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.

Short chapter. Fit with the tone, since I don't want to weigh down the pace too much with a bunch of medical descriptions. There will be a ton in this story as it is; I'll try my best not to overdo it. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and thank you so much for reading!

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango