May slipped into June, and with it came days of unpredictable, volatile weather. Sunshine gave way to pounding storms, which were swallowed up by mists to be burned off and leave everything gleaming and drooping from the wet. It felt like the weather was matching Suzaku's moods, the messy stew swirling inside of him.

Without a doubt, the worst of it all was Aurora's avoidance. It wasn't overt, like ignoring him when he talked to her or refusing to meet his gaze, but it quickly made Suzaku realize how integrated she'd become in his life. He now ran alone, often ate alone. She wasn't there, walking down the hallway with that easy, ground-eating stride, or to his left, swiftly tearing through yet another book with only the soft whisper of pages brushing against one another and her breathing as an indicator of her presence. Whenever Aurora looked at him now, there was an intangible something missing from her gaze, like she'd walled off a part of herself she'd always allowed him to see. And he couldn't say for sure if she was leaving rooms before he entered or avoiding rooms he was already in, because even injured, Aurora was as stealthy as he 'd retreated from him, as surely as if she'd packed up and left. Suzaku could only thank Chandler for explaining what was making Aurora so upset, because he probably never would have figured it out on his own. Suzaku wasn't sure if he should ask, and Aurora certainly wasn't volunteering the information. Even knowing what was at the core of her behavior, he didn't know how to fix it. Because she wanted something from him Suzaku wasn't even sure he was capable of giving.

The truth. What a sticky, lethal concept.

At first, it was the fear. Suzaku had spent a solid hour in the bathroom the day after the episode on the cliffs, struggling not to pass out from hyperventilating. He'd been getting out of the shower when he'd slipped a little. The heel of his foot had only scooted to the adjacent tile, but it was enough to send the acid splash of adrenaline burning along his pulse points. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, it faded. But there was no echo, no lingering singe, that had always warned him the Geass command was waiting, roosting in the wings of his mind, just anticipating for everything to go to hell and fly madly into the fray.

He felt like he'd been stripped naked and sprayed with a fire hose, leaving him raw and quivering. Staggering to the sink, Suzaku gripped the white porcelain with trembling fingers, staring at the haze of his reflection in the steamed mirror. Just a ghost, a phantom. Sucking in the moist, steamy air, he tried to calm the enormous, irrational fear welling up inside him like a flood. Striving for smooth, deep breaths, Suzaku attempted to quench the torrent that had his knees shaking and his shoulders shivering. When that didn't work, he sought out the cause, the catalyst.

It took a moment, but Suzaku realized he was afraid. Afraid for his life, afraid for what he had become, what he would become, because of Geass. It had always infuriated him, the unnaturalness of Geass, its ability to twist lives and souls beyond the fabric of their design. He was never meant to become this, this twitching, heaving mess of a man. Geass had done that to him, and he wasn't sure what he would be without it At least without the heroin he could say he was a healthier person. It was frightening, how deeply Geass had ensnared him, numbed him. Addicted Suzaku more thoroughly than arguably one of the most addictive substances on the planet.

And now he was without. Like the callouses and scabs of years of abuse had been ripped away, leaving tender, fragile flesh exposed, paper-thin and intensely painful. Not to mention, it was completely terrifying. Eventually, Suzaku had managed to breathe, to keep on his feet through the storm inside his own head, long enough for it to abate. When the fear just pressed against his throat instead of choking him, Suzaku had fumbled through drying off, dressing. He didn't dare shave, not when his hands shook this badly. But he was king at going through the motions, moving through the emotion. Even if he felt like a whimpering child, Suzaku would be damned if he couldn't make it to his room, the mask of his face utterly implacable. Eventually, the sensation faded enough to allow him to function. It was a powerful memory, though, and stayed on his mind for days.

It left him with a lot to think about. How he'd been held hostage by the Geass command, and how, even after years of hating it, he'd come to psychologically depend on it. Like he was suffering Stockholm Syndrome to a brand of magic. And wasn't that completely ridiculous.

So ridiculous, that it made him mad. Mad enough to shove him out of the house the next day on a run he made alone. He missed Aurora, missed her running at his side with a strong, leonine stride. But Suzaku was angry enough to not dwell on the loss – instead, he ran out the fury, letting his legs move over ground faster and longer than was necessarily wise. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't seem to outpace the rage that was coiling inside him like venom.

He'd forgotten the music player, so there was no song to pick to at least give his anger form and frame. Suzaku knew he was pushing himself too hard, possibly undoing all the careful work that had been done, but he was too enraged to find it in himself to care. Finally, his blood was surging hot against his skin, and his lungs felt tinny, like the linings had been scraped with sandpaper. Still, Suzaku didn't stop. Not until his muscles were scorched and his bones trembling. Gasping in air, which felt thin and liquid, he braced his palms against his knees, his head bowed as he struggled with the simple task of breathing.

It took a few moments for him to realize that he stood under the shade of an ash tree. Suzaku slowly straightened, his eyes angrily passing over the trunk and branches like it was to blame for the monsoon of things wrong with him. His fist whipped out and bounced off the bark before he consciously controlled the action. The snap of pain on his knuckles sharpened a slowly fraying focus, and he stared at the oozing wounds on the ridges of bone.

Instead of knocking Suzaku out of his funk, reminding him of how silly this all was and that he should remain in control, he felt something rising in him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Bloodlust.

It wasn't the clever calculation of a hunter, or even the wary instinct of a survivor. It was a buried drive written in the marrow of his bones. To destroy, to kill. To win. He didn't know what he was fighting against, and he couldn't bring himself to care. Practically vibrating as he fought to remain still, some part of Suzaku's mind, not yet stained with the crimson haze that was taking him over, even leaking into his vision, tried to throttle back, tried to engage the flickering humanity inside him.

Finally, even that was doused under the red tide in his brain, and Suzaku loosed a snarl that had a nearby rabbit freezing instinctively. Because it knew the sound of a predator, primed and ruthless. He attacked the tree, for no other reason than it was simply there. He tore off the moss that coated its trunk like he was ripping off skin, snapping any branches he could reach, breaking even sizable ones into pieces just because the sound reminded Suzaku of cracking bone. He slaughtered a nearby bush, heedless as the limbs and thorns tore at him. The smell of his own blood pushed him into a frenzy, and he tackled a tall hedge, tearing it apart with his bare hands.

The vegetation didn't give up without a fight, but Suzaku couldn't even bring himself to think; at best, he could only feel. And it felt good, violently good, to watch something break under his hands, disintegrate under his own power. He'd never cared for this side of himself, this darkness that gleefully gorged itself on destruction. But now, Suzaku gripped it tight with both bleeding hands and let it take him for a ride.

Because he could do this again. His mind was again solely his own, one he only shared with his personal ghosts. And he was angry, unspeakably angry, about what had been taken from him for the sake of his own life. Choice – that most sacred of human rights had been stolen from Suzkau with a single word. And that incited a fury that burned through his veins like magma. At Lelouch, himself, the universe as a whole. He couldn't help the rage that soared through him, roiling and red-hot, when he thought of the path his life had taken, the tight collar and merciless leash of Geass yanking him in a direction he never would have chosen. Never imagined or wanted or honestly tolerated.

So he broke things the way he'd been broken. Exposed cracks that hid under the bark and leaves, the fissures that weakened the whole before they gave under pressure. The way the ruptures in him had widened and fractured under the weight of fate and time. He was so angry that he was wrecked, so mad that the best parts of him had been smashed against the altar of "right."

He felt it, that explosion of emotion, in every part of him. From the tips of his torn fingers to the roots of his clenched teeth. From the pit of his stomach to the spaces in his spine. From the damaged remnants of his shoulder and arm to the old aches in his ribs and back. Every inch of Suzaku was alive with an anger that seemed woven into his DNA.

But, like all raging fires, it eventually burned out, leaving Suzaku standing in the middle of a field surrounded by the collateral damage of his outburst, stinging, bleeding hands fisted at his sides, panting violently. The shards of the tree and bushes littered the ground, enough soil disturbed to hint that something powerful and damaging had taken place here, obvious evidence of his own mental instability. As his vision cleared and thoughts again filtered through his brain, Suzaku surveyed the scene with bemused, disappointed eyes.

Stumbling a little, Suzaku blindly turned, the only thought flickering through his brain that he wanted to go home. Wanted to see Aurora. Wanted to go somewhere things made sense, where it didn't seem like his skull was going to explode. It felt as if his nerves were coated in ash, still shuddering and flinching from the lingering heat. As he walked past the tree, Suzaku stopped. He was reluctant to look, reluctant to face what he'd so recklessly harmed.

The tree was definitely missing some branches. He must have jumped for a few, because there were broken stumps on the trunk much higher than the nine foot reach he had at best. But the tree was old and tall, with plenty of healthy trunk between the crown and the area Suzaku had ravaged. Patting the bark that had bitten him back, he murmured the only apology he could make right now, knowing that what he still needed to say to Aurora was too unformed to be true, which was the very least she deserved.

Suzaku made his way back, much slower than how he'd headed out. He was exhausted, but still thrumming from the high of his fury, more awake than he'd been in days. It was sharper than any heroin, swiftly burning through his system and leaving him tired and trembling in its wake. Not at all like the lethargy that had engulfed him after a hit, leaving him sluggish and soft for up to a week. Until the nightmares started edging in again, and the shaking and the pain and the grief began coloring the edges of his vision.

But it felt almost inhuman, being this aware and sharp and sore, both inside and out. So focused on the turmoil in his mind, he could barely feel the pain in his hands and wrists. Mechanically jumping the ancient wall at the base of the hill behind the house, Suzaku found himself up the steps and in the kitchen without conscious thought. Like a cat, there seemed to be some mechanism deep in his brain taking him home.

He cranked the water on hot and thrust his hands under the spray, hissing through his teeth and nearly swearing when every cut and scrape from the tips of his fingers to almost halfway up his forearms made themselves furiously known. Always a glutton for punishment and ever eager to take his lumps, Suzaku pumped a big dollop of liquid soap onto his palm and, after a deep breath, began to lather. It burned like hellfire, but with gritted teeth and ruthless motions, he cleaned the wounds he'd stupidly inflicted on himself. He did what needed to be done, and finally adjusted the water so it ran cool, a sudden, blessed relief on his abused skin.

Suzaku was wiping his hands dry on paper towels when Aurora walked into the kitchen. He couldn't help it – his eyes ran over her instinctively, wincing at the sling that had once caged him and now trapped her. She was pale, but the circles under her eyes were fading. Even though she wouldn't tell him, Suzaku was too well experienced with the miserable process of healing to believe that she'd been sleeping well, or even at all. And even though she looked like she was physically improving, Aurora's eyes were still fundamentally blank whenever she looked at him.

But this time, her eyes dropped to his hands, and her brows furrowed as she abruptly stopped, something flickering in her eyes like lightning – there and gone, almost too fast to truly see, left with only the afterimage of the flash. Aurora took a step closer before halting herself, her free hand moving like she meant to reach out to him, but then checked the action.

"What happened?"

Who was this stranger, Suzaku wondered, who spoke to him like she was miles away even as she stood almost within reach? Where was the vibrant, kind woman who would have rushed forward, taking his hands in her warm ones, grinning at him even as she eyed him in concern? She probably would have said something clever, something that would have made him smile even as she patched him up, her gentle silence eventually digging the dumb truth of it out of him. Suzaku balled the paper towels in his fist, squeezing until the blood leeched from his knuckles and the cuts on his hand burned like little stars.

"Nothing. Just something stupid."

Aurora didn't say anything in response, and Suzaku headed towards the hall, struck by a sudden desire to touch her, to reach her. But he did nothing of the sort, and walked past her, jogging up the stairs, ignoring the ache of overtaxed muscles. He showered and changed, dabbing some disinfectant into the worse of the scratches before heading to the study. He paused at the top of the stairs; Aurora's voice floated up from the kitchen, quiet murmurings to Ban unknowingly filled with comfort and heart. It was stupid that he missed her, that he was jealous of a dog she loved unequivocally. So Suzaku just continued down the hallway, and closed himself in the study.

Hours later, he was still there, sitting on the bench tucked beneath the recessed window, gazing out at the night. Even though it was nearing midnight, the sun's color still echoed on the western horizon. Stars glimmered to life, and the moon, almost perfectly cut in half, was nearing the apex of the sky. And Suzaku had come to a realization.

If he'd had it his way, he'd be dead right now. Either by his own hand or such extreme recklessness that not even his odd brand of luck could yank him out of it. It wasn't a possibility, a maybe, or a what if – his own shattered soul would have been as fatal as a lethal injection. The thought of it, the certainty of it, had been living in him since the break of his command. It had made him afraid. It had made him angry. And now, it sank its talons into Suzaku, and dragged him down, into a darkness that had just been waiting for the perfect moment to soak into his heart.

It lasted for days. This morbidity he'd secretly harbored for years, nearly a decade, came out in full force. It saturated every inch of his brain, every inch of his skin. Oddly enough, it felt like a relief. Relieved to finally drop the façade of being OK, to admit to himself that it had all been wrong, and hard, and practically impossible to face. To understand that it shouldn't have happened that way, to wallow in the brutality of it all. For the first time in, well, forever, Suzaku didn't try to fight it off, didn't try to rise above it or move through it. The darkness passed through him like fog and he settled in.

The feeling wasn't the same as after Galway. He'd just been sleepy and unmotivated then, almost like he was pleasantly drunk. Now, everything felt like a macabre joke, the ripples of his violent attack on the tree still occasionally slipping through him, like when scraping off the stubble that for some reason made him hatefully irritated. Whenever he slipped past Aurora, he had a feeling that she knew something was wrong, and was enormously conflicted. She hadn't forgiven him, but a part of her, a part he thought she herself didn't fully understand, wanted to help. Wanted to fix what was wrong, or at least share the burden. But this wasn't her burden to carry, or even understand. This was his battle, and his alone.

Suzaku felt almost proprietary about his despair. His loss, his pain, his grief. Almost greedily, he gathered it around himself like a cloak, the reality of it all, always pushed at arm's length in order to survive, pressing in until he felt as if he was inhaling it. Fucking Geass ran on a loop through his head like a track stuck on repeat. It was strangely eloquent in its simplicity – what else was there to say? Every shade of dark emotion moved through him, tinged by the charcoal stink of depressed misery. But through every surprising, bitter answer, there was the still the lingering question: Did he want to die?

Finally, a week to the day after that rainy moment on the cliffs, Suzaku couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stay in that house another minute. It was warm, but overcast, the clouds trapping in the heat from the earlier sun like a blanket. Slipping from the house, Suzaku flicked through the ring of keys he'd palmed after breakfast, heading out before Aurora woke up. He may have been low, but he certainly wasn't low enough, or stupid enough, to think about driving Natasha. But he could handle that lame rental car.

Well, he could handle it, but badly. He certainly wasn't as horrible as the day he'd learned, but without the motivation, he was back to grinding gears, expecting a response from the car that it simply couldn't manage. The hissing black mass inside, gaining ground in him like a tumor, receded a little as Suzaku mangled his way up to a respectable speed. Or maybe he was just driving too fast for the ugliness to keep up. Either way, that tiny crack in his personal prison allowed other thoughts, thoughts not lacquered with anguish, to trickle in. Like how the last time he'd driven this way, the ocean had mesmerized him, calling to something in him, calming it like a lullaby. How he'd been even more fascinated by Aurora, the effervescent shine of her drawing his eye almost without fail. She wasn't like fireworks; she was too smooth, too flexible for that sharp display. More like a reflection of fireworks on a lake. Suzaku blinked a little at the flowery comparison, telling himself that was ridiculous. But his mental wordplay was without heat, for the first time in days.

He could see why Aurora liked driving so much. Besides the control, the speed and power, there was a sort of spellbinding rhythm of feeling the pavement speed by through your hands, watching the lines flicker past like moments in time. It wasn't necessarily Suzaku's favorite thing, but the grip of unease started to loosen. Like before, he hugged the coast. Because he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

It took longer than when Aurora had driven, no doubt due to his inept handling. But eventually, Suzaku pulled over next to that grubby oak tree, still defiant and determined in the face of its solitude. For a minute, he just stood there, hands thrust in his pockets, idly jingling the keys, as he eyed the tree. Gaze passing over the branches and sturdy trunk, he took in the gangly roots. Wind and rain had softened the marks, but Suzaku thought he could still see the gouge in the earth where Aurora had shoved her lower leg under the largest of the far-flung roots. Calculating the distance to the divot in the edge where it had all played out, reconstructing the scenario in his head, he couldn't help the wince. God, she could have broken herself in half with that stunt.

With halting, hesitant steps, Suzaku moved closer, the animal in him testing the ground more than the miserable man. The wind today was soft, almost playful. Nothing from the sea was ever apologetic, but it seemed like it was reminding him of its unaccountability for his brush with death. It wasn't the sea's fault. It came to Suzaku then that what had happened here wasn't anyone's fault, not even his own. Just the perfect storm of circumstances that had nearly gotten him, and Aurora, killed in the process. As he edged closer to that breathless drop, shuffling more than stepping, because he was well aware of how faulty this ground was, Suzaku let his lungs fill with the moist air, heady with salt, flavored with far horizons. Finally, his toes a scant few inches from the edge, Suzaku leaned slightly forward, gazing down at the rocks and unforgiving surf that could have been his grave. He just stood there, and really looked.

Time passed, and Suzaku might as well have been made from stone. A statue, perilously poised over a shuddering precipice. Something in him, long left cold and hard in a permafrost that had gripped him since entirely too young an age, shifted. Just enough to crack its shell, like the fractures that compromised a lake's sheet of ice at the end of winter. Slowly leaning back, then slowly stepping back, Suzaku accepted an impossible truth.

He didn't want to die.

He waited for the firestorm, for the raging hurt that would tear him to shreds at that simple fact. It ached a little, this noble, foolish need fading under the the weight of that long, hard look at water and rock. Aurora's angry questions from that day seemed to resonate from the cliffs. Everyone had the morbid thought of how those close to you would react upon news of your death. Suzaku imagined now, more honestly than he would have guessed, how it would affect those in his inner circle if he let those rocks far below snap his bones like sticks. How Nunnally would be forced to mourn the loss of yet another brother, now left utterly alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. How Kendra would blame herself for the lack, certain that if she'd been smarter, this could have all been avoided. How Chandler would shoulder the weight of his girls' grief, because they were his, and he couldn't let them take it all on themselves.

How Aurora would never forgive herself for the failure, would silently tear herself to shreds at the loss of a friend, someone she had solemnly sheltered under her shield. Suzaku halved then transposed the enormous weight of his pain at the loss of Euphemia between those four people and knew, that even divided among them, he would be cruel and selfish to knowingly inflict that level of hurt on those who deserved so much better. He couldn't do it, not to them. Not to Aurora. He would never meaningfully be the cause of another dirge she would sing on his behalf. He had to survive, if for no other reason than to avert such needless tragedy. Not his death, but the intense agony to such a good friend. Another thought slipped through that tiny opening, blooming in his brain with a sad brightness.

There was a part of him that grieved at the loss of the Geass command. Not for himself. But because, however intangible, that had been his last personal link to Lelouch. What he had felt for the man, long dead and irreversibly gone, was impossible to fully describe, completely quantify. But, at the core of it all, through the worst of betrayals and crowning achievements, Lelouch had been Suzaku's best friend. And now, the piece of Lelouch that had been lodged in his mind was gone. He had hated the order more than he could ever fully understand, but, for maybe the first and last time, he allowed himself to grieve for a lost friend.

When the wave of emotions fell back, Suzaku was embarrassed to find his cheeks wet. Dashing his face dry on his sleeve, he cleared his throat, and again looked out, back to Nunnally. As soon as he was well, he would return to her side. To watch out for her, to protect her. It was becoming painfully clear, however, that he would be leaving much more than he would have estimated behind.

It wasn't instantly obvious, but during the drive back to the house, Suzaku felt… lighter. Like the weight of the Geass command and the emotions that had been bulwarked behind it had slowly slid off his shoulders. There was still more than enough for him to carry, but that weight, at least, was evaporating from his skin like water. There were still drops, tendrils that clung to him, doubts that couldn't be fully dislodged. But the boulder of it had been shattered and cleared, piece by piece. It wasn't immediate, but triumph, a luxury Suzaku all too rarely afforded himself, slowly dawned.

Suzaku risked taking his hand from the gear shift for a moment, slipping his fingers into his pocket to run it over what he'd grabbed, more by whim then design, before leaving that morning. He had parked, none too well, and was striding for the house when the front door suddenly banged open.

"Oh, my God! Suzaku!" Aurora, eyes wet and wide with fear, bolted out of the house, stumbling a little on the porch stairs as she raced towards him at a remarkable, reckless speed, colliding into Suzaku with enough force to make him stagger. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, more in a bid to keep them both on their feet than anything else. Aurora's arms were vised around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Puzzled and shocked speechless at the display, he cautiously raised a hand, cradling the side of her head in his palm to carefully tilt her chin up. She didn't release him, not an inch, but she did eventually concede to the pressure, her silvery eyes shining with tears and her breath hitching like she'd run miles over rocky ground.

"Aurora, what-"

"I didn't see you at breakfast, and when I got out of the shower, I saw that the car was gone. I thought you…" Miserably, she trailed off, shaking her head as she dropped it back to his shoulder. Of course. Aurora had thought he'd gone to finish what she believed he'd started a week ago. A little guilty and surprised at them both, Suzaku settled his arms more comfortably around her, hushing the shivers that ran through her like electric shocks, rubbing his hands along Aurora's back to try and calm her fear. She was shaking, so obviously holding herself together by only a thinning thread. Panicked and terrified, because she thought she'd finally lost him, after everything. He didn't like this, didn't like how he'd made Aurora feel this way. Finally, though, Suzaku could set it right.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her damp hair, still redolent with the smell of raspberries and vanilla. She just shook her head again, and tightened her arms around him. "I am," he insisted, leaning back slightly so that he could see her. So that she would know he was serious. "I needed a little time to think, to make some decisions. What happened last week, Aurora. It was an accident. Every moment of it. I shouldn't have let you think otherwise, but I couldn't say for sure."

"And you can now?" she murmured, her voice husky with unshed tears, or helpless screams, sounding a little doubtful. Clinging to the triumph that had guided him home, Suzaku nodded.

"Yes. I can. And I can promise you something else, too. No matter where we go from here, I won't give up. I can't promise that I'll succeed. But I will swear to you that I'll try."

With a small sound that seemed dangerously close to a sob, Aurora tightened her arms around his neck. Feeling the way she trembled, Suzaku soothed and lulled as best he knew how, finally coaxing her back into the house and onto the sofa in the parlor. Ban was pacing when Suzaku went to the kitchen to get Aurora a glass of water, obviously agitated by her anxiety. He returned and knelt at her feet, where she watched him with fast, sharp eyes as she sipped the water.

"You're sure…" she began.

"I'm sure," Suzaku replied quickly, trying to put every ounce of assurance that he carried into those words. It wasn't very much, but it seemed to be just enough for the both of them to believe it. Seeing the way Aurora kept eyeing him like she was waiting for him to dissolve into thin air, he tried to lighten the mood.

"You didn't call Kendra yet, did you? I've still got a couple of hours before my 'no emergency' cut-off. And she'll be pissed if she sees you without your sling."

Aurora shook her head, the smile flickering over her face but not quite taking to her eyes.

"No, not yet. You had another fifteen minutes before I was putting in a call to the army, though. And my end date for the sling was two days ago."

He laughed, mostly just to put a smile on her face. It worked, sort of.

"Hey," he murmured, winding a lock of wet hair that had escaped her hastily scraped back ponytail around his finger, then letting it slide free. He was embarrassed by the impulsive gesture, but just swallowed and continued. "I'm sorry I worried you. That wasn't my intention, and I'll do my best to see to it that it never happens again."

Aurora chuckled before nudging his shoulder.

"I don't know, Suzaku – you worry me just by breathing."

Suzaku just laughed, sounding sarcastically insulted.

"You worry about my breathing?" he teased with an arched brow.

"I worry about all of you."
"Well," Suzaku said with a sigh as he stood, "consider yourself off the clock for a little while."

Aurora, however, didn't respond. She was too busy staring at the pocket watch she'd bought for him in Galway, now nestled in his palm as Suzaku made a show of marking the time. The brass casing glowed like a setting sun, and Aurora sucked in a slow, unsteady breath.

"You're wearing it," she whispered. He looked over at her as he closed the casing and slid it back into his pocket. A smile quietly moved over his face.

"Yeah. It seemed like it was time."

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, something unnamable stirring in her gaze.

"I'm glad."

Whew. Welcome to the rollercoaster ride that is Phoenix. After some amazing conversation with an awesome reader (you know who you are, Mark) this chapter really got focused and refined. It always blows my mind how much effect readers can have on a story.

Because another darling reader played the game and gave me a guess, I'll tell you a few casting choices. We'll start with everyone's favorite married couple. When I was assigning actors, I made it a rule not to use anyone who worked on the original series. But, I had to pay homage to my all-time favorite battle couple, Roy and Riza. So, for sentimentality's sake, my back up pair to voice Kendra and Chandler would be Colleen Clinkenbeard and Travis Willingham. But, Mr. Willingham played General Dalton in season 1. So my ideal casting choices for the Andrews would be Luci Christian and Ian Sinclair. Because Luci has a wonderfully compelling deeper voice that she's not usually called on to use, and Ian can be such a goofball and still manage intrigue and depth. Not that these two are strangers to voicing a pair – they rock The Legend of the Legendary Heroes as Ferris and Ryner.

Keep those guesses coming! If a character in Phoenix isn't from the original series, I've given them a voice actor. The Andrews are the only ones with assigned back ups, since I just couldn't resist.

Review, darling dears!

Hope you like it,

Love, Tango