Excursions became a daily routine for Suzaku and Aurora. It took several days before they'd fully explored the house to both their satisfactions. Aurora didn't mind Suzaku's enduring curiosity and eagerness to discover the house he was staying in – besides, the more familiar he was with his temporary home, the less likely he would be taken by surprise and get hurt.

However, their easy truce shattered four days after their lunch of salad and histories. Aurora had been trying to head off Suzaku's restlessness as best she could, and had hoped his ongoing weariness would play in her favor. But a lifetime spent training himself far beyond the capacity of his peers was hard to forget, and besides threatening to deep fry his brain, his boredom and protracted recovery turned his temper to magma.

It was just after lunch, and Suzaku was sitting in the parlor in one of the sturdy armchairs flanking a cold fireplace built from local stone. He was idly finishing a picture of Todoh, stately in hakama and utterly forbidding in expression. The natural light almost made the paper glow, and brought a touch of color to cheeks still pale from the ache of healing. After being snarled at once already today, Aurora was carefully quiet as she approached, which for her meant turning all but invisible. She knew Suzaku was tired, grumpy, sore, and impatient, and hadn't decided if she should avoid him or make the best of his current temperment.

Idly leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, Aurora noticed the way he carefully smudged the shading of his old teacher's hair with the tip of his finger, his shoulders still steel cables of tension despite being fully immersed in what should be a reprieve. Eventually, he tipped his face towards the sunlight tumbling into the room and gazed out the window, his expression one of such yearning that Aurora couldn't help but think of the sturdy, beautiful cane she'd found at the back of the closet next to the laundry room. He hadn't been outside since stepping out onto the front porch during their first tour of the house.

In her own head, Aurora could admit that she was afraid on an instinctive level that was completely impervious to logic and reason. When Suzaku was in the house, he was in her domain. Sometimes she went on walks that kept them from tearing each other's throats out – despite their general respect for each other, there was only so much tight space two active, proud, difficult people could stand. Yet even during those outings or when she went to the nearby village for errands, Ban kept a piercingly close eye on him that Aurora had yet to explain. She knew it wasn't fair, but she couldn't shake the worry that he would be even more vulnerable if he were to venture outside. As long as Suzaku was under this roof, inside these walls, she had a chance of helping him. But out there, he could slip away. Physically, mentally, or worse. It was a childish need to defend, one so overwhelmingly strong and foreign, she had no defense against it. The same thought kept creeping up, though: She had to protect the protector.

Deep in thought, Aurora was unaware that she had been tapping her finger against her bicep. In the dense silence of the room, however, the faint noise soon became obvious. Aurora was wrenched from her circling, guilty thoughts when Suzaku twisted in his chair, his narrowed eyes landing inexorably on her. Their brows were matched in their deep furrows, frowning at each other across the room for different reasons. Suzaku's expression was bent by annoyance, bemusement, and pain, Aurora guessed. Plausible enough. Her own face, however? That was a bit of a thorny issue.

What irritated Aurora more than anything was the simple fact that she couldn't sort her feelings into easily defined categories. She'd always appreciated chaos – her old business thrived on it. But it wasn't usually roiling around inside her own head. That had always been a realm of relative organization – the sheer amount of information stored there demanded it.

Smoothing her expression with effort, Aurora cleared her throat before straightening and uncrossing her arms. It wouldn't take much to piss Suzaku off, and an irreverent expression and stance might be the trigger. Aurora wasn't afraid of his temper. But she worried that it would rage too hot, too fast. On the rare occasions she gave her anger free rein, it had always been a thoroughly exhausting physical experience. Even sitting still, the sheer fatigue could be magnificent. But Suzaku simply wasn't in good enough condition to withstand that sort of storm, not fully. And God forbid he turn the manifestation of his anger on himself.

"Mind if I sit down?" she finally asked. Suzaku simply gazed at her silently. She couldn't read his expression – was he contemplating something, reaching for that incredible discipline, or was he sullen enough to actually be that much of an ass? Finally, his good shoulder jerked in his version of a shrug as he straightened. Making her way to the couch, Aurora plopped down carelessly, tucking up her legs and resting her elbow on the arm. Propping her temple on her fist, she watched him silently. Instead of returning her gaze, Suzaku dropped his eyes back to his notebook. After making a few tiny, pointless corrections, his fingers and wrists flexed in a manner that betrayed his irritation and discomfiture. Finally, he slapped his pencil down the metal spiral binding and lifted his eyes to hers, his green rises sparking with gold bursts of temper.

"What?" he snapped, soft color making its ways back into his cheeks. A shame that he was grumpy; cranky Suzaku was quite pretty. Aurora knew, though, how thoroughly full rage could contort and corrupt his beautifully sculpted features.

She blinked before quietly asking, "You OK?"

"Do I look OK?" Suzaku snarled immediately, pointing towards his left shoulder, still thick with bandages and framed by the navy blue sling cradling his arm that was now all but ubiquitous in his life. This time, Aurora didn't have to work to reign in her temper; it didn't even flare at his goading expression. Really, his irritation was completely understandable. If they were going to survive in this house together for any length of time, this had to be a moment of cleansing and compromise. Despite the sick churning whipping through her stomach from fear, Aurora continued.

"What wrong?" she asked in the same quiet, neutral tone she'd used before.

"What… Are you joking?" Suzaku bellowed as he took to his feet with ungainly gracelessness, slapping his notebook down on the floor with enough force to send the pencil shooting under the couch like a missile. "I'm in so much goddamn pain my eyes are about to cross, I'm bored out of my skull, and if I don't get out of this house right now, I'm going to tear the fucking place down!"

Aurora didn't move an inch during his tirade, watching the way he clumsily paced around the room, gesturing wildly with his free hand and occasionally speaking through his teeth in sheer frustration. He was still off balance and weak, but he swayed less that he usually did.

Aurora said nothing, and apparently Suzaku took her silence as an invitation to continue raging. Then again, it seemed that he had a lot to get off his chest, so even if Aurora had responded, she might not have been able to stop the freight train of his temper.

"I'm tired of being treated like a prisoner, of having every single second be a constant reminder of why I'm here and why I hurt so much! It makes me want to claw my eyes out," he growled into the palm pressed against his face, the violence of his tone especially worrying since his threat was aimed at himself. Moving his hand up, Suzaku pressed the tips of his fingers hard against his forehead, his eyes screwed shut. "I can't stop thinking about how badly I've failed Nunnally. I promised Lelouch. I promised him that I would take care of his sister, his legacy. I killed him for that promise. And instead, I was careless, got my idiot self shot, and have to sit around here, scratching crap in an old notebook to keep from bashing my head against the wall."

She wanted to touch him then, just a comforting brush of her hand over the iron of his shoulders. But she knew better, and did nothing at all.

"But who am I kidding?" Suzaku sneered, dropping his hand, opening his eyes into a narrowed glare, and making his unsteady way to the window. "Junk toodled into a notebook doesn't earn me worth or peace, especially since I don't deserve it. I'm just an animal who can only survive in the cage of its own making. Anywhere else, and I go crazy."

The words could have been miserable – the connotation was there. But they dripped thickly with crimson anger and black self-loathing, and Aurora could physically feel her heart aching beneath her ribs. But still, she said nothing.

"But it still feels like I'm in a cage. I can't go outside, I can't go up or down the stairs, I can't move without your permission and I need help like I'm some kind of invalid who would be better off being put out of my misery like a sick dog. Intellectually, I understand why you have to do it. But I can't help feeling like any second, my skull's just going to split apart from being so damn angry! It's like I'm suffocating," he murmured with venom before dropping his forehead to the glass of the window. It landed with an almost comical thunk, but still, Aurora held her tongue, waiting.

For a while, the only sound was the clock ticking in the hallway. Ban had long ago retreated up to Suzaku's bed – he wanted no part of this tense exchange, and had been a little wary of Suzaku all morning. Aurora couldn't blame Ban; he was proving cleverer than her. Eventually, Suzaku sighed and straightened as best he could, limping back to the chair he'd occupied and dropping awkwardly down onto the cushion, grimacing in pain as he struggled to get even the slightest bit comfortable. She waited a few second before straightening, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward to prop her elbows on her knees. Finally, she spoke.

"Feel better?" The words could have been smug; they usually were. But really, Aurora just felt sad.

"Not really," Suzaku murmured as he rubbed his fingers in a circle at his temple. She could only imagine that his headache, which he'd told her never really faded, was now blinding. Taking heart in his tone – more tired than petulant – Aurora stood and left the parlor for the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water and three ibuprofen tablets in her palm. Handing her offering to Suzaku, who accepted reluctantly, without words, Aurora took a seat on the couch again, waiting for him to sip the water and swallow the pills with a backwards jerk of his head before continuing.

"I get why you're pissed. No, I do," she said, raising her hand to halt the protest he was already opening his mouth to make, his brows furrowed in angry disbelief. "And I know you can control what you think, but not always what you feel. Honestly, I'm not surprised by what you said, and I'm not particularly insulted, either. If that was your aim, you'll have to rethink your strategy."

His expression didn't even crack into a hint of a smile to match her small one. O… kay. Taking a breath, Aurora rallied.

"I know you're bored, and, trust me, no one understands boredom quite like I do. But I also hope you understand that I can't just let you wander around free as you please. I don't want to scare you, but if you reinjure anything in your shoulder, or, even worse, your arm, you could easily double your recovery time, and severely compromise your ability to ever fully recover at all."

He shrugged like he didn't care, but just before Suzaku glanced away, Aurora saw it in his eyes. The flicker of fear.

"Aurora, I can't stay in this house another hour. I can't stand it." He was still furious, his tone still saturated with rage. But Aurora looked for, and found, something else. Pleading. A desperation she couldn't bring herself to ignore. Sighing, she dropped her head, carding her fingers through her hair as she swallowed instincts that screamed against reason. Compromise, she reminded herself. She hoped for a lot of give from Suzaku. It was only fair that she bend a little too. Schooling her face, Aurora straightened.

"OK. Here's my idea. You can go outside for five minutes today. Considering how you're doing, we'll think about increasing the time as you improve. If I'm not with you, Ban's with you. No negotiations on that point. And you'll always use this until Kendra clears you otherwise." Standing, Aurora went to the laundry room to retrieve the walking stick that providence seemed to have shoved under her nose. Returning, she leaned it against the arm of his chair before she sat again. He trailed his hand over the carved head hesitantly, clearly unhappy with the physical representation of his weakness. Then Suzaku sighed and his brow smoothed slightly, probably remembering that it had been his idea in the first place.

"Five minutes? Really?" he said instead, arching a brow at the childishly small time she was granting him. Aurora's gut jerked at the idea of him being alone outside at all, but she squashed it ruthlessly.

"Until I'm certain you can handle more. If you set out on an hour long trek today, and you get tired or, heaven forbid, hurt, I'd rather have to drag you back for only five minutes instead of an hour. I'm lazy like that," she said with a self-deprecating smile and a sparkle of humor, fighting to hide her fear. Still no response in kind. Damn, she'd really thought they'd made some progress these last few days.

Suzaku struggled to his feet, testing the cane and leaning his weight onto it carefully. When it held and he didn't crumple in agony, Aurora slowly released a breath she didn't know she was holding and stood as well. He turned towards her, and the forbidding glint of anger was still in his eyes.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather Ban join me on this first walk."

"Of course," Aurora instantly agreed, whistling through her teeth, the call immediately answered by a thud over their heads and a cascade of thunder down the stairs. As Ban trotted into the room, Aurora smiled and tried to breathe around the ball of hurt lodged in her chest as Suzaku greeted the dog with the finger he could spare from his grip on the cane, a smile finally peaking through his mask. Suzaku had agreed to her proposal, and she could understand why he didn't want to be around her at the moment, but neither of those facts dissipated the wound his choice had dealt. Was being here with her really so repulsive that he'd rather spend time with her dog?

Aurora thought to remind him of his time limit, but knew that Suzaku would merely snap at her. She considered helping him open the front door, a struggle he was unaccustomed to, especially with a cane in his hand. But she knew that a man's pride could only take so much injury, and his was still bloody from circumstances neither of them could control. As the door creaked shut and she could faintly hear his careful steps as he navigated the short stairs of the porch, Aurora dropped back down onto the couch. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes and tried to swallow the burn. For a moment, she allowed the self-pity to swell, wallowing in the conundrum of being the caretaker of an unwilling patient.

Then, with a force of spirit that had seen the birth, death, and rebirth of her world, Aurora stood, and shoved the hurt aside. Suzaku was a grumpy ass who was taking out a slew of emotional problems on her. She couldn't really blame him, and she was a complete wimp if she took it so damn personally. Striding towards the stairs, Aurora attacked the mess in her room with the vengeance of a Valkyrie, keeping a careful eye on the clock. She'd asked him for five minutes; she already knew that she'd give him ten.

Suzaku's guilt surged before he'd even stepped off the porch. That first deep breath of warm, sweet air had all but eradicated his anger, leaving a gaping hole for accusation to fill. He hated himself for how he'd spoken to Aurora. While he'd raged and cursed and whined, part of him had sat back, slack-jawed and horrified at his own behavior, but with zero control to correct, or even stop it. Yet Aurora had said nothing. She'd sat still a stone, her temple propped on her fist, her eyes the only part of her moving as she'd watched him rattle around the parlor like a crazed marble.

And then she'd offered him exactly what he'd wanted, what he needed. Suzaku still smarted a little from that ridiculous five minute limit, but he understood. And that's what probably smarted the most. After he'd been a complete asshole, Aurora had been considerate, gentle, and fair. How could he stand being around her when she was so collected, so understanding, when he was such a mess, falling apart at the seams so completely, that he could practically visualize his guts littering the floor? It made him feel like a shamble of a human being next to her quiet grace.

His cane skidded for a moment on a patch of wet grass at the north side of the house, and although it was a tiny slip, Suzaku's heart was thumping against his ribs and his pulse bounced against his skin before he even really registered what happened. I'm such a coward, Suzaku thought to himself darkly as he readjusted his grip on the cane. He yearned for death, but feared pain, feared being maimed into ineffectiveness. Even if that was exactly what he had earned. Taking a breath, he glanced down at Ban, who looked at him with the same eyes his mistress had. Not the color, but the intent – patient, warm, and concerned.

"I was a total jerk, wasn't I?"

Ban's tail slowly started to wag, and Suzaku took it as agreement. He sighed, and kept walking, the grass quietly swishing around his ankles, the branches of nearby rowan and oaks swaying softly in a breeze that only had enough strength to just stir his hair. The sky was an unreal blue, puffy clouds with bellies of silver gliding along, their shadows gentle dapples on the land.

He breathed deeply through his nose, and tried valiantly to organize his emotions, get them under control so he could apologize like a normal human being once he got back inside. It had been hard the last few years, but not like this. Every time Suzaku thought he'd pinned something down, something else would slide out of control. Once he'd gotten control of his irritation, depression bloomed. After valiantly wriggling free of that and pushing it back behind the wall he'd erected brick by brick, needle by needle, anger swamped him. It burned hotter and hotter, until he was afraid that if he didn't let this go, didn't let this rage like a wildfire, it would tear him apart. Swallowing it back as if it were a hot rock in his throat, helplessness, and worse, hopelessness, slid in like a fog.

Finally, Suzaku collapsed on a bench next to the herb garden behind the house. He was trembling, his teeth nearly chattering. He gripped the cane like a lifeline, and squeezed his eyes shut against the swirling images of memories that refused to die. How could he last, with this sort of chaos tearing him apart from the inside out? How could he survive when he had no choice but to do exactly that?

Suddenly, he felt a weight on his leg. Rustily opening his eyes, he saw that Ban had dropped his head on Suzaku's thigh, leaning against his lower leg in what was likely his version of a canine hug. Slowly, he set his cane against the bench and stroked his fingers over Ban's fur, his silky ears pricking up slightly before settling back down contentedly. Focusing on the handsome gray dog instead of the mire of his own mind, Suzaku eventually was able to settle back against the bench, breathing in the clean country air with a careful stretch of ribs that hardly complained and closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth sinking into bones he'd thought had long ago gone cold. Without really thinking, he began to murmur to the dog as thoughts drifted through his head.

"The silent observer. That's what you are. Just like Arthur was. You watch the world pull itself apart and put itself back together and all the morons scrabbling and fighting and killing, and you're probably the only ones who make it through the mess intact. Sometimes I think you're the smartest ones of the bunch." But that wasn't really fair, he decided as Ban tilted his head into Suzaku's touch, and he started to scrub his ears the way the dog asked. Aurora had remade herself after losing everything more times than he'd thought possible, and even if she wouldn't tell him the details of those losses, he could tell they were dire. One survivor to another.

And yet, considering all that, she'd gone above and far beyond the call of duty when it came to him. Not just time and attention, but compassion and interest. After suffering the losses that had been stacked against her, logic demanded that Aurora be broken, shattered into pieces that struggled to limp on without the capacity to relate. Like him. But he mattered to her, and Suzaku still had absolutely no idea why. He'd done nothing to deserve it, and in fact, his actions and past should have ensured that he never mattered to anyone ever again.

But Aurora was different. She'd sat on that couch, in that rocker, next to him at the table, and had not just cared for him, but about him. She worried about him, often at the cost of herself. She'd even doubted herself for him, a heavy price from someone of such pride.

And he'd shouted at her. Screamed and bitched and fussed like a lunatic. A cranky child. Groaning, Suzaku pressed his fingers to his eyes before running them through his hair. An apology was the least he owed her, followed by a profuse thank you for finding him the time to dull the sharp edges of his anger. Frankly, it was embarrassing that it had to be done at all, but there was simply no way around it.

Gathering up the cane, he stood, too quickly. Struggling to keep his balance, muscles screaming in protest, Suzaku was startled when Ban leaned against his leg, bolstering him until he could fully straighten. Watching the dog with surprised eyes, Suzaku pondered Ban's instincts as he wandered away to sniff at, then pee on, a large rock. Eventually making his way back to Suzaku's side, who still hadn't moved, he rubbed his head lightly on Suzaku's leg, itching and affectionate, but not hard enough to knock him off balance. Softly, wonderingly, he stroked Ban's head.

"You're just like your mom, huh? Maybe you were related in a past life. Twins, perhaps." Suzaku shook his head as he smiled a little. "You guys are pretty special." He'd have to keep that in mind; the shredded tatters of his honor demanded it.

It was hard work – he was already more tired than he'd gambled on – but Suzaku finally made it to the kitchen door. Hauling himself up the steps and into the kitchen, he toed off his shoes from old habit and started to the sink, desperately thirsty after his rampage earlier. Ban seemed to have the same idea, trotting in after him just fast enough to avoid his tail catching in the screen door as it banged shut and heading straight for his bowls. The loud slaps of his drinking were quickly overwhelmed, however, by rhythmic stomps down the stairs, heralding Aurora. She strode into the kitchen on mile-long legs, a full hamper in her arms and ear buds firmly shoved in her ears. Suzaku slapped off the water even though his glass was only half full, turning to face her, wishing he had the cane to steady himself ready in his hand, not leaning against the counter behind him.

She was humming, a pleasant, soft melody that she did better justice to then Suzaku would have initially assumed. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, her eyes flicking to the clock on the microwave before she smiled amiably.

"Hey. Let me get this load going real quick." Aurora spoke slightly louder than necessary, no doubt because of the music pumping in her ears. She turned and disappeared into the laundry room. As she pivoted, Suzaku glanced at the clock himself. He'd been gone for eight minutes. Interesting.

It had certainly felt longer than that. Leaning back against the counter as he slowly drained his glass of water, Suzaku tried to formulate what he would say to her. But, distressingly, nothing came to mind that didn't make him sound like a blithering idiot.

He wondered why Aurora hadn't demanded his return sooner. She'd said five minutes. Suzaku didn't have a watch – he never wore a watch anymore – but he'd assumed that when his time was up, she would come hunting for him. Or, more likely, he realized now, she'd whistle and her clever hound would round him up and herd him home like a collie bringing back a lost lamb. But she'd done neither, and had let him return of his own accord.

Maybe she'd lost track of time. Aurora was clearly doing chores – a fact that made him guilty as hell, since he was in no condition to help. As she walked back into the kitchen, winding the tail of the headphones around her mp3 player then tucking it in her back pocket, Suzaku sized her up. She was still in the jeans and green t-shirt she'd worn earlier, her hair now bound in a messy bun that seemed ready to burst from its band. Small silver balls gleamed at her ears, and her toes were painted electric blue. Blushing over the fact that he'd noticed her toes of all things, Suzaku looked away as she joined him next to the sink, washing her hands before reaching into the fridge for a jug of juice.

After pouring a glass, she took a single sip before setting it back down on the counter and busying herself with the task of gathering a few pieces of fruit and slicing them with deft motions of a very sharp knife. Suzaku tried to read her face, tried to gauge if she was angry or sad or annoyed, but none of those emotions manifested. Aurora glanced at him occasionally, her expression open and pleasant, but she still remained silent. Finally, he realized she was waiting for him to talk.

"Aurora, I…"

She paused, looking up from the generous dollop of peanut butter she'd just slapped onto the plate already arranged with sliced apples, bananas, and two pears. Saying nothing, Aurora capped the peanut butter, set it aside and mirrored his pose, leaning back against the counter, her hands gently tucked in her pockets.

"I'm sorry," Suzaku finally managed to choke out, cursing the blush that flamed across his cheekbones. She tilted her head, furrowing her brow.

"For what?" Was she mocking him, torturing him into admitting the full extent of his behavior? He couldn't deny it was just punishment, no matter how badly it stung.

"For how I behaved earlier," he managed to grind out. "It was completely-"

"Normal," she interrupted with a shake of her head. "That was totally normal, Suzaku."

He stared at her in open mouthed shock as she snagged an apple slice, swiped it through the peanut butter, and took a crunching bite.

"What are you… I behaved like a moron!" Suzaku said, almost desperate now for her to understand. She just shrugged.

"Maybe, but, again, considering, it's totally within the realm of acceptable."

"Considering what?" he demanded, unsure why the idea of her absolving him made him so frantic. Aurora stilled as she finished her apple slice, looking at him with intensity.

"Considering the traumas you've suffered, just within the past five years," she said quietly.

"That doesn't excuse me of anything!" Suzaku all but screamed, panting as his ribs seemed to constrict. He didn't know where this panic was rising from, why it was crushing his lungs and creeping up his throat, but he thought dimly that it might finally succeed in killing him. A monster of his own mind. Through the pounding of his heart in his ears and the roaring of blood in his skull, Suzaku could barely make out pressure on his skin. Faint, and soft, against his wrist and cheek. Focusing on it, grabbing onto it like a drowning man snagged a rope, Suzaku used it to tamp down the panic, to give himself incentive to drag in oxygen. Finally, his vision cleared, and he could see Aurora, standing in front of him, only inches away, her eyes sharp as scalpels and her mouth soft with worry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't accept your apology. That was rude of me. I simply felt it wasn't necessary, but that doesn't excuse my behavior."

