"I think I should teach you how to drive."
Suzaku slowly looked up from the book he was tentatively reading to see Aurora standing across the hallway from the study, putting away towels she'd washed earlier that day. Giving himself time to recover from the tiny ball of lead his stomach was trying to pack itself into, he straightened from where he lounged on the couch, finding a slip of paper to mark his minimal progress. Ban wiggled his ears and briefly popped his eyes open where he lay on the other end of the sofa, but that was all the more reaction he gave. He'd been sulking all morning, ever since Aurora and Suzaku had left him behind for their daily run. Even hours afterwards, he still barely acknowledged them. At the moment, however, the dog's punishment was the least of Suzaku's problems.
"I'm sorry?" he eventually managed, proud that his voice only sounded slightly strangled.
"You don't know how, right? I could tell by how you were around Natasha." She continued with the towels, neatly returning them to their appropriate spots, her hair messily spilling out of its band in shades of bronze and dark gold. "But if something happens, and for whatever reason I need you to drive, I don't want it to be some drama that ends up making the situation worse because you've never sat behind the wheel before."
That made a certain sort of sense, Suzaku grudgingly agreed, even as his mouth dried to sandpaper. But he didn't like to even consider a scenario that would make it impossible for Aurora to drive. That was a little too dire to imagine.
"Besides," she continued in a slightly gentler voice, leaning against the door jamb of the study with her arms crossed once her chore was completed. "Kendra said that you're probably feeling a lack of control right now, what with your recovery from the injuries and addiction. Even though you're doing a beautiful job not compensating, that has to be frustrating. So here's a chance to regain a little control. Nothing like being the master of your fate and all that."
Oh, if only, Suzaku thought privately, and bitterly. Destiny had long ago wrenched away any sort of control he might have had over his life. And the second part of that quote? The captain of his soul? It was easier to forget here, with her, but not too long ago, Suzaku had dully, almost daily, wondered if he had a soul at all anymore.
But she had a point. Past tantrums aside, bowing to her as his caretaker was starting to wear on him. Which was bloody inconvenient, as neither Kendra nor Aurora had made it any secret how long he was to be like this. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would get him over his ridiculous skittishness around something that was ubiquitous. There was just one thing, though.
"You want me to learn to drive Natasha?" Suzaku asked through a tight throat. It would be like wrestling with a dragon. Bare-handed and buck-naked. But he had to give Aurora credit – she didn't laugh right to his face. There were slight twitches in her expression, mostly around her brows and mouth, and her eyes were utterly unreadable, certainly nothing that could be defined as an emotion. Finally, she answered.
"Do you want to learn to drive Natasha?"
Slowly, Suzaku shook his head, wide-eyed, because the thought was frankly terrifying.
"Good, because I was planning on teaching you with the rental car." Now that she mentioned it, he vaguely recalled the white sedan he'd seen parked out by the garage that housed the very pampered Natasha, a serviceable, largely forgettable vehicle. It wasn't glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but as a vehicle to learn on went, it couldn't be all that bad.
Aurora was struggling to keep a straight face, and thought she was succeeding nicely. She'd been twelve when she'd first sat behind the wheel of a car, and it had been love at first roar of the engine at her touch. It was just so odd to think of someone who not only had no idea how to drive a car, but was actively uncomfortable around them. As far as she knew, Suzaku had never been in any sort of car accident. It might be as simple as a machine he never learned to control. His fear wasn't anything to laugh at, she sternly reminded herself.
But then, it kind of was. Suzaku Kururugi, scourge of the Black Knights, White Death of the East, feared Knight of Zero, sword of an empire, was scared of her car. Then again, her car was nothing to trifle with. The 'Vette was perfectly capable of being more difficult to handle than the most spastically wired of racehorses. But it wasn't just Natasha. His mouth was still twisted and his eyes glossily wide at the thought of toodling around in a field in some shitty rental.
Taking pity on the poor guy, Aurora sat down on the sofa between the two boys. Tugging on the end of the snoozing dog's tail, who stubbornly refused to react, she leaned back, trying to project as relaxed of a stance as possible.
"You'll be fine, Suzaku. You've piloted a seventh gen Knightmare Frame, arguably one of the most complicated pieces of machinery in recent history. I know you can handle some lame little sedan with less horsepower than a lawn mower."
His mouth crooked and his shoulders minimally softened, but Suzaku still made no move to stand and begin their lesson. Well, it was her idea. It was up to her.
An hour later, it was also up to her to keep her nose from breaking against the unrelenting dashboard of the car. It had only taken a few whiplash jerks before Aurora learned to keep her palm planted against the dash at all times. This would almost be funny, if it wasn't so fucking bizarre.
She knew, without a doubt, that Suzaku was instinctive, both physically and mentally. He functioned from the feel of things, moving by the demands of his gut and committing to moments and actions almost preternaturally quickly. Not to mention, the guy had been one of the most lethal pilots of the Rebellion, a focal point of the world's best warriors at the time. It wasn't as if he was mechanically disinclined. Aurora had never been behind the controls of a Knightmare, but one glance in the cockpit made it ridiculously apparent that they were a bitch to maneuver and required more than skill to pilot well.
So why was he so bad at driving a crappy little stick shift?
Bad wasn't quite the word to use. Abysmal would be more appropriate.
Aurora had driven them out to one of the O'Tooles' empty pastures. Pete had reassured her in his near silent way when she'd called earlier that it was a fine place to teach Suzaku how to drive. It was, in fact, that same place he'd taught both his sons how to finagle their way through a car's gears. The grass was patchily growing back from the cows' first pass through of the summer – the sheep had done a real number on it last year, so Pete wasn't expecting any sort of significant growth that they'd be destroying with the car's tires.
Once Aurora had gotten them out into the middle of the field, she'd moved through a demonstration of how to take the car from an absolute stop all the way to fourth gear, back down to a stop, then into reverse. She was careful to keep the procedures simple, the important points succinct, and the cues visual, which, if she had to guess, was one of his major learning styles, along with physical. It was a lot to take in, especially for someone as nervous as the pale tone to Suzaku's face hinted he was. But he was game, which she had to give him boat loads of credit for.
They switched seats and buckled in, now in the same position they'd had while in Natasha, since this was a car produced in the EU, as opposed to Tasha's Britannian origins. She didn't like that he'd be forced to shift with his weaker left arm, but the only car on the island that would let him shift with his right was too psychotic to make it worthwhile. Suzaku carefully followed her instructions to move through the gears exactly the same way as she had – which meant the car was off. That was, of course, the easy part. Once satisfied that he knew which gear went where and the general purpose of the third pedal, Aurora gave him the order to step on the clutch and start the car. Suzaku's left hand settled on the gear shift with the same white-knuckled grip he had on the wheel as he prepared to nudge the car into first. His foot firm on the brake, he released the emergency brake and began to barely depress the gas pedal. The car rolled less than a foot before almost instantly stalling.
Suzaku looked so perplexed, so utterly taken aback by the machine's disobedience, Aurora had been forced to mask the chuckle as a cough. Explaining that letting off the clutch too early would make the car stall, they started all over again. This time, the car rolled about three feet before revving like a banshee then rocketing forward and immediately jamming to a halt when Suzaku smashed the brake instinctively. With her collar bone complaining and her abs whining, Aurora turned and calmly explained that this was what happened when you let off the clutch too slowly. Suzaku was panting and startlingly ashen, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel so hard Aurora thought she could hear leather creak. Occasional shudders ran along his frame, the majority of his weight still hammered down on the brake pedal as he stared straight forward. Aurora wanted to touch his shoulder to reassure him, but resisted. He probably wouldn't react well, and she would really just be satisfying her own needs, not his.
Eventually, he calmed down enough to get the car into first and rolling after a few more false starts. Aurora allowed Suzaku to creep around the field at ten miles an hour for about thirty minutes, talking him through the finer points of maneuvering the car and allowing him to get comfortable. His finesse with the wheel was excellent, and what Aurora was expecting. Finally, when he seemed calm and focused, Aurora suggested that they try second gear, explaining when to shift, what to look for, and what to feel for. His face spoke of dread, but Suzaku buckled down and did as she asked, accelerating beyond the comfortable ten mph limit he'd imposed on himself. Although he'd had a bit of a rocky start, Aurora was sure he'd be fine.
But when the moment came to shift, a gnashing, grinding sound vibrated out of the car's core. It took more control than Aurora thought she had to keep the wince from manifesting across her face. With the car bucking like a weary, pissed-off pony across the field, Suzaku somehow eventually managed to wrestle the poor thing into second. Aurora allowed everyone, including the car, a chance to recover as Suzaku familiarized himself going thirty before asking him to decelerate and downshift. In a way, he did exactly as she asked – the car certainly slowed down. Mostly because he'd stalled it almost instantly.
For the next half hour, if Suzaku wasn't stalling, he was sending the car through angry little fits that had Aurora silently oscillating between humor and agony. But she refused to be anything but patient, and he was growing more and more determined. At least, she hoped that steely glint in his eyes was determination. This wasn't about eliciting his temper, but his repeated struggles had to be grinding on it the way he was grinding on the clutch.
Finally, after yet another failed attempt to get the car into second, Aurora called for a break. Now that Suzaku had committed to learning how to drive the damn thing, he was reluctant to relinquish his hold on the wheel. However, Aurora could smell the acrid, sickly sweet smell of the clutch burning to death.
Both of them slowly exited the car, looking everywhere but each other. The day was cool, the sky promising rain that afternoon. Slowly stretching out the kinks the herky-jerky ride had knotted into her muscles and spine, Aurora turned and rested her forearms on the roof of the car, watching Suzaku pace back and forth about twenty feet away.
Her fingers itched to smooth the crease between his brows that for some reason looked adorable. Hands locked behind his back in a distinctly military stance, long legs swishing through the grass like blades, Suzaku looked intense enough to have her stomach clutch in a pleasant sort of dip. Aurora kind of just wanted to ruffle his hair, to cuddle him until the tension bled from his frame like water. But that was silly. Every once in a while, he'd hold out his hands to emulate holding the steering wheel and gear shift, muttering to himself as he ran through the process again and again.
Maybe it was the way he spun on his heel to retrace the ground he'd just paced over. Maybe it was the way his hands moved through the air as he tried to talk himself through the procedure of shifting. Or maybe it was just the way he stood, strong and straight and supple. But Aurora suddenly got it.
The man used to pilot a Knightmare. And that little car was anything but a Knightmare. He kept expecting that near instantaneous response from an automobile with the comparable reaction time of a slug. It wasn't that Suzaku wasn't hitting the gears – he was hitting them way too fast. Too elated by the discovery to worry about how they would work around it, Aurora had just opened her mouth to relay her discovery when Suzaku pivoted and marched back to the car, looking intent and fierce and a little desperate.
"Do you have a moral or mechanical problem with automatics?"
Of course. The automatic argument. Without conscious thought, Aurora's face settled into hard, unrelenting lines. Automatic cars were her biggest pet peeve. She hated the fucking things. Hated the way they took the decision out of her hands, took the magic and the music away from the connection between man and machine. Hated being told what to do by a non-sentient pile of metal when she obviously had control issues. Hated the way the stupid things revved and jerked like morons because they couldn't feel the road like she could. Hated how her life could have been forfeit on several occasions if she'd been driving an automatic instead of a stick because the car wouldn't have listened.
But she didn't say any of that. Swallowing her sermon on automatics, Aurora just said instead, "I don't like them, and I don't think they're very good cars. And unfortunately, I don't have one in my back pocket."
Suzaku looked primed to argue, and Aurora reevaluated, swallowing back the knee-jerk inclination to sink her teeth into a disagreement that got under her skin. Obviously, he hadn't hit some kind of epiphany like she had during the break, which he'd obviously been hoping for. And Suzaku was desperate to avoid the idea of failure that haunted him. But Aurora could get him through this, if she could just get him back in the car.
His mouth was mulish, his jaw hard as rock. Breathing carefully through her nose, Aurora flattened her palms on the roof of the car, carefully modulating her voice before speaking.
"You can get it, Suzaku. I know you can. Just give me fifteen more minutes."
Reluctantly, he drew closer, and they became embroiled in a staring contest for a solid minute, gauging the other's weak points on opposite sides of the beleaguered sedan. Aurora softened her stance first, but Suzaku was the first to look away. Heaving a grand sigh, he looked back, and nodded. Once they were seated and buckled in, Aurora held out her hand before Suzaku could reach forward to start the car.
"No one's able to do this their first try, you know."
Suzaku just looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his fingers slowly rippling over the steering wheel.
"Took you fifteen minutes to learn, didn't it?" His voice was so dry, Aurora felt her skin tighten, the moisture sucked out of the car's interior.
"No!" she said adamantly. Suzaku just tilted his head and looked at her with raised brows. "Twenty," she finally admitted. "But that's not the point," Aurora was quick to interject. "The point is, it takes some time to learn. You wouldn't expect me to grasp how to pilot a Knightmare right away, would you?"
"No, of course not," Suzaku murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked straight ahead. "But I can do that. So why is a car so damn hard?"
"I have a theory on that. But let's try it again, and see if I'm right."
"You're not going to tell me?" Frustration eeked into his tone.
"Not yet," Aurora hedged. She'd already seen Suzaku compensate for a mistake hard enough to be slung in the opposite direction, in more ways than one. Maybe she could figure a way to map out the middle ground he kept leaping over. Suzaku stared at her for a few more seconds, but he might as well have been glaring at stone for all the good it did him. Finally, with a faint growl in his throat, he turned the key and removed the emergency brake.
As his hand landed on the stick, Aurora had a burst of inspiration. She laid her palm over the back of his hand, her fingers almost threading through his as they simultaneously held the gear shift. Immediately, Suzaku turned his head, his eyes a little wide. Meeting his gaze calmly, Aurora relaxed her shoulders as best she could so her tension wouldn't translate through touch, although she kept her other hand firmly on the dash.
"Just focus on the clutch. I'll help you move through shifting."
After drawing a deep breath through his nose, Suzaku finally nodded.
As soon as he started to shift, Aurora knew that she'd found the problem. He nearly yanked her forward with his whip-lash movement, and Aurora was almost too late to catch him and give the car time to barely hit the gear. Suzaku's hand and foot were working in perfect sync, but much too fast for the car to react in time.
When he shifted again, Aurora was ready and, largely just using her fingertips, she managed to slow his shift down, his foot quickly following in kind. Five minutes later, they hit fourth gear for the first time that day. Aurora couldn't help crowing in delight when he finally lapped the field at a solid forty-five mph. She looked over in time to see the slow, triumphant grin spread over Suzaku's face.
Seeing him like that made something in Aurora clench and curl, deep in the curve of her spine and tucked behind her ribs. Suddenly overly aware of the way her palm pressed against his defined tendons and scarred knuckles, Aurora followed Suzaku's gaze as he looked down at their joined hands.
"Eyes up," she softly reminded him, and he reluctantly obeyed. Her voice was supposed to be lightly cajoling and softly supportive – so why had it come out a little breathy, almost quivering to the raging of her heartbeat? Aurora could feel her pulse pounding in her fingertips, and hoped Suzaku couldn't feel it too.
Just when he'd been sure that he might be grasping this odd process of shifting, Suzaku became excessively conscious of the warm press of Aurora's hand against his. Suddenly, his senses were honed razor sharp, but he could hardly see the grass he was rolling over. Instead, it was everything else confined in that cramped cab.
The scent wasn't Aurora's perfume – that was sharp, exotic, sensual. It was something floral, soothing and soft. Suzaku recalled the lotion she rubbed into her hands on occasion, and suddenly he remembered the glimpse of Aurora applying it to the smooth skin of her legs that had sent him all but bolting past her room earlier that morning. He drew a deep breath through his mouth, and instantly regretted it. Suzaku could almost taste her, like the ghost of her scent coated his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the glint of her hair, the casual drape of the long-sleeved t-shirt the color of twilight over her lean frame. The delicate hollows of her collarbone made him want to clear his throat, like he had swallowed a cotton ball. Suzaku's hands clenched on the steering wheel and gear shift in a desperate attempt to curb the urge to glide his fingertips along the fragile skin of the inside of her arm.
And, quite abruptly, all of Suzaku's fleeting progress completely degraded. No matter how Aurora tried to guide his hand through the stages of shifting, he was fighting the pressure instead of moving with it. He couldn't help it, not with his mind whirling with thoughts of her skin and eyelashes and the rhythm of her pulse in the shadow of her jaw. Sitting next to each other in the disgruntled car, Suzaku became more aware of her physically then he'd ever been of anyone else in his life, even those he'd been locked in combat with. Even Euphie.
That thought sent his brain careening into static, his concentration going to utter shit, only yanked free when he lurched against the seat belt. Suzaku's eyes refocused eventually to see the nose of the car inches from a wooden fence. Aurora's hand had left his to yank on the emergency brake. Slowly, he looked over to meet her gaze, even though he really, really didn't want to, unsure of what he'd see there.
Her eyes were a little wide, a little spooked. But they searched his carefully, and Suzaku frantically wondered if Aurora could see, with those steel blue eyes of hers, the absolute mess that was his brain, his soul. Sometimes, it felt like she looked at him all the way to the back of his skull, and she could see how the stitching of his mind was patchily, repeatedly mended.
But she said nothing of the sort. Instead, Aurora just cocked a brow and said, "Back in the land of the living?" She couldn't know the double meaning of the question as it dug under his ribs and burned through his lungs. Then again, maybe she did. But he was nonetheless here, trying to figure out how to make this damn car listen with a woman who was tearing him to pieces with her brisk kindness and powerful eyes. Suzaku could only hope that one of them knew how to put him back together – he'd been broken for far too long.
So he just nodded, and Aurora slowly loosed the breath that Suzaku's inattention had locked in her chest. Contrary to what he wondered, Aurora had no idea what was going on in that whirling head of his, only that it was probably painful and likely almost out of control. That, and it'd almost run them into the fence. Pete was an understanding, patient man, but Aurora had no desire to raise his Celtic ire by demolishing a panel of fencing.
As Suzaku jerkily put the car into reverse and inched away from the wooden planks, Aurora debated her hand placement. It had worked for a while, but maybe that was the reason he'd fallen apart. Just too distracting. She hadn't been doing so hot herself, going gooey when she was supposed to be focused on helping Suzaku. And all she really wanted to do was thread her fingers through the silky curls at the nape of his neck and-
Yeah, that wasn't helping. With a stern mental reprimand and a wicked gritting of her teeth, Aurora locked that impulse away where it wouldn't fracture the trust she'd fought to earn. Hesitantly reaching out to again to help, she aborted the gesture, noticing the way Suzaku's knuckles whitened when he caught sight of her hand out of the corner of his eye.
"Just remember how we did it before. You've almost got it," she managed to encourage through the huskiness that softened the edges of her voice. When Suzaku's jaw started to grit, Aurora spoke again. "It's not a Knightmare, Suzaku. Give the car a chance to catch up, Mr. Lightning Reflexes." Aurora knew she was being facetious in defense of the way her stomach was fluttering at the shift of muscles under his t-shirt, but she couldn't quite help it. Not when what she wanted to do more than anything was reach over, dive her fingers into that gorgeous hair of his, yank Suzaku across the gear shift, and taste the mouth that was starting to haunt her dreams.
So she just subtly sat on her hands, talking him through the grumbling gears. Suzaku was improving, but was still far from smooth or efficient, or even very comfortable. When he managed a lap around the field without making the car growl or lurch, Aurora held out a hand, and Suzaku concentrated fiercely, managing to downshift with stalling.
"Nicely done!" she complimented enthusiastically, smiling when he studiously cranked on the emergency brake and twisted to face her. "I say we take the win and call it for the day. Besides, it looks like it's going to rain soon, so I'll drive home. Congratulations, Suzaku. You can drive a car."
The corner of his mouth kicked up, which made Aurora want to nibble right at that spot where the smile threatened to overtake his usually stern face. She could feel it, the urge to sway forward, to scratch that itch and lock lips with one of the most handsome, difficult men she ever met. It blossomed through her muscles and bones, thick and sweet like syrup. And Aurora sensed that Suzaku would let her. He might not be experienced enough to know better, but he'd hardly shove her away.
That was why she locked her spine, scrabbling for the door as she babbled something about going to thank Brianna and Pete for letting them use the field for the lesson. Because Aurora couldn't do it – she couldn't damn them to a spiraling mess of consequences neither could quite comprehend because she was a little horny. Eventually, Suzaku joined her, and Aurora kept her careful distance. Maybe she knew objectively that she couldn't kiss him, but that just meant she yearned for a hug, free of pain and guilt and sorrow. Just a little pleasant human contact. She could control herself for a little hug, right?
When they popped into the pleasant, almost quaint cottage, it turned out that Brianna was in Gallagher running some errands, so it was just Pete reading in the parlor with his two herding dogs, Nuada and Cainte, named after brothers of Irish mythology. Like his namesake, Nuada had one white paw that had suffered a severe injury as a pup.
As Aurora waded through the dogs to greet Pete, she saw when his hazel, slightly rheumy eyes slid past her and locked on Suzaku. In that moment, two old souls recognized one another, and the faintest nod was exchanged, an acknowledgement of trials suffered and losses survived. Suzaku spoke with perfect seriousness.
"Thank you for letting us use the field." He then executed a smooth, short bow that somehow rang with intense elegance and tradition, and Pete just watched him for several long moments before nodding.
"Aye, then. Well done," he returned in a deep, gravelly brogue that carried far, but not nearly as far as his whistle. Pete had never been much of a gabber, but Suzaku hardly seemed taken aback by his succinctness. When it seemed neither of them were driven to say anything else, Aurora began to extract herself from the boys' loving attention.
"Right, then. Cheers, Pete."
He just nodded, then said something in Gaelic that instantly recalled the dogs, both of their demeanors immediately changing from excitable to calm. As they walked back to the car, Aurora couldn't help but look over at Suzaku and smile. He'd found a buddy. After considering a little gentle teasing, she decided not to go there. The guy could use all the friends he could get. So instead, she focused on something else.
"Wow, Suzaku. Four words out of Pete first time you meet? That must be some kind of record. The best I got was one word and a grunt."
He glanced over at her as they scaled the fence with a small smile.
"Guy's not much of a talker, huh?" Lithely, he landed, still a little stiff in his shoulder, but otherwise regaining his panther grace.
"No," she confirmed with a laugh. "'Reticent' is Pete's middle name."
Suzaku smiled slightly in response, turning his head north when something caught his attention. At the glimpse of his profile, Aurora felt her throat close, tears tickle her eyes as something grew to fruition inside her that she knew would inevitably leave her forever changed. Reaching out, she caught his elbow, halting Suzaku before he could round the hood of the car to slide into the passenger seat.
"Hey," she whispered thickly, clearing her throat before forcing herself to look him in the eye. He was wary, and a little confused. Aurora's sternum ached from the storm of emotion it caged inside her.
"I just wanted to say 'good job.' And not just with the car, which I know was a struggle."
Suzaku rolled his eyes, and they both thickly laughed.
"But with everything. You're so brave, and I'm proud of you, you know. Always." As she slid her arms carefully over his shoulders, Aurora could feel Suzaku stiffen in shock, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Not now. Not quite yet. It wasn't until she held him that Aurora realized just how badly she needed this.
When she felt his arms close around her ribs, Aurora's eyes flew wide in surprise, before they drifted close in a sort of choked contentment. Slowly, she passed her palm down his spine, feeling the ridges of bone and muscle that still had so much more healing to complete. Aurora had to tilt her face into his shoulder to control herself when his fingers hooked over her shoulder, his arm tightening around her waist as he pulled them flush against each other.
She had no idea how long they stood there, holding each other in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. A breeze lightly tossed the tail of her hair, shifting the strands of Suzaku's hair tickling her fingertips while the grass rustled as if the earth was breathing. Faintly, Aurora caught the scent of him, sandalwood and the ocean, grass and metal. She could feel his jaw pressed against her cheekbone, the flex of it a manifestation of emotions he struggled to control. Suzaku's lips brushed her ear, like he was whispering something to her, but there was absolutely no sound. The smooth slide of his muscles under her hands made Aurora's breath stutter, the stunning strength of the man pressed against her boggling in its fragility. It was hard to say who was holding up who, or if the only way they remained standing was by mutual support.
Aurora wanted to cry; she wanted to laugh. Only her, she supposed. Only she would already be half in love with the one person she couldn't be with. They'd only known each other a couple of months. And no matter where either of them would end up, they couldn't be together. Because he couldn't stay away. And she couldn't go back. Who was to say if Suzaku even had the emotional strength and capacity to return her feelings? Who was to say if he would even want to?
But that didn't matter. It didn't change a single aspect of the thing building inside her, and Aurora knew that even if she wanted to fight it, she'd lose. She'd always been a sore loser, and it burned to realize her helplessness against her own heart. No matter what, she'd always been able to command that part of her. Aurora had never lost control, never lost that most vital element of herself. It had been a strength, but perhaps a weakness, too. She had wondered over the years – was there something wrong with her? Some deficit that made it impossible for her to fall in love with someone, even when everything pointed to that being the inevitable, easy answer?
Well, now she had her answer. Aurora never could do anything the easy way. It had to be hard, brutally hard, for it to matter to her. And it hurt, even as it felt like the fibers of her muscles yearned for him, like her nerves sparked so much more brightly when brushing against him. Like gears inside her were only now beginning to move because they had found their mates. In Suzaku Kururugi.
Jesus. Aurora felt the tears pool in her eyes, and struggled to blink them into submission, tilting her head back as her chin rested on his shoulder to gaze up at the sky, fruitlessly searching for impossible answers. When he inevitably returned to Britannia, she would survive. She'd accept absolutely nothing less. But it was rapidly becoming clear that it would gut Aurora, down to the very core, when he left her. When she lost the man who had found his way under her skin, into something much more delicate. Her infamous shields weren't worth shit, not in the face of the sword of an empire.
It was galling, facing a fate that you could do nothing to change. Because she was too far gone to scramble back from that edge now. Fear the likes of which Aurora had never grappled with before in her life raced through her, and Suzaku tightened his grip even more in response to the shivers that stole over her. It was almost like he was trying to shield her, when she had always been protecting him.
Oh, God. What in the hell was she going to do? Aurora didn't have a plan; she didn't have an exit strategy, or even a contingency. He was going to destroy her, and she would die if she couldn't save him. She had never been faced with a harder end game to accept. Everything in her, every second of training, every iota of self-preservation, shrieked in protest. But, struggling every inch of the way, Aurora bowed to it, lowering her face until her cheek pressed against the strong muscles and smooth skin of Suzaku's neck.
Sometimes, there was no such thing as coincidence. She'd been meant to save him, just as he was meant to break her. Aurora had no idea if there was a fucking point to all this agony they'd both suffered, and the sob that bubbled inside her, tinged with immense rage and unbearable sorrow, was barely controlled. But there was one thing that she knew without even the slightest doubt; she was going to miss him more than she'd thought ever possible when he was gone. And she would take every second they had, with a wild sort of greed, until the moment he left. Because it would have to last her a lifetime without him.
So Aurora held him, and Suzaku held her. She gloried in the feel of him, strong and sweet, unsure and still unsteady. And she accepted, with reluctance, that her heart was no longer hers to do with as she wished.
Wow.
I guess this is what happens with I re-watch SAO. I hadn't really intended this chapter to turn quite so serious, but I suppose it just ended up that way. This chapter was largely finished due to the help of "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran.
Phoenix turns 2 years old this month. Holy smokes! Yay for longevity! I didn't quite hit my goal of 15 chapters per year, but I did manage to maintain 80,000 words a year. That's pretty good, right?
Stay tuned. Wham's coming.
Hope you like it!
Love, Tango