"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.
I have to admit, I feel kind of ridiculous for how long this took. Unfortunately, this coincided with a tough time and a complete creative moratorium. NDK was pivotal in me finally getting my rear in gear and finishing this poor chapter off. It literally sat with less than two pages to go for months. I feel like such a bad author mom.
On other fronts, we finally got to see the rest of the house! Yay! It's a beaut, and I think it'll provide its own sort of character in the coming months. It's not totally my dream house, but it's pretty close.
The final scene was something I've been thinking about for a long time. Aurora's a confident, powerful young woman who is, for lack of a better term, a badass. But she's not a doctor or a psychiatrist, and while her spirit alone can help, all of us are faced with situations that we desperately want to help with, but find ourselves hopelessly out of our depth and outclassed. For someone with such training, that has to be a terrifying thought, especially when it matters like it does with Suzaku.
It also served as showing Suzaku (we've seen a little bit of it already) the fact that she is vulnerable, this is not something she's used to, and she's really afraid of screwing it up. She may not often show it, but Aurora is constantly aware of the repercussions of her actions on Suzaku's life and fragile mental state. Finally, that conversation was the birthplace of the compromise that would have to develop between these two if their relationship is to have any sort of weight to it.
If anyone was hoping for a blow-up or a freak-out from either party, all I have to say is: Give it time.
Hope you like it!
Love, Tango