His breath heaving like he'd run a mile, all Suzaku could do was nod. Aurora slowly dropped her hand from his face, the brush of skin against skin sending a shock down Suzaku's spine that made his eyes widen and his breath stutter. Slowly, Aurora stepped back, tugging his wrist slightly to encourage Suzaku to follow her.

"Come on, let's sit down." It was only once he straightened away from the counter that Suzaku realized his knees were shaking. Once he was seated, she returned for the plate and their glasses, setting the array on the table before sitting herself. Aurora's hand rested on the table, as if reaching out to him, but restraining from touching him. He shocked himself by almost wishing she would.

"Let me explain why I wasn't upset about what happened a little bit ago. I have some idea what it's like to recover from trauma, and I know it isn't an easy road. I may seem to have my shit together now, but four ago, I was a train wreck. Kendra and Chandler, bless them, had to deal with a lot of flak while I figured out how to put myself back together. It was abominably hard, and would have been completely impossible without them." She sighed, and Ban approached, resting his head on her lap. Stroking him with her other hand, Aurora continued.

"I don't blame you for being angry. I won't lie and say that your choice of Ban didn't hurt me a little, but that's just petty, and we don't need that thrown into this mess. And I won't say that it was easy to watch you. It was hard to see you so angry, but I believe that's what needed to be done. Venting is important, and a little different than acting out."

"What do you mean?" Suzaku couldn't help but ask.

"Acting out is simply that – out-of character behavior in an attempt to gain something. Attention, respect, even punishment. But venting is truth. It can be ugly, it can be careless, and it can hurt like a mother, but it's true, at its core. At least truth about how you feel."

Suzaku was shaking his head before Aurora even finished speaking.

"No. I didn't mean what I said. I was just-"

Aurora held up her hand, smiling a little.

"Yes, you did. And you were right. I was treating you like a prisoner." She sighed, as if she was preparing herself for something. "Honestly, I was afraid. I was worried that if you stepped out those doors, you'd get hurt. I wouldn't be there to stop it, and it would be my fault. Silly, I know, but you can't always control what you feel," she said, shrugging her shoulders as she quoted herself.

"So I'm sorry for that. I was maybe twitchy about some of the other stuff said, but I smoothed my feathers long before you got back. No harm, no foul. What worries me is what you said about yourself." She popped a banana slice in her mouth and chewed, her expression thoughtful before she continued.

"You've got a lot of poison up here, Suzaku," she murmured, leaning forward and ghosting a finger over the skin above his brow, brushing aside his hair, before leaning back. "You keep it in, it's going to kill you. And I am not exaggerating. You have to let the things that hurt you see the light, see the air. That's how you make it real, and that's how you take its power away. We are most afraid of what is unknown, especially when it's in our own heads."

"I don't want you, or anyone, to see it," he whispered. Clearing his throat, Suzaku tried to infuse his voice with even a modicum of strength. "I won't dump my problems on those around me in a stupid attempt to lessen the load. A load I brought upon myself."

Aurora restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but only just. Suzaku could see it.

"That's just silly. People you trust, people who care about you, want you to share the load. That's what it means to care. If someone you care about is struggling, what do you do?"

Suzaku stubbornly remained silent, so she continued.

"You try to help. That's ingrained in you down to the bones, Suzaku, I have no doubt. Well, it's a two way street. You worry the people who care about you when you schlump all this pain around by yourself, letting it break you down from the inside out. It's horrific to see, and even worse to be rendered helpless to stop. As for deserving it, well," she sighed, "that's a discussion for another day."

Suzaku just shook his head, feeling guilty and defensive and countless other things he couldn't name.

"No one cares about me like that. Not anymore," he murmured, thinking of Euphemia and Lelouch. Again, Aurora touched Suzaku's wrist, but this time, her fingers wrapped around him with enough strength to get his full attention. When he looked up at her, she was gazing at him like he was the only thing in the room, the only thing in the country, the only thing in the world.

"I care," she said with complete and utter seriousness.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't think he could say anything at all. Suzaku had known, had even thought about it outside. But the depth of her concern for him went far beyond what he'd estimated, and only served to make him feel more undeserving. Just as he was about to wrench his hand free, she released him, and the tension of the moment was gone.

Ban woofed, low in his throat, and Aurora stood to let him back outside. Suzaku thought that the dog had been too busy babysitting him to do his usual rounds. She refilled his water bowl, giving each of them a moment to compose themselves. When she turned back, Suzaku had finally dragged up something to say.

"Thank you. For the cane," he said, glancing at where it leaned against the counter. Aurora snagged it, twirling it between her fingers like a baton as she brought it over to rest it against the table within his easy reach.

"Consider it yours until you don't need it anymore."

He wanted to protest; he felt like he should. But it wasn't as if she was gifting it to him permanently, and Aurora's face told him that arguing would be pointless. Sitting down again, she edged the plate a little closer to him, plucking up one of the pear halves.

"I will ask that you hold off on tackling the stairs by yourself, though. Call me if you need help."

He nodded, although he wished he wouldn't have to.

Nibbling on an apple slice, Suzaku finally blurted out, "I'm sorry I worry you so much. I just don't know why you care."

It was the truth, and he could see Aurora realize that, as the shock in her eyes faded to sorrow. Clearing her throat, she edged forward slightly.

"Do you know what the hardest thing about taking care of you is, Suzaku?"

He shook his head, not sure he wanted to know the answer, but certain that he should suffer from it.

"The battles. Not against the men who did this to you, not against your injuries, and not against your instinct. It's the battles against your mind. It is tearing your soul apart from the inside out, punishing you far beyond what you deserve, and making your life a living hell. It's trying to save itself, and you won't let it, so your mind has reverted to reptile brain function in order to survive. But the truth is, reacting to what has happened to you at a basic level only increases the damage exponentially. It's a vicious cycle, one exacerbated by the drug use."

He couldn't help but flinch, glancing down to the crook of his arms as the skin seemed to burn before dragging his eyes back up to hers. She stood, and leaned over him, her fingers sliding into the hair under his ear.

"But if I succeed?" she whispered. "It will be the hardest, most rewarding victory I've ever won. I can only hope you'll be willing to help me. I only want to see you healthy." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she walked out of the kitchen, slowly climbing the stairs up to her room. He could hear her moving upstairs, a board creaking occasionally over by the doorway to the hall.

Suzaku sat frozen, dealing with too many thoughts, too many emotions, to pick one to bring under control. Instead, he blindly reached for the cane, heaving himself up and stumping to the parlor. Taking a seat in the same chair as earlier, he reached down for his notebook. It was only once it was in his lap that he realized the pencil was gone. That was alright. He didn't really want to draw anyway. Sitting quietly, his hand curled around the spiral binding, Suzaku gazed out the window. His face was quiet, and his mind reeled.

I love hammer sessions. I started working on this chapter about two weeks ago, and had gotten to the first dialogue exchange before I got pulled away.

But after a couple of amazing discussions with some readers and an awesome exchange with a favorite webcomic author of mine, I got all revved, and busted out the rest of this bad boy yesterday.

I know everyone (including myself) is itching for a full-on fight (or make-out session, whichever happens first) between these two. And it is coming. But this is Aurora's M.O. for dealing with Suzaku's temper, and it's usually more effective than letting her own loose and going at it Mortal Kombat style.

I cannot express how excited I am to finally start presenting some of the theories and ideas that my hours of research have taught me. Although very basic, Aurora's commentary on anger and expression is still true. And her comment on reptile brain/vicious cycle/addiction is absolutely the case a great deal of the time.

This was originally intended to be the first section of a chapter about something completely different. But I saw an opportunity, went for it, and I am enthralled by the results.

Next up, the return of someone we know and the introduction of someone we haven't met!

Oh, and happy belated birthday to Phoenix! It turned a year old in September. Great big gobs of love for those of you still sticking around, waiting to see where I'm going with this mess.

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango