, Suzaku backed against a wall and angling behind a pile of crates, allowing himself a second to catch his breath and see to the slice on his leg. It was bleeding cleanly but not heavily enough to cause real concern. The last thing he wanted, however, was to be leaving behind a blood trail. Cecille had thoughtfully stocked the items in his sleek utility belt, and he found what he was looking for in the third pouch. The vacuum-sealed combat gauze was easy to layer, then trim to size, immediately adhering to the wound once it touched the blood and began to coagulate. For good measure, Suzaku wound a compression dressing over it, conveniently black to avoid disrupting his camouflage.

Allowing the gauze a moment to do its work, Suzaku tipped his head back against the wall, and considered.

He was painfully aware that he had a limited window to clear the enclosing gauntlet. Success depended on his ability to break through the line surrounding the warehouses before guards converged on his location like white blood cells attacking a foreign body. Which only emphasized the importance of choosing the right warehouse and choosing it on the first try. For that, he needed intel, and he wasn't going to get it just standing here. Straightening, Suzaku took off, resuming his fast, winding path through the outbuildings.

Experience had taught Suzaku that to break through the more organized, cohesive line guarding the core warehouses, he'd either have to punch through or pick away at an opening until the gap widened enough for him to slip through. Common sense dictated the latter, but never in his entire career had Suzaku ever harbored delusions that he was a sniper. He had the skills for it, but nowhere near the required temperament or patience.

Punching it was – he was better at it, anyway.

There was a cluster of five men near the head of one of the arteries leading into the center of the complex, dominated by the trio of larger warehouses looming just up ahead. Suzaku would have to dispatch them before they could call for help or alert any of the other groups of guards protecting other avenues in. Easy enough.

The men had no idea what hit them.

A combat knife flew out of the dark, burying itself to the hilt in one of the guard's throat. There was so much power behind the throw that it knocked the man back and carried him to the ground. Suzaku had experienced nightmares like this; something dark and deadly surging out of the shadows at impossible speed, cutting men down with blank-eyed viciousness.

Now, Suzaku was the nightmare.

Having sacrificed his knife on that first quick kill and his pistol only carrying the one clip of ammo, Suzaku opted for the rifle. He downed two men before they could rally.

But the remainder rallied hard. One returned fire and forced Suzaku behind a stack of palettes, poor cover though it was. It distracted him enough to allow the other, whose rifle had misfired and he'd initially dismissed, to attack from behind, charging and ramming Suzaku face-first against the wall, pinning him there.

The rifle was knocked from his hands, wedged between his belly and the wall, still attached to the strap around his shoulder which began cutting into him like a fabric knife. The man who had him pinned, a big bloke who had to weigh about twice as much as Suzaku, grasped the back of his head and slammed his skull against the wall.

Again, Lloyd proved the obnoxious behavior to be worth the genius behind it. Suzaku blinked, but the mask had superbly absorbed and dispersed the shock, leaving him unharmed and without the otherwise inevitable concussion. No doubt expecting him to be stunned, the man at his back recoiled slightly, about to repeat the attack. That slight cessation of weight was all Suzaku needed – he managed to worm his hand across his body, unholster his pistol, and, aiming it backwards, pull the trigger. The man never even saw the gun that killed him.

Pushing off the wall and pivoting now that he was freed, Suzaku immediately ducked into a crouch, a quick burst of bullets cutting into the wall where he'd just stood. He wasted no time, moving before the last man of the group had a chance to lower his weapon. Cutting around the debris and swiftly clambering atop a shipping container, Suzaku pumped four bullets into the man, sending him crashing like a stringless puppet to the ground.

A humorless smile made a suggestion of itself around his mouth – maybe Suzaku was something of a sniper, after all, since he made that last kill from a distance on the high ground.

Leaping back down to the ground, Suzaku assessed the situation, wincing a little at the pulse of pain in his leg on the landing. Glancing down as he retrieved the knife he'd thrown and then taking off into the dark, he was satisfied to see that the field dressing was holding. As he slipped closer to the target of the evening's mission, Suzaku dismissed the impulse to just wage war on the warehouses. That was Bevin and Wilson's territory – Suzaku had to stick to his objective if he wanted to see it completed. And he needed to see it completed.

Suzaku assumed that the commotion he'd caused would draw the commanders' attention and prompt them to act – the absence of Lord Zero be damned. No such alerts of a raid could be heard over the radio, but perhaps their men were moving as quickly as Suzaku. Too fast for the warning signal to outpace them. One could only hope.

Regardless, Suzaku adjusted his trajectory towards an innocuous little building huddled at the flank of the hulking warehouses. Having spent his fair share of time staking out docks and storage areas, Suzaku knew what an administrative building looked like.

Sticking to the shadows and avoiding the well-lit areas where larger groups of men smoked and chatted, Suzaku cast a calculating gaze out over them as he slipped past unseen. Despite a mien of inaction, the general atmosphere of lazy relaxation was being overtaken by a tension, carried on whispers and the restless adjustment of hands on gun grips. No one had sounded the alarm of an infiltration, but the knowledge that something was wrong had begun to move inexorably through the compound.

His time was growing short, fast.

Trading his rifle for his pistol, Suzaku decided to use the admin building's back door – easier to interrogate when he claimed the advantage early, and kept it.

He shouldn't have been surprised that this bookkeeper was no bespectacled clerk. What nearly had Suzaku stumbling and dropping his weapon was the fact that it was a woman sitting at the desk stacked high with papers and forms. She had shoulders like a brick-layer, mousy hair drawn back in a severe tail, and her nose was crooked, having healed poorly from a harsh break.

But the way she unmistakably reached under the desk for a weapon broke Suzaku out of his shocked stasis, sending him surging forward to press the muzzle of the gun firmly against the base of her skull, only relaxing the pressure barely when she slowly raised both hands to shoulder height.

"Where are the children?" Suzaku demanded, his throat rough at the thought of interrogating a woman. Aurora would have told him that there was a very thin line between chivalry and chauvinism, but old habits could be nigh immortal. That, and the last time he'd tried to force information out of a female, he'd crossed a line that shamed him and Kallen had cracked a molar in righteous vengeance. Not exactly an experience he wanted to repeat. Still, though… He'd come too far to falter now.

"What children? Ain't no kids around here," she snarled back, and Suzaku released a hard, impatient breath through his nose. It made his stomach roll, but he snaked a hand forward, jerking her head back to force her look up at Suzaku looming over her with a hard yank on her hair.

"I'm not a cop – I've hacked my way through nearly twenty of your men, and if I have my way, I'm far from done. What makes you think I'd embark on this little campaign if I didn't know exactly what I was looking for?"

Her eyes flickered slightly, and Suzaku ruthlessly pushed his advantage.

"Now unless you'd like to be another tally on my already very full scorecard, I suggest you answer. My. Question." Suzaku mused that it was always an interesting experience to watch the blood literally drain from someone's face.

"They-They're not in any of the warehouses."

Every muscle in Suzaku's body went astonishingly tense – it was all he could do to stave off the flex of his trigger finger. His brain began a panicked freefall into worse and worse scenarios. So absorbed in these snowballing possibilities, Suzaku almost missed it when the woman continued speaking.

"They're in the old brick storehouse, behind the big warehouses."

Suzaku remembered scanning over information about the place when he'd read Schneizel's research on the location. Older than the complex itself, the storehouse was a relic harking back to when Aurelius was one of the premier grain and corn distribution centers of the Empire. It was cool, modestly sized, and solid as a nuclear bunker. However, its smaller size and poorly angled loading bays had seen it fall out of regular use.

It was also slightly removed, so if the fighting escalated in the main warehouses, the children weren't inherently in the line of fire. The location still posed a myriad of problems, but it turned out to be better news than Suzaku had been hoping for.

"How many are guarding them?" he pushed.

"At this time of night? Probably only two – one of them has the key to the kids' room, since it's always kept locked." As she had decided to see reason and be helpful, Suzaku decided to spare the woman the potential TBI – instead of pistol whipping her, he reached around, quick as a viper, and locked her in an expert sleeper hold. Her struggles were nothing to sneeze at, but she might as well have been trying to dislodge rock with her scrabbling hands.

As she began to wilt, Suzaku almost had the urge to advise a different line of work, but chose to say nothing as she slipped into unconsciousness. Gagging, binding, and depositing the woman in one of the closets packed with paper, staples, and envelopes was simple, quick work.

Leaving the way he'd come in, closing the bathroom door to delay any questions or alarm about the bookkeeper's disappearance, Suzaku paused to listen to the radio in the undisturbed shadows at the back of the building. There were no screaming reports that the cops had shown up, but word of the carnage Suzaku had left scattered behind him was beginning to spread. They hadn't yet found the five he'd just tangled with – the operation still didn't know how close he was to its heart. But as check-ins and tallies began to trickle in, he knew that advantage wouldn't last long.

Interestingly, no contact came from the warehouses or the storehouse. Those areas remained conspicuously silent. He couldn't yet be sure if it was cause for alarm or an advantage.

Before rushing off towards the storehouse, Suzaku took stock. His leg was still bleeding, but sluggishly. Noticing that the compression bandage was soaked through, he wound a second compression bandage over it, gritting his teeth briefly against the bite of pain.

As he finished, Suzaku noticed something; the comm link on his left hand no longer blinked its tiny purple light. Bringing it into the light, he could see that it was crushed, likely when he'd been slammed into the wall. It didn't respond when he tried to activate it, and he became piercingly aware that he was unable to give Bevin and Wilson a sit rep, or even let them know where the children were located. Britannian military coms ran on encoded frequencies, ensuring that they couldn't be accessed by any old radio, even if you knew what to dial into. His lone wolf antics again stood to cost him dearly – Suzaku was truly alone.

But it didn't matter. Ignoring the potentially catastrophic consequences of his broken comm, Suzaku turned his attention to his weapons.

His rifle's clip was nearly empty, but he had another to reload it with, unlike the pistol. Deciding to stay with the larger gun and depend on its heft and weight before its bullets, Suzaku pulled in an uncooperative breath, feeling the terrible pressure of the encroaching goal on a mission. The closer it got, the more brutal consequences, and higher likelihood, of screwing it up.

As he crept towards the storehouse, Suzaku opted to circle around the building instead of charging through the huge loading bay doors in the front, or even the obvious door for personnel, lit by a single bulb that flickered intermittently. The only overhead light was what spilled over from the main courtyard, or the alleys of shipping containers and outbuildings to the east.

Assessing the windows, he suspected that the guards, and the children, were likely on the second floor, towards the rear. From the spill of light and sound, though, he couldn't pinpoint them any more accurately. Vaguely wishing for infrared goggles, Suzaku surveyed the rear of the building. Just because stranger things could happen, he tried the knob on the back door, unsurprised when it held fast.

Kicking the door in would be anything but a challenge, but Suzaku couldn't afford to sacrifice the element of surprise – he didn't dare give the guards time to retaliate against the children, or turn them into hostages. Taking a step back, Suzaku tilted his head in contemplation as he took in the rear façade. Just as frustration began to well, an errant thought shot through Suzaku's head – he was thinking like a soldier. How would a spy deal with this? More honestly, how would Aurora gain access?

His first true smile in days tilted across Suzaku's mouth, and, finally noticing the spidering of cracks in the top right corner of his mask's view, no doubt from impacting the wall, Suzaku reached up, bringing up the holographic menu and disabling the voice masker. Everyone knew Zero's voice – those who would recognize Suzaku Kururugi's anymore were precious few.

Standing to the side of the door with his back against the wall, Suzaku took a breath, then banged his elbow against the door twice, as if his hands were full.

"Yo! I got subs from Fizzoli's! One of you dickheads wanted a meatball, right?"

From the second floor, he heard a muffled response.

"What?"

This time, Suzaku lightly kicked the bottom of the door a few times.

"Fucking open the door, you jackasses! I've still got a shit ton to take over to the warehouses, and I've only got so many hands!" That did the trick. Suzaku could hear the clatter of feet down stairs, then grumbling as the door was unlocked and yanked open.

"Jesus, don't get your panties-" The man couldn't finish his insult, not when Suzaku rammed the butt of his rifle against his face. A wet splutter and burble sounded, the man too blinded by the broken nose to see Suzaku streak around him, taking a firm grip of the side of his head and his chin, and pulling so hard and fast that the guard's neck snapped with a moist crack.

Catching the body before it tumbled to the floor, Suzaku dragged it quietly over to the corner, his eyes plastered to the open mezzanine that looked out over the narrow back lobby. Behind the clouded glass of the enclosed office, he could see a shadow of movement. Tossing a tarp over the body, Suzaku loudly trotted up the stairs, affecting the gait of a man returning from an errand, eager for a meal.

Swinging open the door like he belonged there, Suzaku watched a series of emotions flicker on the older man's face when he turned and found not a compatriot bearing food, but an intruder armed and already closing in. Ultimately, he snatched the gun resting on the table, raising and sighting it with appreciable speed.

His dodge from the guard's shot came comparatively slow, and the hot sting of a graze on his right bicep brought the poisonous wrath surging back. Not only was Suzaku apparently getting old and slow, but the bastard was shooting in the room he assumed was next to the children's. It was careless, and callous.

Fueled by that righteous rage, Suzaku snatched the man's extended hand, simultaneously disarming him and breaking his wrist with a hard outward wrench. Pushing the advantage of his momentum, Suzaku took him down with a leg trip, following the man to the ground. His hand was still locked in Suzaku's grip, his shoulder forced back, the torque on his joints beyond their natural design, immobilizing the guard face down. Before he had an opportunity to buck against the weight, struggle, or scream, Suzaku jammed one of his knives into the back of the man's neck at the base of the skull, destroying his brain stem and incidentally drawing Suzaku's attention to the glitter of a silver chain around his neck. Retrieving the knife with a hard pull, he slid the chain free, finding a small, blood-splattered copper key at the base of the chain's curve.

It made sense. The more senior of the two would have sent the junior on an errand. Would have stayed closer to the imprisoned children. Would have been trusted with the key to their room. Would have reacted faster with a weapon, displaying a cruel disregard for the wellbeing of children that was only attained through bloody experience.

Snapping the chain with a flick of his wrist, Suzaku stood as he pulled the key free, then dragged the man behind the desk, out of sight from the three doors that occupied the far wall. One had the emblem for a bathroom on the door, the other sported a handle that didn't lock, likely a closet.

That left the thick gray door in the middle.

Setting aside his rifle and holstering his pistol, Suzaku assessed his appearance for the first time since he'd begun. The outer right side of his lower leg was stained with blood, but it simply looked black against his suit's fiber. In much the same way, the bandage on his leg looked like an innocuous strap. Winding a length of the final compression bandage around the graze on his upper arm, a thought occurred to Suzaku just as he stepped towards the door.

Turning away and snatching a paper towel from the roll lying on its side on the desk, he swiped it over his mask and hands. It came away heavy with wet and red.

Balling it up and tossing the paper towel into a waste basket next to the desk, currently hiding the corpse Suzaku had created, he turned again towards the gray door, and strode towards his objective. Sliding the key into the lock and pulling in a deep breath, he tried to prepare himself for whatever he could find. Finally, Suzaku turned the knob with the key, and gently opened the door.

There were twenty bunk beds in the small concrete room starkly lit by three bare light bulbs, and owlishly peering at Suzaku from every single bed were children. They gazed at him with an expression he'd seen before; in the camps, in the ghettos. In the mirror. These children had seen and survived things. Things that had irrevocably changed them. Silently and softly, Suzaku's heart, already tattered and cracked and bruised, broke for them.

Slowly and cautiously stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him, struggling for a sense of balance and focus that had deserted him. They were small, pale little creatures, eyes shadowed and their clothes threadbare and all but colorless. Suzaku moved instinctively when he saw the shimmer of fear in their eyes, not considering the implications beyond alleviating the weight of emotion that had to be constantly crushing them. Reaching up, he removed his mask.

Suzaku had enough wherewithal to leave his face guard as it was, shielding the lower half of his face. But he wanted to make sure they could see his eyes; see that he was human, that he meant them no harm, that he was here to help.

"Do any of you speak Standard?" he tried, pitching his voice low and gentle. From what he'd been told, these children were from small, remote countries struggling with poverty and war, and likely only spoke their local languages – if they couldn't understand Suzaku, it would be a terrifying stretch of time for them until they were retrieved by Bevin and Wilson's troops. None answered, just staring at Suzaku mutely, tiny little kits watching a predator in their midst, frozen in instinctive response. Just when he feared he couldn't explain what was about to happen, and what they should do to keep themselves safe, a girl raised her hand as she slid off her bunk to her feet, taking a few steps forward on legs that shook.

Her hair was a thick, tangled fall of black, her eyes so dark brown he couldn't discern the irises from pupils, and so large they dominated her doll-like face. If Suzaku had to guess, he'd put her at about ten years old, but three years in either direction wouldn't have surprised him. She was a tiny little thing, but her eyes seemed impossibly wise, even as she struggled against the terror that racketed along her frame. Her white t-shirt was thin from many washes, her brown pants too short, showing several inches of her ankles. Her feet were bare, and looked very cold.

Suzaku approached and knelt down onto a knee in front of her, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, knowing that the children could see and understand the implication of the weapons he still wore.

"What's your name?" he murmured, making no move to touch her or invade her space any further. She gazed at him with eyes ancient and wise as a saint's, taking her time answering his question.

"Galina," she finally whispered.

"That's pretty," he acknowledged, sensing her distrust at his reluctance to give her his name in turn. "Galina, I'm here to keep you safe. Soldiers are coming, Britannian soldiers. They're going to take you away from here, somewhere you'll be taken care of and away from these bad men. Until they get here, I'm going to guard the door."

"Like the dragon at the gate?" she asked, her voice still delicately soft but somehow managing to test his intent.

"Something like that," he agreed with a nod, swallowing the dry chuckle at the odd irony of Galina's choice of comparison. "I'm going to lock the door behind me," he continued, "and slip the key under the door. Until you hear me call your name, I don't want any of you to unlock the door, not for any reason. And…" Suzaku swallowed, desperately reluctant to give these orders, but knowing he had to do everything possible to keep them safe. "When you hear gunshots, I want all of you to get under the beds and cover your ears. It could go on for a long time, but please, please, don't come out until it stops."

Galina eventually nodded, and Suzaku stood, replacing his mask and turning towards the door. Just when he extended his hand to the knob, she called out to him.

"Wait!"

Turning back, he paused, forcing himself to be patient despite the sense of a ticking clock in his head – for some bizarre reason, it sounded like the clock on his desk that he hated so much. She trotted closer, peering up at Suzaku with eyes fractionally less guarded.

"The gold mark – are you a knight?"

He'd completely forgotten about the symbol on the point of his shoulder, remembering now the tiny golden crowned unicorn that was the crest of his queen.

"I was. If I can keep all of you safe, maybe… maybe I can be again."

Galina seemed to be satisfied with this answer, retreating and murmuring in a soft, lyrical language heavy with consonants to the other children. Opening the door and locking it with the key, Suzaku glanced over his shoulder one last time, begging any divinity that would listen that he wouldn't fail these children.

Stepping back out into the office, he pulled the door closed, crouching down and sliding the key under the door. Now he just had to make sure this door wasn't opened again until the Britannian troops arrived. Simple enough.

But it got complicated fast; the radio chatter started getting thick with alarm, until finally, someone with an unquestionably authoritative voice demanded that they find the intruder. They were to secure the assets first, then start searching the complex in waves.

At best, Suzaku had minutes.

A quick search of the office after retrieving his rifle yielded only the guard's pistol, its clip left sloppily half full. Setting the weapon on the shelf of a bookcase by the door, Suzaku was just debating going down to the ground floor and searching the body of the other guard when the downstairs door opened. Dropping to his knee, Suzaku felled the first guard before he made it two feet into the lobby. For a moment, his lungs felt achingly empty with the knowledge that there was no going back from this moment, this choice. As if he would have ever considered retreating now, he thought, settling a little more comfortably into his position at the door as his resolve hardened into black diamond.

Two more died practically in the doorway before the men outside grasped what was going on and where it was coming from. Suzaku ducked back behind the doorframe, waiting out the burst of gunfire that rattled the metal mezzanine and shattered one of the windows with an explosion of glass as he carefully listened for the stamp of feet on the metal staircase. Nothing yet, but that was sure to change.

From his elevated angle, Suzaku could control the choke point of the rear door. But when they flooded in from the front of the building, that fatal funnel would have to become the top of the stairs, the next place where he had a clear line of sight. Much too close for comfort.

There was no denying that the gambit had shifted from one of acceleration to attrition. Suzaku had to hold them off until Bevin and Wilson arrived – if he fell, the children would be forfeit. And that was unacceptable.

Dropping another man emptied his rifle's magazine – Suzaku didn't need to hear the dry click to know that he had to press the magazine release. Sweeping the clip free with a new one from his belt then clicking it in place, he reached under the gun to rack it before snugging it back to his shoulder, all within three seconds. Suzaku's old drill sergeant would have been proud of the seamless reload, especially considering it had been years since he'd held a weapon. There were some things that the muscles and mind never forgot, no matter how hard they tried.

The obvious change in tactics came, and Suzaku risked a glance to see the men pour into the lobby through the door directly below him. Returning to his position in the doorway, Suzaku waited until he heard the first steps on the staircase before he pulled the pin on the last flash grenade and lobbed it down to the first floor.

He averted his face, waiting until the screams began before standing and approaching the railing, downing eight men before turning and shooting the two that began to crest the stairs. Their bodies would be convenient obstacles at further attempts to gain the stairs.

Suzaku retreated to his position just in time for the rest of the windows to explode, shards flying through the air glittering like stars, pinging against the ground with almost musical tones. He ignored the bee stings of slicing glass, shooting the two men who were rushing the staircase, diving to the other side of the door to get an improved sight angle of the top of the stairs at the metallic thunder of footsteps. Grimacing when the bullet buried itself into a charging man's arm, sending him stumbling back down several steps, instead of the chest shot he'd aimed for, Suzaku held his position instead of breaking cover to secure a sure kill. Despite the fact that he could hear the man still alive, and still quite close.

He shot a man who frantically ran through the back door, then another who sprinted towards the staircase. Wood exploded next to Suzaku's left ear, a bullet missing his head by spare inches and obliterating a square foot of the doorframe. Not even Lloyd's superior design was bulletproof, and he felt his blood turn arctic even as memories of battles past began to flicker behind his eyes.

Whipping right instantly, Suzaku cut down the man he hadn't killed, destroying first his legs, then his chest. The man's collapse was a miniature three-part saga of death, but Suzaku only heard the separate clangs; he had already turned to drive two men back from their advance through the back door, killing one and maiming the other.

That dry click of an empty magazine didn't surprise him, but Suzaku's jaw hardened like granite as he lost his most effective long-range weapon, tossing the gun aside as he drew his holstered pistol. Even in the hands of a master, a pistol was not necessarily suited to this kind of combat. But, desperate times, he mentally acknowledged as he launched to his feet, leaned over the railing, and razed the half dozen men who had been about to storm the stairs.

By now, the lower floor looked more like an abattoir than a grainery. Suzaku had always considered it crass to keep track of kills on a mission, but the number of dead men downstairs was… significant.

Still, it wasn't enough. They kept coming, and they likely would until a greater force stopped them. Suzaku could admit that while the carnage was impressive, he could not be that force. As he returned to the doorway, casually kicking the grenade that had been tossed onto the mezzanine back over the edge, Suzaku took a step back and turned a shoulder to the blast, watching the stairs with a laser-like focus even as a fireball bloomed. Sure enough, a trio had hoped to use the distraction of the grenade to take the stairs.

Killing them emptied his pistol.

Snatching the last gun from the now pulverized bookcase, Suzaku knew with crushing clarity that there were nine rounds left in this pistol, and no word of any assault except the traffickers' against the storehouse over the radio. Nonetheless, Suzaku stayed the course – a man tried to worm his way into the far corner, away from the two entry points, to gain a clear line of fire to Suzaku. He died long before he could sight his gun.

A pack of four tried to pin him down with alternating bursts of fire, and they succeeded – for thirty seconds. Suzaku quickly keyed into their pattern, and dropped them all during a breathless break in their rhythm.

A chance glance at one of the outside windows revealed a man aiming a rifle, likely at the top of a ladder. Suzaku dove out of the way just before his doorway position became shredded with bullets. He moved to one of the blown-out windows, a well-placed round sending the man flying backwards out of sight, his rifle falling more than a story to the concrete floor below with a clatter.

Three bullets left.

A stunning, traitorous thought fluttered through Suzaku's head on silky black butterfly wings.

He was going to die here – why not just do it himself?

Glass crunched under his feet as he crouched and trembled, staring at the pistol in his hand. Suzaku had wanted just this, a hero's death, for so long. Now that he was facing it, the looming failure bright and bloody on his horizon, it seemed terribly foolish. When they finally got their hands on him, they'd tear him apart. It would be cleaner, certainly quicker, to just do the deed himself. And the most mind-boggling part of it was that he could.

But when was Suzaku going to stop behaving like a child, willingly blind to consequences? Yes, he could have what years of his life had been dedicated towards, right here, right now. The people he cared for were all beyond his reach, in so many ways, and he was so tired of being alone. All of it – the agony, the memories, the despair and debts and duty – would finally be over.

Yet the moment he'd slipped away from his position of command, a position he had volunteered for, Suzaku had set himself on a course that, when he succeeded, would tie the childrens' lives to his. It would take very little mental and moral wrangling to argue that if Suzaku killed himself, then he effectively killed the children.

That did what he never could have managed on his own; back straight, Suzaku turned, aimed, and shot the man, square in the forehead, who had climbed the stairs, lured by his brief period of inactivity.

At this moment, it wasn't a question of whether Suzaku wanted to live; he had to live. For as long as he could, no matter what it took. If he had to cut his way through the onslaught with a single fucking knife, drenched in blood and held together by strings and resolve, then so be it.

He could do it. If anyone could, it was Suzaku. And that meant he must.

Over the echo of his gunshot as he dropped a man who had slipped on blood during his dash to the cover of crates, he heard it. Suzaku had all but grown up on the battlefield, and needed very little time to recognize the cadence and brand of gunfire particular to a group. And the clean, wicked rattle of the shooting he could just make out was slightly different from the AK's the traffickers favored.

No, this was the triple bursts of Britannian standard issue carbines. As the radio all but exploded with exclamations about cops and guns and cut-off screams, Suzaku, still holding his pistol at the ready, stationed in the corner of the middle window, reached up and disconnected the radio from his mask. Once it was untethered, he tossed it aside, relief flooding him in a monstrous, numbing wave when troops in a uniform he perfectly recognized swiftly inundated the lower floor of the storehouse, immediately and mercilessly gaining control.

Standing slowly, mightily focusing on holstering his pistol and walking a straight, controlled path, Suzaku emerged from the decimated office, raising open hands to shoulder-level, snagging several soldiers' attention and marking himself as non-threatening should they still be a little battle-heated.

Satisfied that the shouts and hurried conversations into comms at his beckoning gesture meant someone of reasonable authority would be coming up to talk to him, Suzaku turned and strode across the office to the gray door, switching the voice masker back on as he went. Noticing the peppering of bullet holes along the walls, he fiercely prayed that the storehouse's sturdy structure, and boatloads of luck, meant he wouldn't find any casualties inside.

Firmly and slowly, he knocked three times on the door.

"Galina? It's the knight. It's safe to open the door now." Seconds crept past, and Suzaku slowly squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the different voice didn't frighten her, reluctant to answer the question whether he could live with this evening if there were dead children inside.

Then he heard the rasp of a key, the door cautiously cracking open an inch, a dark eye peering through the gap. Crouching down, Suzaku waited, hands loose and posture unassuming. Finally, she widened the door a foot, gazing at him with a deeply adult expression.

"Your voice is different," she stated quietly, almost accusatory.

"I know. It's something I have to do for my job."

Galina accepted this with a nod after a moment, apparently sensing the truth in his answer.

"Is it over?" she murmured, and it took everything Suzaku had not to reach out to her, to stroke and soothe and comfort a wound wrought too deep to heal that way.

"The fighting is over," he confirmed carefully, still blocking the doorway, even as he heard heavy steps tramping up the stairs. After surviving a firefight where that sound signaled trouble, it took a moment for Suzaku to relax the programmed tension that raced through him. As he wrangled his instincts under control, he took a moment to glance behind Galina, seeing that many of the children were still extracting themselves out from under the beds, the rest huddled on the floor. Suzaku could hear quiet sobbing.

"We need to make sure it's safe before we move everyone, though. Can you all be patient for a little longer?"

She considered, then nodded. Quietly releasing a sigh of relief, not moving even though he heard footsteps grinding over glass behind him and saw the way Galina's eyes flickered over his shoulder, Suzaku continued.

"Is anybody in there hurt?"

Galina's hair shifted in a dark curtain as she shook her head. A hard, cold rock in Suzaku's gut finally dissolved.

"OK, good. Do you want the door open or shut?"

"Open is fine," she murmured, even as she shrunk away, a shadow falling over them as someone approached.

Standing and pivoting on his heel, Suzaku planted himself in front of the door opening, surprised to see both Bevin and Wilson, each flanked by a soldier.

"Lord Zero, what…?" Bevin began, trailing off as he looked around the remains of the room, clearly flabbergasted by what he'd seen. Wilson looked equally shocked, but his eyes were also calculating, moving over Suzaku as if he was trying to see down to bone and nerve. Or perhaps simply beneath the mask.

"The children are safe. When are Social Services arriving?" he demanded, unwilling to linger on the subject of just how many men he'd killed, and how he had managed it. Suzaku had begun the night worried first and foremost about the children; that was how he intended to end it, as well.

"They're already here," Wilson answered, his sideways glance catching the feet sticking out from behind the desk. When he looked back as Suzaku, a thick, dark brow was arched.

"When you disappeared, we figured there was a good chance you'd taken it upon yourself to secure the kids."

Suzaku was fully aware that was a very diplomatic way to describe his actions – had he been any one else, Wilson would have torn him verbally to tiny, wriggling shreds, as well he should have. Suzaku appreciated the military dynamic of discipline and accountability, even if he had been exempt from it for a very long time.

"As such, it seemed a good idea to be prepared," Bevin continued. Suzaku nodded, relieved that there wouldn't be a significant wait time.

"And medical services?" he prompted.

"Ready and waiting," Bevin replied.

"As we thought, the guards were hardly a threat. A few minor injuries, so there's plenty of personnel to look after the kids."

Suzaku nodded, his brain suddenly filled with explicit, scarring visions of the lower floor.

"I think it best we escort the children out individually, and… limit their exposure to what happened below."

Bevin nodded quickly, a look of fierce agreement flickering across his face – if Suzaku remembered correctly, the man had children. Two daughters, he believed.

"We'll get blankets from the EMT's," Wilson decided, turning and nodding at the two soldiers who had entered with them, the pair leaving with alacrity at the implied command. When he turned back, Suzaku held out the pistol and holster, ready to be rid of it now that its purpose had been served. He didn't have the answers to enough important questions to keep a gun with a single bullet around himself for any length of time.

Wilson took the weapon, studying it for a moment before glancing up at Suzaku from under his brows.

"May I?"

Suzaku shrugged at the request. Wilson ejected the clip, studying it before passing it over to Bevin. The older man's brows shot up when he saw the lone cartridge left in the magazine, his eyes flicking away to the two discarded weapons on the floor. Before either man had a chance to ask anything further, several soldiers returned, arms piled with blue blankets borrowed from the ambulances.

It was Bevin who turned to the soldiers and asked them to check with the rest of the units – they needed men who were comfortable with children to help escort the kids down to the ambulances and Social Services. One man handed off his blankets to spread the word, clearly discomfited by the idea of traumatized children. Suzaku didn't blame him in the slightest.

Turning and crouching back down, he relayed the plan to Galina, who had been sitting on the bottom bunk closest to the door, hopping up and trotting over when Suzaku faced them again. She nodded, then turned to explain it in her native language to the rest of the children.

Just as he prepared to stand and finally back away, he felt the tiniest pressure on his knee, right below the black bandage.

"Are you hurt?" Galina whispered. He smiled softly, even though she couldn't see it.

"It's just a scratch – don't worry about it," he whispered back. She gazed at him solemnly for a moment, and Suzaku wondered if this is what drowning had felt like when a faint sheen of tears glazed Galina's eyes, her bottom lip trembling briefly before she fiercely firmed her mouth.

"Will you take me away from here? Please?" She didn't so much say the words as breathe them, and if she'd requested for Suzaku to rip open his chest and hand her his beating heart, he would have gladly done it. As it was, throat thick and breath locked somewhere deep inside, Suzaku simply nodded, and held out his arms. She crept into them like a fragile cub.

Gathering her close and standing, he tucked Galina's head below his chin, one of her arms hooked around his neck, her other hand splayed over where his heart bled. Suzaku battled memories as a soldier unwrapped one of the blankets, draping it over the girl and tucking it in so nothing was visible beyond her blue cocoon. Her chilled, delicate frame reminded him searingly of Nunnally, and it took genuine focus and will to walk out of the office for the last time, straight and balanced, once the soldier nodded that the pair of them were ready.

If he hadn't had the child cradled trustingly in his arms, Suzaku had no idea how he would have managed the journey winding through his handiwork. As it was, he focused blindly on the fact that he had to get Galina through this quickly but carefully. A small part of his brain registered that he passed at least three quarters of both units heading towards the upstairs office – if nothing else, the children should be out of that hideous place quickly.

They just had to be carefully escorted through the hell Suzaku had created first. Cautiously stepping over and around bodies, nudging dropped firearms out of the path least stained by puddles of blood, he wondered if this was his punishment. Being forced to confront the brutal, immediate aftermath of what he had done. But unlike the FLEIJA crater, there was no Geass command to hide behind. Every single time Suzaku had pulled the trigger or wielded his knife tonight, it had been with full knowledge of the reality and cost of his actions, completely aware of exactly what he was doing, and what it meant.

When it came to monsters, it would seem that Suzaku was in a category all his own.

As he was spiraling in guilt and self-loathing, though, he eventually became aware of the faint sensation of damp on his collarbone. It took a few steps to work out that Galina was crying. She hadn't made a sound or so much as twitched. Moved beyond his scope, still struggling to find his own emotional ground, Suzaku just tipped his head slightly, and rested what amounted to the line of his jaw gingerly against her head. He felt her fingers clench slightly on the back of his neck as she pressed her face harder against him, and Suzaku felt almost… forgiven.

Finally, he walked outside and saw the spiraling swirl of emergency lights splashed against the buildings' walls, and a trio of ambulances came into view as he rounded a corner, flanked by several black town cars. Once he was absolutely certain there was no visible sign of the fighting that had occurred, he gently freed Galina's head and face from the blanket, and he could see the way she took a deep, surprised breath of the cool night air. Surreptitiously, she used the blanket to scrub her face free of tears, and Suzaku said absolutely nothing about it. Instead, he tried to explain what was about to happen.

"The EMT's will make sure you're OK. You might go to the hospital. If you do, it's just to be safe. After that, the people with Social Services will help you find a place to stay, and someone to take care of you."

She tilted her head to gaze up at him, and Suzaku desperately tried to ignore the subtle plea in her eyes to let her stay with him.

"You'll be alright," he whispered instead. "You're smart, and tough, and very brave, Galina. You'll take this chance, and make a good life out of it. Can you do that for me?"

She sniffed, then nodded. Suzaku slowly rubbed his hand over her back, feeling the tiny, sharp ridges of her vertebrae, and the way she pulled in a deep breath, then straightened her shoulders.

The EMT's began to hustle forward, stuttering to a halt when they made the connection, no doubt recognizing the shape his mask. Suzaku just kept walking past them, only stopping once he'd reached the back of the ambulance, harsh white light spilling out of the vehicle. Sitting Galina on the back step, clamping his jaw at the way his heart lurched when she clung slightly at his neck, Suzaku crouched down, straightening and tucking the blanket around her again.

"Remember what I said. Smart, tough, and very brave. You're a knight now, too." Very gently, he tapped his index finger first to one of her shoulders, then the other, and something like pride glittered in her dark eyes. Galina nodded, a smile flirting across her face like fairy wings; there, then gone. Carefully and slowly, Suzaku took one of her hands, and softly squeezed. When she squeezed back, Suzaku made himself simply nod, then let go.

Standing and facing the EMT's in their emergency vests and several social workers in low, sensible heels, all with that patent expression of brittle exhaustion having been woken up at three in the morning, Suzaku used this moment when he had their full breathless attention.

"I expect that Galina, and all of the children, will receive only the best care, tonight and for the foreseeable future. I will be taking a personal interest to see to it that happens."

They all hurriedly nodded in understanding, so, making a note to keep an eye on the children's cases, Suzaku stepped to the side, allowing the medical personnel to see to their task. Just then, the train of soldiers carrying children, led by Bevin, appeared around the corner, and the area surrounding the ambulances suddenly became a hive of activity.

Glancing at Galina one last time, satisfied to see her answering an EMT's questions with regal calm, Suzaku turned and walked away, grinding his teeth against a limp. A breeze shifted, and maybe it was just his brain finally starting the tortuous grind of processing tonight, but Suzaku suddenly became aware that his mask no longer smelled new; it smelled like blood. He'd just rounded the next corner when Bevin and Wilson called after him, jogging to catch up.

"Lord Zero!"

Briefly clenching a fist, Suzaku turned around, waiting for the men to approach.

"Are you certain you don't need medical attention?" Wilson asked. His leg would probably need stitches, his whole body was a patchwork of cuts and burns and bruises, and Suzaku wanted nothing in the world more desperately right now than to sleep.

"I'm fine," he said instead. The men exchanged a short glance, their disbelief writ large.

"Lord Zero-"

Suzaku interrupted Bevin before he could continue, affecting Zero's smooth, confident tone.

"Don't worry, captains. I was simply here in a supervisory capacity. Credit will go to the field commanders – you two – and the prince for spearheading the operation."

Wilson frowned.

"That's not-"

"You should be proud," Suzaku interjected. "A human trafficking center all but annihilated, all the children retrieved unhurt. I can only imagine the drugs and weapons found in the warehouses. Your men did truly excellent work tonight. A victory Britannia – and her Empress – can be proud of."

"But sir, what you did tonight…" Bevin said, his more traditional personality lending to a reluctance to question what was technically nobility.

"What are you doing working in the palace, when you have that kind of ability?" Wilson demanded with a burst of words, no compunction putting a fine point on it. "What we saw was the work of a spec ops unit, not a single man. How the hell did you manage it?"

Suzaku gave them the only answer he could.

"Simple, gentlemen. It was just another miracle." With that, he turned, and walked away.

They didn't follow.

As he retreated to the entry gate alone, a limp emerging despite his best efforts, Suzaku's hand crept to his left shoulder. There, the shadow of the woman he'd left behind walked beside him, the one whose unwavering and unique faith in Suzaku had sent him on this mission and had been with him, whether he'd known it or not, every step of the way.

Chapter Text

In memory of Hannibal – my greyhound, my muse and the inspiration for Bannock in practically every way. A tirelessly loyal and loving companion, the back-seat cohort on countless adventures all around our state and beyond, and the heart of my home through seven years and seven different places. This one is for you, Boob.

As Suzaku was waging his one-man war with quiet desperation and dwindling bullets, Aurora hummed quietly in her steamy bathroom, brushing her damp hair before beginning the laborious task of braiding it. Using the mirror only occasionally to check the integrity of the initial weave, she glanced instead at the reflection of Bannock, who lay at the foot of her bed, ears up at attention and watching her intently, eyes wide with one of his patented expressions of patient, astonished focus. The morning sun angled in sharply, illuminating the delicate network of capillaries in his upright ears.

Pausing in her humming occasionally, shifting to allow the blood to drain back into her busy arms and hands, Aurora cooed and murmured to the dog, who quietly huffed and rooed in return. Whether or not they actually understand what exactly they said to each other was irrelevant – Aurora and Ban often went through this little ritual, this reaffirmation that even though they spoke in different tongues, they understood each other in a way that mattered, fostered by love and time and experience.

Winding the tie around her braid's tail, Aurora turned and strode out, snagging her phone and watch as she went, Ban leaping up on gangly legs at her heels. A brass pocket watch glinted dully on the night stand, too painful to bring along and too beloved to shun to the dark of a bottom drawer.

They came downstairs to brew Aurora's morning cup of tea, and came upon a scene of manic reorganization. As she leaned against the counter and finished fastening the band of the watch around her left wrist once the water was set to boil, her brows climbed as she watched Kendra methodically work through the monstrous array of medical supplies on the kitchen table. It was a good thing she hadn't planned for a more complicated breakfast, because there was no way Aurora could have shifted enough of the packages of gauze, gloves, syringes, and tubing to create space without incurring the wrath of Kendra on the warpath. Her sense of the perverse didn't run to blithely waltzing into destruction, Aurora mused as she idly wound Ban's delicate scrap of ear through her fingers. Didn't mean she couldn't nip at its edges, though.

"Slow day?" she asked carelessly as she turned to remove the squealing kettle and set the tea leaves to steep. Kendra glanced at Aurora without tilting her head up, peering forbiddingly over the round rims of her glasses. Her friend thus inspected and dismissed, the doctor turned her golden eyes back to the box of unopened surgical gloves. Technically expired, Kendra couldn't use them under the strictures of the network her clinic worked within. But they could be donated, and the supplies that weren't yet expired needed to be accounted for and organized to maximize their usability. Aurora would have happily done it, but she and Kendra had very different opinions about the most efficient form of cataloging and storing the supplies. And since she was the queen of the clinic, Kendra had last say.

"Yes," she responded in a clipped tone. "Stay away from my supplies – your version of cataloging is atrocious."

Aurora quietly chuckled through her nose; it would seem the good doctor would never forgive her for that particular difference of opinion.

"Go make yourself useful," Kendra continued once she returned her attention to her worksheet and stacks of syringes. "The upstairs bathroom is in sore need of attention. You could finally patch that hole your dog put in the wall. You know, from that one time."

Far from insulted, Aurora turned back at the beep of the countertop timer. Pouring the tea into an ivory mug decorated with blooming stalks of lavender and indulging in a few drips of honey, Aurora took the time to snap a sharp salute. Bannock just beamed and panted at her side, wagging his tail and completely devoid of guilt. He took after his mama that way – both made their fearless way through life, each a cheery, natural student of the philosophical school of "better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

"Aye aye, cap'n." Lingering just long enough to catch the reward of Kendra's eye roll, Aurora strolled out, Ban padding in her wake at the lazy wiggle of her hand. She had noted the absence of Kendra's husband; Chandler, no doubt, had run like a spooked gazelle at the first mention of house maintenance. Give the man a council of greedy, grumpy old white men, put him in front of a disgruntled crowd out for politician blood, square him off with a vicious reporter that was looking for that one chink in the armor to burn down a career – Chandler shone in situations that made Aurora's guts cramp. But God forbid you put a screwdriver or paint roller in his hand. Sipping the pungent herb drink and playing out Mozart's Sonata Seventeen in C on her thigh, Aurora climbed back up the stairs, strolling to the bathroom tucked away at the end of the bedroom corridor.

It was a bit of an orphan, as the other two used on this floor were connected to their respective bedrooms. Hence why it had been Aurora's choice for Ban's first bath. Needless to say, they had all been surprised when the young dog, tolerating the procedure with reasonable dignity, had leapt free once Aurora stepped back, spun a spastic circle, then tried to race out his relief at the end of the torture. Bannock, however, had disastrously miscalculated both his size and the size of the room.

His celebrations had ended promptly when he rammed head first into the wall. The resulting crater was three feet off the ground, the width of an orange, and had left everyone, Ban most of all, stunned.

Setting her tea on the sink's rim, Aurora walked over to the six-foot-long Japanese woodcut block print of a forest in twilight. Detachedly admiring it for a moment, she then reached up and pulled it off the wall, revealing the damage done years ago. Setting the artwork aside, Aurora angled her head as she surveyed the destruction, sighing as she patted Ban's skull. The dog had been relaxed at the threshold until she'd pulled down the artwork; now he slunk close, apologetic and ashamed, leaning against her thigh.

"And wasn't that an exciting day?" she murmured under her breath, scratching under the dark navy band of Ban's collar. He was free to run around unencumbered in Ireland, but Aurora dared not run the risk, not on London's occasionally mean streets.

In lieu of a vocal response, Ban snuffled the knee of her jeans before wandering over to the sink, circling awkwardly and tucking himself down into a narrow, shamed-faced ball on the dark green rug in front of the sink. She was suddenly and vividly reminded of her last bout of house maintenance – banging on the kitchen plumbing in Ireland in penance for poking hard at the blackest of bruises on Suzaku's heart.

She caught her breath at the bolt of pain that pulsed through her bones at the thought of him, and all the lancing emotions the memory of him – crouching down, arms folded atop the cabinet door, eyes raw, smile small and perfect and achingly gentle – unearthed. Aurora dragged in a shaky breath, sternly demanded under her breath that she get her shit together, and set about patching the damn drywall.

She'd purchased the supplies nearly six months ago, intending to see to the project before London got its teeth into summer. Shoving open the small window high in the shower, Aurora winced at the meager offering of a breeze. The cool of the spring rains had come and gone, and she'd been occupied with the project of a lifetime then. Now, she'd just have to endure the wet heat of a deep summer day, the muscly threat of a storm on the periphery.

Heading back to her room for her speaker and music, Aurora shucked her draped t-shirt, leaving her in a black tank-top and ratty jeans, fresh-faced and naked of make-up. The aristocracy she had once woven herself into, rubbing elbows with venomous charm and vintage champagne in hand at art exhibitions and polo matches, would never have recognized her. As for Aurora, well. True, she knew the feel of silk sheets and Stradivarius strings; but that wasn't who she was anymore. Fragments of that identity still lingered, though, shards reworked into a mosaic that, even if she now grasped the palette, the finite pattern still occasionally escaped her.

One final stop at the utility closet to gather the supplies, and Aurora was ready to begin. Once she'd stuck the mesh plate to the wall, Aurora seated herself cross-legged on the tile to begin smearing the lilac joint compound in place. It didn't take long for Ban to unfold himself, come slinking over, then collapse with a sigh, heavy head propped on her thigh. Aurora, though, didn't mind. She just shifted to make them both comfortable and kept feathering the edges of the patch.

Time passed, and the only sound beyond the electric throb of music was the scrape of the drywall knife, and breathing.

Eventually, the patch was done, and there was nothing to do now but let it dry. Rousing her hound who had drifted off to sleep in the lazy heat, his head a cement block on her leg, Aurora washed her hands and shut off the music, snagging her shirt and shoes before jogging downstairs, Bannock a cheerful thunder at her heels.

Kendra didn't even look up from her stockpile – as Aurora strode past, she held out a hand, a long list of supplies written in her doctorly scrawl flapping gently. Without missing a beat, or bothering to speak, Aurora hummed in assent, snagged the piece of paper, and headed out to her Jeep. Ban paused just long enough for an ear scrub from Kendra, then trotted after his mama.

An efficient eight minutes later, Aurora motored along the rutted road that had once been Harley Street, Ban happily flopped in a jumble of limbs on the back seat, his nose poking just out the window, snuffling the wind in quiet contentment. Already organizing her list of errands into the most effective order, she steered them north first, past the High Hedges and towards Solomon's Row.

Aurora had been raised in a system of give and take; it was second nature for her to utilize the lives she and Kendra saved. People eager to repay what they saw as a life debt facilitated the network Aurora had built in London more out of habit than with any sort of intention.

The woman whose daughter had been treated after complications led to life-threatening pneumonia kept Aurora and the Andrews in fresh eggs for the next eternity or so.

Those eggs helped keep the clinic in the good graces of the electricity tech in charge of their sector; the lines were still a finicky mess even after all these years, and the eggs bought the clinic and a few other blocks Aurora had included on the list priority for reconnection whenever they went down, which was about every other month or so.

One of those blocks housed an indestructible, eccentric old woman named Eleanor who voraciously read erotica, brewed homemade gin, and knitted wool blankets. Besides her… unique personality and endless entertaining stories of youthful shenanigans, she offered both the gin and blankets in exchange for the electrical priority.

Those items were helpful in establishing other prongs of Aurora's network, the homeless community providing some of the largest and most complex areas of the webbing. The rest was also built on trade of favors and items, an interconnected system that wove through London's recovering heart. And Aurora moved like a gilded spider along those threads, the checks and balances carefully monitored, debit and credit meticulously calculated to maintain balance. She kept it all in her head, the only truly safe repository of information, in a monstrous memory palace that spanned the city.

And she did it purely because she knew of no other way to exist – the safest person was one protected by the very system they created and controlled. The command was in her blood; the finesse had come from training. Either way, at this point, it was simply who she was – the merchant of memory, the scales of community.

After her absence, the network had acquired a few holes, several of the junctions freezing or failing. Aurora spent several hours reestablishing contacts, smoothing over stilted trades, building or rebuilding agreements – in between purchasing laundry detergent and bread, scotch tape and black socks, of course.

Ban accompanied her to every errand and negotiation, a valuable asset when tensions and defenses flared. He was intimidating in the face of aggression, and endearing when presented with caution. Aurora herself was an institution built on power and trust, but Ban was an invaluable reinforcement of that identity.

That, and it could be hard work, soothing egos and cajoling action; it was nice to have her pup at her side.

At one point, she strolled down the street back to her Jeep, having negotiated cement for artwork, when her reflection caught her eye. When Aurora glanced over, she stuttered to a halt, staring not at her image in the glass, but what gleamed behind it.

It was a violin.

That night in Ireland had whet an appetite nearly shriveled into dust. Now, as she admired the gleaming coppery wood and well-balanced design, Aurora vividly remembered the hours she'd poured into learning the instrument. It hadn't come to her quite as easily as the piano, and earning the callouses on her left fingertips had been an exercise in endurance.

Once George had figured out she had some basic talent in musicality, he'd started her on a regiment of experimentation to find out which instruments she could manage. It turned out not much beyond the piano, violin, and a bit of wincing guitar. It was an important aspect of her go-to identity as a rich young noble, he had maintained. Now, Aurora couldn't help but wonder if the man was just giving her some sort of way to practice self-expression in a safe forum.

Safe because she couldn't compete, or even perform formally in public. No recitals or orchestras for her – the risk of exposure or muddled covers was too great. Aurora's competitive spirit had burned with wasted potential, but even during jobs or cons when her abilities became relevant, it was always as teacher or accompaniment. The one competition with her dance instructor during a job had been reckless, and only possible because she'd just been some blond on Yuriy's arm, all eyes focused on the genius that had taught her the very best of what she loved. The risk had been enormous, George had been furious – but even then, Aurora had known it was worth it.

But for nothing else would she have taken that sort of chance. Not even for her music. She didn't just adjust to her world and protect herself from its dangers – she had to defend herself from her own nature.

Still, she missed it. She had occasional access to a piano, but excepting rare instances like catching the Travelers during one of their stays, there wasn't much chance these days for Aurora to play the violin. Impulse pulled her towards the door; just as she began to cede to it, Ban's ears lifted at something he saw across the street, and he began to move away from her. It was more of a feeling than anything she saw, the fading of the presence at her side that was ubiquitous on days like this.

A sharp call brought him back, looking up at Aurora with a sort of sheepish shrug. Patting him with affectionate weight on the ribs, surprised that he'd thought to leave her at all, she glanced longingly one last time at the violin. But the raindrop on her nose shattered that final reverie, prompting Aurora back to the Jeep for her last errand. She'd saved buying pints of mango, coffee, and mint ice cream for last. Once she'd chatted pleasantly, handed over the two boxes of wood screws she'd picked up along the way for repairs needed in the shop's basement, and made her selections, Aurora figured her discipline earned her the sample the little mom-and-pop shop offered of a new flavor – raspberry lavender.

Aurora had demolished the small scoop before she drove two blocks, making a mental note to snag a carton the next time she went to Splendid Sweetness. Dusk had only just begun, but was hastened and thickened by the rain threatened since that morning finally becoming reality, beginning as a soft sprinkle but gaining heft as the minutes ticked by. Ban was in his usual spot on the back seat, left conveniently empty throughout their errands, but his nose had retreated out of the flecks of rain, switching his gaze from the window to Aurora, then back again.

Her brain elsewhere, calculating dinner and drywall and damp, Aurora nearly passed them before she caught the details. A woman was crouched by her rear right tire on the side of the road – one glance betrayed the purple jacket, hair frizzing despite the wet, and heeled boots. Slowing, then pulling over in front of the car, Aurora stepped out, pausing for a moment to murmur to Ban who stood ready to join on a new adventure, allowing the woman a chance to see that she was also female. Even then, as she strolled closer and the woman straightened, her wet expression was still riddled with caution and suspicion.

The tiny pale face peering out from the back window quickly revealed why. Not just a woman stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire – she had her young child with her.

Aurora wouldn't have called it sentiment or charity. Instead, she would have likely chalked it up to another tally in her impossibly vast columns, spinning yet another thread to pluck at a later date. But that was really a defense built thoroughly around a heart calloused by circumstance – a reason given to compulsion born of helplessness. Aurora acted now out of a sense of solidarity. Because she knew what it was, to be vulnerable and afraid and praying to any god that would listen that, just this once, that bitch Luck would cut you a sliver of a break.

It turned out that the woman's name was Kathy, and her daughter was Kayla. It took very little to figure out that Kayla was rapidly becoming that dangerous mixture of bored and scared, while Kathy oscillated between grinding frustration and crippling anxiety. Opening the back of the Jeep, Aurora pulled out a few tools, cleared some room, and called Ban to the back, settling him on the old blanket she'd spread out. Incidentally, it was not the same one she'd spread over a bleeding and hypothermic Suzaku – that one, she'd prudently burned.

Kayla was soon seated next to Ban, now entertained by the huge velvety dog who eyed the eight-year-old with patient resignation. Aurora chattered some gentle, meaningless conversation as she helped Kathy change the tire, sprinkling in tiny tidbits of advice to avoid seeming patronizing while hopefully better preparing her should this happen again in the future. It was done within ten minutes, Kathy thawing quickly once Aurora's intentions held true and Bannock babysat her daughter with admirable tolerance. She was especially grateful once Aurora managed to wrestle loose the last lug nut that had been giving her trouble.

Of course, once the deed was done, Kayla was now devastated to leave Ban, hugging him round his narrow neck with all the ferocity of a youngster. The hound knew how to instinctively bridge the gap, following when Aurora all but peeled the little girl off him and set her down on the ground, walking with her to her mother's newly repaired car. Aurora shared a soft smile with Kathy as she slammed the tail gate closed, watching as Kayla reluctantly climbed into the back of her car, Ban's tail slowly cycling in his distinctive circular wag as he nosed the little girl's elbow. Finally, the sweet sorrow of parting was done, and Ban padded back to Aurora's side.

With that, the flat stowed in the back of Kathy's sedan and one of Eleanor's blankets now draped over the back seat next to where Kayla sat, her face was again pressed to the window, this time gazing longingly at Ban. Aurora watched through eyes narrowed from the rain as Kathy and Kayla's car started, and they trundled away on their doughnut of a spare, lights slicing through the dim. She had just lowered her grubby hand from its final wave goodbye when she caught a slip of movement out of the corner of her eye – spinning around, Aurora was just fast enough to see Ban streak around the corner of a building, then disappear.

She yelled his name, but no gray shadow crept back – growling under her breath in frustration, Aurora jogged after him, calling his name again, then again. Cursing her dog, his random, stupid behavior, and the rain, she splashed through puddles, down several alleys, and around two more buildings before she heard it.

A brutal, unnatural scream sliced through the rain like scarlet lightning; it was too animalistic to be human, too obscene to mean anything but stunning pain. Panic scorching through her with scalpel-like fury, Aurora breathed her dog's name with the desperate reverence of a prayer, the whisper lost under the susurration, then began to run. Run like electricity crackled through her veins, replacing all of the blood that had sunk into the black pit of terror growing inside her.

Her earlier meanderings had taken her the wrong way; backtracking now as fast as she could sprint, Aurora was all but blinded by the rain, moving more on instinct and savage fear than the clear-headed cunning that she had cultivated so carefully. Out of options until her frantic speed brought her to some sort of information, Aurora screamed out Ban's name again and again, harsh barks of terror and obstinance. Finally, under the stark light of a streetlamp, she found him.

Bannock was collapsed on the asphalt, a large, dark lump on the edge of the light's halo. And as Aurora crashed to her knees next to his still form, even the dark couldn't hide the blood gushing from the damningly substantial, ragged wound on his neck, pooling thickly on the ground, too much for the rain to immediately wash away. For a long moment, her breathing, the world, even sound, stopped, leaving a vacuum of shock and impossibility swirling in her head. Then Ban's eyes weakly flickered open, and it all came rushing back in with titanic intensity.

Aurora was moving before the most basic of relief had a chance to trickle through her brain – stripping off her wet t-shirt, still wearing the black tank top from earlier underneath, she wrapped it around Ban's throat, tying off the sleeves in the most awkward tourniquet known to medicine. Bannock's whine was a gurgling ghost of itself, quickly choked into silence on a wheeze, and Aurora began raging through the list of curse words in every language she knew.

The dog typically flirted with a hundred pounds on the scale; still, Aurora didn't hesitate, wrapping one arm around his broad ribcage to heft him up while the other supported his rump. That sort of hold worked fine with children, although a huge, injured dog posed a bit of a challenge. But the strain of it was irrelevant – the muscles in her back and arms were already screaming, her shoulder was already hot and sticky from blood, but Ban couldn't have been taken from her arms if Aurora had a gun put to her head.

She was staggering to get her balance when she saw them. Twenty feet away, in the dark murk of another alleyway, several sets of floating discs gleamed. They were eyeshines from stray dogs, if she had to guess from the height and size of them. It wasn't much of a stretch to also guess that Ban's wound was a bite from one of the dogs that still lingered.

Several realities flashed in her brain, tumbling over the edges of each other. Ban wasn't the sort of dog to tussle, which meant that it didn't take much to trigger an aggressive response from this pack. If they still felt threatened and decided to do something about it, Aurora didn't have many options, holding her injured dog as she was. Even if she wasn't, Aurora had a hard time picturing how she could defend them without tragic results, cursing her lack of a gun, or even any sort of weapon that didn't require creativity.

Before she could decide on a course of action, though, the dogs turned and slunk away, disappearing into the dark. Waiting just long enough for their silhouettes to completely vanish, Aurora spun around and hurried as fast as she could back to the Jeep.

Every instinct screamed that she run, but not only was it unrealistic, it would likely do more damage to Ban than good. But, God, there was no time. Her fingers clenched on flesh, as if Aurora could secure Ban within his skin by sheer will and grip alone.

When the Jeep came into view, Aurora was certain the hiccupping gasp that tore from her core was simply because of the physical strain, not a sob. A desperate, groping hand was able to snag the catch to open the rear door, and Aurora laid him down on that same blanket with more gentleness than her muscles could bear, her once white shirt now completely stained crimson in a brutal band. When Ban could manage to open his eyes, they were glassy with pain and fear, the occasional feeble, instinctive movement easily stayed by Aurora's hand, which shook despite her aim for calm.

She took a moment to keep him quiet, to wrap an ugly scarf stuffed behind the back seat around his neck, knowing better than to remove the initial bandage, desperate and bulky though it may be. Once the door was shut, a part of her howling in protest at the sight of it closing on her dog's weak, frightened gaze, Aurora dashed around the side of the car, leaping into the driver's seat with a piercing sense of familiarity. She had been here before, and Aurora was just scared enough for the superstitious thought that she'd already spent what luck she had on Suzaku's life. What if there wasn't enough left for Bannock?

Shaking herself loose of that cold paralysis, Aurora got the car moving, and at a clip that would have made any cop willing to chase her down very interested. Kendra couldn't really help this time, not when the damage was so close to Ban's throat and spine – she was no veterinarian. Luckily, Aurora had a thread to tug for just such an occasion, although she'd hoped to never call in this favor so furiously. Dr. Jennifer Slane had been Ban's vet since he'd first shown up on Aurora's door step, and after Dr. Slane had been able to save half a dozen puppy litters found abandoned in a landfill with Aurora's help in both donations and connections, Ban now had the prized position as one of the doc's favorite patients. She had once told Aurora she was available anytime. Well, now Aurora and Ban needed her, right now.

As she drove, Aurora kept talking to him, trying to keep him as calm and still as possible when he was one the other end of the vehicle. At one point, she caught a glimpse of Ban struggling up in the rearview mirror – it took sincere effort to discipline he voice, to swallow the roar that wanted to erupt out of her and instead command Ban down with a reasonable, firm tone. When he just gazed at her in lost, exhausted confusion, she clipped out the hard command to lay down – "chini," which was Swahili. Promptly, he obeyed with a whining grunt.

Ban made no more attempts to stand, which was only somewhat comforting. He wouldn't dislodge anything or further wound himself, but she also couldn't tell if he was still conscious or even…

No. No! That wasn't even an option, the rarest of instances when Aurora resolutely turned from the heart-shattering truth of possibilities. She just drove faster, her jaw so tightly clenched, the vein in her temple began to pulse. The interior of the car swirled with misery and the stench of blood and garbage, and Aurora didn't realize that her face was still wet not from the lingering rain, but because of the streaming tears.

Doc Slane was just closing up when Aurora screeched to a halt in front of the clinic, blinking in surprise when she leapt out, her voice uncharacteristically choked as she called out to the vet.

"Jenny! Please! Ban's hurt, bad!"

Dr. Slane had the door opened and her last two techs summoned from where they'd been flirting and putting on their coats before Aurora had Ban in her arms. Shadowed over the view of the vehicle was the scene from less than an hour ago – Ban splayed languidly over a green blanket allowing an anxious little girl to awkwardly pet him with gentle forbearance. This time, he lay alone, yet another blanket matted with blood, Bannock unresponsive, but still breathing.

What passed was a blur of gray-green scrubs, beige tile, and white rooms. Aurora stuttered out what she could manage to remember, what little she could articulate. Finally, Ban was taken from her, and Aurora was gently, but firmly nudged from the room. She stumbled back, coming up against the wall across the hallway hard, staring as the door was shut and she was left in the quiet of a deserted vet office.

Finally, the shaking overtook her, and Aurora slid to the floor, crouched and quietly keening. Dropping her head to her knees, she wrapped her arms around her head, curled into a ball of despair. Not her boy. Please, please, not her boy.

She didn't know how long she cowered there, but eventually there was a touch on her shoulder. Looking up, Aurora gulped at the sight of Chandler, who said nothing but simply wrapped her in a huge, deep hug. When she finally drew back, the senator was insistent – he urged Aurora to her feet, guiding her to the nearby trio of stark, vaguely uncomfortable chairs. When she resisted, he promised that they would stay within sight of the door. Eventually, he got her sitting down, a paper cup of water in her still-bloody hands.

It took a while for her to settle enough to allow Chandler a chance to explain. Andy, one of the techs, had taken a moment to get in contact with the clinic. Kendra had been with a patient, so Chandler had left his wife a note, then left as fast as he could.

Just having her friend there allowed Aurora to finally breathe, to reach inside where the emotions writhed and exert some control, achieve some balance. After exacting the most solemn of vows that Chandler would get her if there was so much as a whisper from the vet or the techs, she went to wash her hands, wincing at the rusty film on her skin and sparing a minute braced against the sink, weeping with silent bitterness. Quickly, though, she straightened, splashing her face and making her way back to the chairs where Chandler sat quietly speaking to his wife on the phone.

He hung up, sparing expression of Kendra's concern for later as Aurora sat again. Chandler just stroked a hand over her disheveled hair, then loosely circled Aurora's wrist with his fingers, a touch among the trio rooted in affection, concern, and stability. She shivered, swallowed, then finally allowed herself to relax, just a fraction.

Aurora never thought to look at her watch – she had no idea how much time had passed before Dr. Slane emerged from the exam room. The only thing Aurora could key into regarding the outside world at the moment was that the rain had stopped. Otherwise, she had shot to her feet and charged towards the door, only the tranquil yet tired expression on the vet's face bringing Aurora to a halt at her outstretched hands, instead of darting around. She knew that expression, just as well as she knew the other side of its coin; she'd seen it before, when Kendra lost a patient.

"He's alright, Aurora. Ban's going to be OK."

It was all she could do to keep her feet, to not collapse as every muscle tightly clenched with bone-deep fear went loose. Chandler's arm slung over her shoulder halted her sway, the warm, heavy weight clearing the cottony blank of her brain enough for Aurora to reengage, to start asking the important questions.

The wound was indeed a bite, tearing through skin and multiple layers of muscle on the right side of Ban's neck. It had nicked several large blood vessels, but luckily avoided the major arteries. Still, if Aurora hadn't acted as quickly as she had, Ban could have very easily bled to death.

Finally, Aurora was allowed in to see Ban – he'd been moved to one of the large recovery crates, his neck heavily bandaged, a ridiculously large cone on his head, and an IV drip feeding into a vein above his paw. He seemed asleep, Aurora stupidly relieved and gratified at the steady rise and fall of his giant ribcage. The techs said nothing when she opened the cage door and all but folded herself halfway into it, carefully stroking a fingertip over Ban's brows. Drowsily, he opened his eyes, his tail beating out two lethargic thumps at the sight of his mama. He sighed, then closed his eyes again.

As if she'd been recharged, that tiny exchange brought back the Aurora they all knew. She stood, all business, all brain, and a beat ahead over everyone else. She began coordinating bringing Ban home with Chandler, talking to Dr. Slane about the antibiotics and pain medications he would need to take and how for long, thanking the techs profusely and offering a favor from her, any at all, for helping save her dog. She nearly cracked again when Shelby handed her Ban's damp nylon collar, washed clean of the blood that had soaked it black, the tags a cheerful jingle in the air. Ban's ears flickered at the sound, and Aurora again bore down, coming back stronger than ever.

It was a long process, and although she could have done it alone, Aurora was deeply grateful that Chandler was there to help get Ban home. Dr. Slane wouldn't usually release such a tragically injured dog so soon, but knowing where he was going and who with, she had no hesitation sending Bannock home that night. A phone call to the clinic had brought Kendra up to speed and had her assembling the difference of Ban's meds that the vet didn't have on hand. For a moment, Aurora had to lean against the wall, a whispered exchange between the two women acknowledging the terrible, tragic potential of the situation, and just how narrowly it had been avoided.

They knew, with deadly accuracy, what that kind of loss felt like, and how close they had come to feeling it again. Aurora and Kendra were also piercingly aware that Bannock had been very, very lucky. They knew just how fragile he was, and just how easy it would have been to lose him entirely.

But her tribe had circled close around its vulnerable member, and heads of state didn't receive the kind of care, concern, and control of circumstance that Ban did for his return home.

Energized by tackling the countless steps to ensure her dog's health and comfort, Aurora worked ceaselessly; getting him settled in, checking his bandages, quietly celebrating the immense victory of Ban voluntarily drinking. He took his meds like a veteran, and she stayed sitting by his extravagantly cushioned bed long after he'd gone back to sleep.

Later, Kendra and Chandler came by, checking in on Ban and assuring Aurora that they'd unloaded the errands. Unfortunately, the ice cream wasn't salvageable, but after their near miss this evening, it was an acceptable loss. Six hours after the incident, and the household finally began to settle, the incredible tension that had gripped the family loosening its hold, just a fraction.

Still, Aurora felt as if her eyes had been glued open, staring at Ban until they began to ache. She felt restless and useless, snippets of the evening flashing through her brain, distorted until it made her skull pound. Even though she begged for it, used several of the tricks she employed to calm herself down, sleep was elusive as a phantom. Finally, at a loss for anything constructive to do, Aurora stood creakily, making her way back to the bathroom. Folding down onto the floor, staring at the patch made black by the moonlight, Aurora sorted through some tools, then began to sand it down.

Her shoulder had just started to ache when she cued into the sound of claws on the floor over the rasp of the sandpaper. Glancing over in alarm, Aurora was unwillingly charmed by the sight of Ban standing in the doorway, the enormous satellite dish of a cone gone ivory, his head low and his tail slowly swinging back and forth. She wanted to herd him back to his bed, settle him down again like she would a patient in the clinic.

But instead Ban crept into the bathroom, circling with steps made awkward and stilted by pain. Finally, he committed and flopped down, against resting his head on his mama's knees, heaving a huge sigh as she adjusted both of them to make it at least vaguely comfortable before he again fell seamlessly asleep. Aurora stared at the top of Ban's head for a very long time, the moonlight slanting in through the window she'd opened only that morning to fall on his head like a benediction. Eventually, she began to paint over the sanded patch. And as she painted, she was forced to think.

The loss of Ban could have shattered her, revealing just how easily she could break along those fault lines. The inevitable next step of logic was that she would someday see the announcement of the death of Zero in the news. What would she do then? Because tonight had illustrated nothing more than the devastation that kind of loss could wreak, the savage price exacted for love.

She could have survived without Ban; she had to survive without Suzaku. Either way, it tore her heart to bleeding shreds.

Hannibal, it's been six months to the day, and I still desperately wish I could have been there to save you like Aurora could save Ban. I made you a promise you didn't let me keep, and I'll never forgive myself or the fates for robbing us of that. Sleep sweet with your big brother Tango, and be patient – I'll see you again when the horizons change.

Chapter Text

The fate of the clock was still undecided.

On the way back to his office, hauling four sets of files and ledgers that needed his seal of approval, Suzaku knew he should be focused on the monstrous workload that dogged him. Even barring that, there were other, more pressing problems haunting his steps. Nunnally had successfully sealed the trade deal she’d been haggling over when Aurora came to visit, but now reports of violence burgeoning on the eastern edges of the EU were setting the world on edge, local leaders scrambling to silence the discord before the attention of heavier powers were drawn in tightly enough to intervene.

Still, though. Suzaku found his attention unwieldy and undisciplined, traits that would have earned him the strictest of punishments from any one of the teachers who irrevocably molded him over the years. It embarrassed him that he wasn’t concentrating on the more pressing details of his myriad responsibilities, not to the brutal standard he held himself to. But every time Suzaku tried to find some sort of administrative rhythm to tackle the mountain that always awaited him, that damn clock distracted him again.

His feelings towards the ornament contained considerably less vitriol than they had nearly a week ago, but still. Didn’t mean he wanted the thing. Did he hate it enough to banish, even kill it? And why exactly was he so tangled up over something that, if he was to be candid, wasn’t even Suzaku’s to begin with? Then again, the clock was the safest of his distractions – allowing his mind to wander farther afield didn’t even bear examination.

He opened his office door with not inconsiderable reluctance, narrowing his eyes at that silly little silver box as if waiting for it to spring at him with a snarl. But it sat passive, studiously ticking away, and Suzaku’s eyes slid to something on his desk that had not been there when he’d left. A flush of awareness prickled over him, and he stalked closer, immediately put on alert by something happening in his domain without his permission or control. Perhaps that’s what irked Suzaku so much about the clock, a part of his brain pondered, even as he cautiously rounded his desk, moving abruptly faster when he caught sight of the note paper-clipped to a document folder thick as a brick.

Still working on our main objective. However, I remembered that you asked for this when you first returned. It’s all I’ve got, and should make for an entertaining read. Happy hunting, if you’re so inclined. She would certainly be a worthy target. Shame all the signs point to her being dead. If you’re not the superstitious sort.

-Havens  

Unwinding the cord that bound the thick folder shut, Suzaku extracted its contents, a dense sheaf of pictures, documents, news clippings, and social media screenshots. Slowly spreading them over his desk, it became very apparent, very quickly that Havens had provided Suzaku with an oblique, yet extensive, documentation of the career of one Rory Seven. Picking up one of the news clippings, a society article detailing a ball held by Duke Leveras some five years ago, he peered at the grainy, black and white photograph. She was just another face in a glittering crowd, but Suzaku would have recognized that curve of the jaw and that sweep of the cheekbone anywhere – Aurora stood to the side, stunning in a tight-fitting ballgown, her hair in a severe, yet elegant gather atop her head, a ruby choker three fingers wide sparkling around her throat.

Somehow, she managed to look both older and younger than the version he’d come to know so well; since he was familiar with Aurora as an adult, Suzaku could make out the hints of her adolescence on her face and frame in the picture. But there was something in the eyes. They betrayed the calculating sweep of a raptor watching the watering hole, ready and waiting for the first splatter of blood to leap into action. This was an Aurora who had been made jaded and, since it was an expression he recognized instantly as one that he often saw in the mirror, haunted.

The photograph was taken, no doubt, after the death of George Hampden. Nothing, he knew, carved up a person’s heart like loss, and, masked though it may have been, Suzaku could see it in her. Had she met her doomed Russian lover yet? Had she’d fallen under the spell of a life lived in duality, of greedily grabbing what you could with both hands even as your mission and duty demanded you let it go, then viciously ripped it away regardless? Suzaku silently shook his head at the small, hissing curl of jealousy that flamed within, letting it just as quickly die in a cold, dark vacuum. It was replaced by an aching empathy he could rarely afford to indulge; Nikolai may have been a criminal, but he’d been important to Aurora, had found a place within her countless layers of armor. And her greater cause had claimed her relationship with him, much as Suzaku’s greater cause had claimed all that made him human and good.

His curiosity unabated, Suzaku set down the clipping, then began to work his way through the reams of paper. A small bump caught his attention, and Suzaku unearthed a flash drive. Setting that aside for later, he dived into the pictures.

Some were the jittery, poorly focused shots captured by a phone. Others were clearly done by someone used to stalking elusive targets, and capturing them clearly on film. Either way, here Suzaku found a disjointed chronicle of approximately eight years of Aurora’s life. In one, Aurora sat at the table of a run-down diner, munching lazily on a French fry while she listened to the man across from her as he gestured effusively. He was, if Suzaku were to hazard a guess, George Hampden, speaking to his apprentice who couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old in this shot.

Whatever image he’d conjured in his head when Aurora had spoken of him, he’d never pictured the man this… homely. The closest thing Aurora had to a father was no taller than her, even at a younger age, with red hair that gleamed like a fox’s pelt and a luxurious mustache. His ears and nose were a little large, his eyes, which gleamed like a terrier’s, a little small. But there was an energy, a vibrancy, about him that was magnetic; something, absolutely, that he’d bequeathed to his pupil.

He knew Aurora had loved George with whatever she could manage for a father figure; Suzaku couldn’t help but wonder if the sentiment had been returned. Had George seen the little blond urchin he groomed into a shark of the pearliest waters as something of a daughter?

Another picture captured them together again, this time at what appeared to be a polo match. Aurora sat in a lovely sundress of the palest pastel pink, her navy blazer echoing the satin ribbon that tamed her waving fall of umber hair back. George stood behind her, smart and dapper in a cream linen suit, hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Aurora was just beginning to look back at him from whatever action had occupied her on the field, but the look on George’s face was apparent, unwatched as he’d thought he was. He’d cared for Aurora, allowing an expression Suzaku had never seen on his own father’s face to manifest before Aurora could see it.

But not all of it had been elegant dinner parties and loving interactions with George.

Finally, he sat in his desk chair, and Suzaku took a moment to remove his mask and set it aside, wanting to be certain of exactly what he saw. Because when he loaded the flash drive and opened a folder at random, he found reams of police reports. Nothing so official as an arrest record, of course; Aurora had never been so careless as to get caught.

But the details regarding the break-in at a security firm, where one hundred seventy-four terabytes of sensitive client data had been spirited away, were linked to the society write-up of a soiree that had counted Rory Seven amongst its attendants. And while her presence was noted both before and after the break-in, handwritten notes in the margins of the scanned report confirmed that no one could account for her whereabouts during the time of the theft. However, further investigation had met a resounding brick wall, and dissolved entirely when two days later, a newspaper article detailed how the chief of police at the time was forced to resign amidst a cloud of scandal when proof of his soliciting paid sex from a male minor came to light. The security firm targeted had also quickly folded, the one-two punch of the break-in and the revelation that they’d been hiding the chief’s sordid affairs impossible to recover from.

Aurora had worn a sparkling sheath of emerald green that night, and, peering at photos taken during the latter half of the event, Suzaku thought he could make out the mar of a bruise running from knee to hip on her left leg, revealed by the high slit of the dress’s skirt as she descended a marble staircase when he zoomed in. Something, he knew, one might garner while dodging high-class security systems. Something about the pictures snagged at the fabric of his memories, and it took a moment for Suzaku to puzzle out what it was. The flaming drip of diamonds around Aurora’s throat was familiar – it was the same necklace she’d apparently dug out of some secreted spot and worn to meet her half-sister who, a decade after their parting, wore a crown and wielded the scepter of an empire.

It was strange, Suzaku reflected as he continued to scroll through pages detailing the search for a missing witness after a deadly shoot-out, and the collapse of a powerful stocks trading company following the suspicious death of a whistleblower. To see the fragments of the Aurora he knew in these pages, and so many that he couldn’t begin to recognize. To be fair, though, how many people would be able to reconcile the person he’d been before Lelouch, or even during Lelouch, to the man he was now? It seemed like each new artifact he discovered pointed to some small dividing line in Aurora’s life, building to the massive ones that had sundered everything into Before and After.

The small beep from his comm link dragged Suzaku’s attention away from the gripping details of Aurora’s career, and he glanced at the clock on his desk with a wince. He was meant to be meeting with Nunnally in the Silver Parlor right now to discuss details regarding humanitarian relief needed by the recently hurricane-ravaged counties to the southeast.

Removing the flash drive and enabling the short-term memory wipe on his computer, Suzaku gathered up all the photos and documents, tucking them back into the folder and storing them in the small safe secreted in the bottom right drawer of his desk. It housed the more sensitive documents that lived in Suzaku’s office, and since the moorings of the desk were rooted in the concrete of the floor, the only way to extract them was to use explosives – unwise when trying to remove paper.

One photo, though, slightly askance from the rest, small and a little tattered, fluttered free, and as he scrambled to tuck the massive folder into the safe and gather up the documents he needed for his meeting with Nunnally, Suzaku blindly reached for the rogue picture. Once everything was secured, he stood, reaching for his mask as he glanced at the photograph. The image, though, had him freezing, a fist closing over his heart with a single, brutal clench.

It was innocent and simple enough; Aurora had her hand hooked high around a flag pole, leaning away from it at a jaunty angle, balanced on one black pump, the other tucked back. Her free hand rested on her hip, and she beamed a laughing smile at something that caught her attention to the right. It was a pose full of sass and fun, and just a little freedom. Her hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it, ending in smooth, polished waves at her shoulders, not a strand loose or out of place. The mid-length checkered skirt and snappy black blouse she wore paired with a dashing ascot in bold red that matched the paint on her lips and a thick black belt were clothes from another time – how and why she came to wear an outfit that, while flattering and stylish, was patently something from sixty years ago, Suzaku could only begin to guess. Although, if he remembered correctly, she’d favored that style even in Ireland. When Aurora forewent the casual, she leaned heavily into vintage territory.

And while he’d seen her beautiful, lethal, bright, powerful, young, and gentle in all these pictures, this was the only photo in the entire monstrous dossier that showed Aurora happy. Moving on an impulse he didn’t dare examine, Suzaku tucked the picture into his left breast pocket, resolving to secret it away with the trio Chandler had gifted him with during the Andrews’s last visit. It was so little and innocuous, he doubted Havens would notice, or mind if he did.

Still blindly blinking his way around the aftershocks of the picture he could see in his mind’s eye, Suzaku was careless when he replaced his mask. As it slid shut around his skull, it snagged hair at the base of his head, a wicked pinch that had Suzaku quietly cursing even as his eyes watered, hurriedly reaching up to dislodge the hair with the least possible damage. Aurora had cut his hair not dissimilarly to how he’d worn it during his school days; it was only now that he remembered the way he’d hacked it off not long after he first started wearing the mask on a regular basis, the longer strands at the bottom catching in the panels often. From then on, his hair was simply a nuisance to be tamed, with zero regard to looks or style. When it grew long enough to become annoying, he took unskilled scissors to it, resulting in an appearance that did little to diminish the suspicion that he was insane. That was, of course, until Aurora – his nerves at her insistence on a haircut had been more reflexive than anything else. After all, she couldn’t do much worse than he’d done himself, and, in fact, far exceeded Suzaku’s expectations. He’d have to do something about it now, but couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy her good work with his own clumsy corrections.

There was, however, someone he could trust to see to his hair without sheering him like a poorly behaved sheep. As he left his office, Suzaku made a note to visit the labs in the southern quarter of the city; he needed to pay Cecile a visit.

Night had fallen into a thick blanket of fog, muffling the sound of the city into a suggestion of itself. Exhausted, sore, and entertaining serious fantasies about the newly washed sheets on her bed after an exceedingly long day caring for her wounded dog, Aurora was just heaving a trash bag into the dumpster when a slip of shadow sent a frisson of instinct down her spine. Without questioning it, she recoiled and tensed, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. It was only a moment, though, before she recognized the figure and reluctantly relaxed.

“You’re lucky I don’t have a gun on me,” she drawled, noting that her ex looked frustratingly well. She wasn’t above such pettiness, she could freely admit. Durai Kapoor shrugged, lean and rugged in a battered bomber jacket and military cargos.

“I’m surprised, you usually do.”

Aurora swung her tail of hair over a shoulder, his pleasant voice and handsome accent irritating her on principle.

“Not to take out the garbage. What do you want, Durai?” She wasn’t exactly keen on encouraging further conversation, hence why her manners were this side of foul.

He stepped closer, muted light shifting over high, broad cheekbones and russet skin. His ink black hair was shorter than she remembered, something more akin to his current clothing. It was his expression, though, that was the biggest change of all. It was startlingly serious, nearly pleading.

“I wanted to talk to you. Maybe we could go out for drinks?”

Unprecedented changes in her second lover aside, Aurora had become immune to Durai’s version of negotiation a long time ago.

“You know I don’t drink. And we have nothing left to talk about.” If her tone was any flatter, it would have been concave. But before Aurora could so much as shift her feet to return home, Durai stepped even closer, a sense of urgency now in those dark brown eyes.

“You owe me that much.”

She should have turned on her heel and stalked away then and there. But insult reared its head at the sheer audacity, arching brows gone flat with remembered bitterness, lending a gleam of eye teeth to her rejoinder.

“Trust me, Durai. If there’s a debt left between us, it’s because you owe me for putting up with your egotistical bullshit."

Durai wilted a little at that, his voice going quiet as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“It’s important, Aura. Please.”

Aurora paused for a moment, calling herself variations of “sentimental idiot” in several different languages in her head. After all, it was just a goddamn nickname. And it didn’t matter in the long run that the bastard had hardly ever uttered the word “please” in the entirety of their stormy relationship. So it shouldn’t matter that he said it now.

Eventually, though, she strode to the back door of the clinic, cracked open the back door, and yelled out a sentence before slamming it shut and trotting back.