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.
Maybe I'm learning to edit my scenes, or maybe I just don't realize how huge they are when I'm planning them in my head, but this is yet another example of me starting on a chapter and ending before I had initially planned.
Not only was it getting monstrous, but this was a dense piece. Lots of medical talk and back-and-forth. Aurora's pretty absent from this one, which is OK. I don't want to overexpose her.
I embarked on a boat load of research for the medical terms, and even consulted a friend in medical school. Every writer should have a doctor friend. No, I did not make that x-ray machine up. It's exactly like the one they used on my horse's leg before his surgery. I swear it's true.
I'm glad that I get to work with Kendra in this chapter. We haven't seen much of her, and she's an interesting contrast to Aurora. She more Spock, while Aurora's more McCoy. She's turning out to be a much more complicated character than initially designed, which I love. Her backstory was there from Day 1 for her, all the way back to BBGE. Although, looking back, she was much more annoying then, and much meaner now.
I hope Suzaku's sudden confession to her didn't seem too jarring. I'm trying to walk that line of his silence and fragility. I love how she kind of tears into him a little, and I hope it feels genuine that he'd cave after that. Let me know if it doesn't work, but here's hoping.
It's so cool to write stuff I've been planning for weeks. I know that sounds kind of dumb, but I only ever manage to write about 30% of what I plan.
Hope you like it!
Love, Tango