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.

Yay! Vague, super faint sexy time! I like how this one turned out to be a three act chapter, which wasn't intentional from the get-go and just sort of happened. Suzaku as a grump is surprisingly fun to write. Don't ask me why – cuz I'm crazy.

A lot of my work with Aurora is turning into a description of her circling thought process. I like putting us with her as she tries to figure all this out. As fans, we obviously know the answers, but I dig really making the audience reach like she does for the some of the big picture stuff. This is also a time when she acts as the audience conduit, much like Ariadne in Inception.

Have I mentioned I love dream sequences? Well, I do. Pretty much anything goes, and I try to straddle that traditional dream element – symbolic – foreshadowing – crazy dream details that make no sense line. Considering I'm toying with an original about dreams (that I got the idea from while dreaming; weird right?), I'm trying to really get a sense of the rhythm and dynamics of dreams since I very rarely remember mine. Such a rip-off.

If it isn't clear, Aurora's dress in the dream is basically an Ancient Grecian gown. I didn't want to say as much, so I tried to convey that with as little detail as possible. Because he's a guy, and how many guys pay that much attention to clothes unless there's a lack of them?

I realized that I haven't clarified this from my previous comments – I finished CG. About time, right? Except I did it back in September. The fact that I finished it only days before I put my horse down – super mega dumb on my part. What can I say? I'm not always the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to my own mental health. It was amazing, which is why I'm still writing this fic.

It also only serves to remind me that I don't have Internet at home right now, and is dead. /3 There goes a fraction of my life into the ether. Freakin' sucks when that happens. Anyway, the fact that this chapter happened at all really surprises me. I'm not in a very motivated place when it comes to writing right now. Just the nature of the beast, I suppose.

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango