Years of kendo and other various martial arts practices had been endured with stoic tolerance, honing Suzaku's body into a lethal amalgam of danger and control. One day of dancing, however, had reduced him to a rusty, aching mess.
He came to this puzzling realization the next morning when he stood up out of bed. Muscles he didn't remember having squealed, his joints creaking in sore protest to the unnecessary strain of moving. He didn't really sit back down – he more toppled. So stunned by his body's general poor condition, Suzaku flopped backwards, throwing his arm over his forehead with a wince. This was ridiculous.
Though, to be fair, he reminded himself with a struggle, he and Aurora hadn't quite known when to quit yesterday; a classic example of what happened when two Type A personalities locked onto a mutual task. The half hour lesson had doubled, then stretched, then lengthened, until they only realized how much time had passed when the rain stopped. The clocks had been clear – the pair had been at it for almost four hours. They'd cheerfully stretched, then wolfed down dinner. Suzaku entertained himself with some sketches, and Aurora spent the better part of the rest of the evening first coaxing Ban out from under Suzaku's bed where the final round of bone-rattling thunder had driven him, then making up for the frightening afternoon with cuddling.
While Suzaku had sprawled in one of the arm chairs in the parlor – not exactly dignified, but he'd felt loose and indefinably smug – he'd watched as Aurora stroked and rubbed, alternating between cooing to her dog and playing with him. At first, he'd just studied their antics, smiling as the rough sketches started to change, from studies of human motion and stance to the anatomy of a person or dog tussling on the floor. He'd just roughed out the blocks of a portrait involving the two when Bannock had scrambled up, trotted over, and laid his head in Suzaku's lap. Aurora, who had been laying on the floor toodling across his ribs like they were piano keys, simply rolled over supine and laced her fingers over her stomach, tilting her head back to watch them. Even upside down, she laughed when the dog started to burble and roo, and it took Suzaku a couple of seconds to figure out he was being invited to join them.
Feeling foolish and vaguely embarrassed, he eventually heeded to the dog's command, shutting his sketchbook and sliding down to the rug. Bannock pranced in delight, then collapsed between them with ecstatic glee. As Suzaku played with his ears, dancing his fingertips over the silky fur to his forehead and jaw, Aurora propped her head on his massively muscled flank, using his own long whip of a tail to tickle his paws. Instead of appearing annoyed, Bannock patiently twitched away every time with a benign expression, appearing utterly content and soaking up the attention like a giant gray sponge.
When the dog stretched, it was an immense pull of muscle, arching his spine up and his head back, his broad claws flexed as he extended his legs straight as swords. Suzaku was surprised, and pleased, when Bannock returned from the stretch and plopped his head onto his lap. Eventually, the hound fell asleep, and although it felt like a bowling ball cradled on his thighs, Suzaku wouldn't have shifted him for the world. He and Aurora began to talk, quietly, of normal things. The weather, chores that needed to be done, the O'Tooles' crops and sheep, which flowers were blooming, and would soon bloom, in the gardens.
It was normal, beautifully so. It had been a long time since he'd ever felt so rested, so comforted and relaxed. When he'd fallen into the rhythm and ease of family. If he ever had at all. But the peace, of course, couldn't last. Ban awoke from his snooze raring to play, and everyone had to participate in the wrestling and tumbling that followed. By the end of it, all three were sprawled on the floor, panting and weakly laughing. Well, Ban didn't laugh, but his wide, lolling grin came close.
It had been a good night, the way a stew was good food. Simple, solid; reassuringly warm and tenderly sweet. Suzaku had collapsed into bed and slept like an exhausted toddler, without a single dream; nightmare, suggestive, or otherwise.
Reality, of course, had to nose its sorry way in. Wriggling his way back up to his feet, Suzaku forced himself to sink into a modified version of the stretches Aurora had been yanking him through for over a month. It took longer than he was hoping, and he was man enough to admit in the privacy of his room that he whimpered. Several times. But he managed to shuffle his way to the shower and through his morning routine, having downgraded to quiet groans by the time he was ready to pull on his clothes. Forgoing the more casual t-shirt, Suzaku decided that a button-down wouldn't require quite the gymnastics to get into. Besides, he remembered that Aurora seemed especially fond of the dark forest-green one.
Frowning at the realization that such a thought had even floated through his brain as he made his way laboriously down the stairs, Suzaku was nearly in the kitchen before he identified a sound he couldn't quite make out. Aurora was humming.
He stopped in the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the jamb with a half wince as he took her in. She looked like a fairy queen, Suzaku thought. Gilded and lovely, Aurora's lilting hum seemed to vibrate through the air as she prepared breakfast. Her brown dress should have been boring – it nipped in at her waist, fell to her knees, and besides a few frills and delicate capped sleeves, seemed relatively plain. Until she moved.
Suzaku realized that it had been made in such a way that whenever the light caught it, the fabric shimmered along accent points. His stomach tightened, remembering the way navy cloth had glimmered like a night sky over well-loved skin, but pushed the thought away. This was no dark princess – this was Titania, joy and power and life bound within satiny skin and hair that glowed like amber when the sun caught it. Initially, he thought she was barefoot, but closer inspection as she cooked on light feet revealed that she wore vintage stocking, the black seam up the back of her calves drawing attention to the shapely line of her long legs.
No, no, no, Suzaku reminded himself as eggs sizzled and the smell of thick, dark bread toasting filled the air. Behave, dammit. Because this sight was too pretty to lose to baser instincts. So he watched quietly as she bounced from dish to dish, tending to the meal in the midst of her morning glow. Who needed food, Suzaku thought a little dreamily, when this woman was around?
"Jesus!" Aurora whipped around to get something out of the fridge, and finally caught sight of him, jolting like she'd been electrocuted. He didn't miss the way her hand tightened around the knife she'd been slicing fruit with, nor the way she'd shifted from a cutting hold to one better suited to throwing. Suzaku was just glad she'd recognized him soon enough to restrain herself. His brows raised, but otherwise Suzaku managed to school his response to her sudden reaction.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
Aurora just made a noise of dubious acquiescence with a quirking smile at his apology before resuming her path to get milk.
"Sure you didn't. You must be feeling good, if your ninja skills are returning in full force."
Suzaku just laughed as he got down glasses, selecting and pouring orange juice for himself and the cranberry mix Aurora preferred.
"You're confusing me with Sayoko," he said as he capped the jugs and returned them to the fridge, stepping over to hand Aurora's drink to her. Before he could take a sip, she tapped the rim of her glass against his with a mischievous grin.
"Sayoko Shinazaki, right? Hard to believe there's someone out there with more stealth than you," she teased around a sip of juice as she adjusted the eggs. Suzaku smiled into his glass.
"Or you."
She rolled her eyes, more at herself than him, he had learned, discernable by the severity of her expression. He could relate – they were a pair that was always infinitely harder on themselves than others.
"Wouldn't know it by my showing this morning. That's what I get for making so much noise."
And yet, Suzaku could still make out the slightest melody emanating from her, an undertone of happiness she couldn't quite help.
"You do seem quite cheerful this morning," he observed as she plucked toast out and stacked it on a plate. Falling into an obliging rhythm she'd only recently allowed him to establish, Suzaku set about buttering the bread as Aurora finished the eggs.
"Of course I am! God, you have no idea how long it's been since I've had a decent paired dance workout. And with a solid lead, no less. You've got impressive chops, good sir." Her words were a pleasant surprise, but nowhere near as shocking as the playful hip bump that nearly had him dropping toast on the floor. Even as Ban patiently looked on from his bed, waiting for exactly that occurrence to happen. Suzaku swallowed while he recovered, trying to order his thoughts again from where that little nudge had sent them scrambling. Finally, though, he manage to clear his throat and respond with some semblance of intelligence.
"Thanks." Well, it wasn't eloquent, but at least it was something. "You were stunning." Better, but still foolishly star-struck. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone dance like that. As if you were reading my mind." Technically true, but he sounded like some wide-eyed school boy. If Aurora noticed his sudden lack of conversational skills, however, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she just laughed, shook back that mane of honey-colored hair, and carried the plate of magnificent-smelling scrambled eggs to the table. Knowing Aurora, there would be significantly more than yolk and egg whites in the mix.
"Aren't you a smooth talker?" Aurora teased over her shoulder. He joined her at the table as she started scooping eggs onto her plate, nervy at her fluttering lashes and playful praise. "I'm vain enough to admit that some of it is natural talent, but my instructor also drilled me within an inch of my life. If I was more than a millisecond behind the count, then I was dragging ass. He was exacting, incredibly arrogant, and cursed like a sailor in some dialect of Ukranian. But he was also beautiful, clever, and a very, very skilled teacher. He made me good, and taught me to love it."
"What was his name?" Suzaku didn't really expect to recognize the man's name; he was more interesting in keeping up a conversation topic that lit Aurora up the way dancing did. She sparkled, more than her dress or hair, like an internal glow seeped through her skin.
"Yuriy Lysenko. He could have been ten years older than me, he could have been thirty years older than me. He was one of those men that appear sort of ageless. Even George didn't know any real specifics about him except that Yuriy was one of, if not the, best, both as a teacher and as a performer. He'd tolerated nothing less for his protégé. I actually competed with Yuriy once during a case. It was… like magic," Aurora murmured, her eyes going misty with time as she looked back on a memory too grand to simply explain. As he ate – truly delicious eggs, well spiced and laced with cheese, potatoes, and sausage – Suzaku considered his own memories as he watched her face.
It wasn't so different from his relationship with Todoh and the arts the man had so relentlessly taught him. It had been twisted, nearly ruined, by what they'd both been forced to do in the Rebellions. But once, he'd felt the same way about kendo and martial arts as Aurora did about dance. He'd given up blade work when he'd enlisted with the Honorary Britannian militia, simply because it hadn't been applicable. But distance allowed Suzaku the clarity to realize he missed it. Not just the clash of bokkens, but the honest effort of sparring, the catharsis of a good match, even one he lost. The sense of immense victory when he could finally hold his own against someone as skilled as Major Todoh, as he'd been known in Suzaku's youth.
Aurora blinked as she spread peach jam over her toast, bringing both of them out of their reveries. "But no dancing today, not for either of us."
Suzaku was a little surprised to find himself vaguely disappointed, considering how reluctant he'd been yesterday.
"We're both too out of practice, and I'd just as soon avoid nursing a pulled ligament, or something worse." The mild glare she threw his way made Suzaku feel chastised, even though he done nothing wrong.
"So what do you plan to do today?" he asked, looking to distract Aurora from her bulldog-tenacious protection of his health, which was becoming less and less relevant every day. There was a part of Suzaku that couldn't bring himself to mind being fussed over, though, even as his pride puffed in indignation.
"Some errands in Gallagher. Poke around the shops, stop by the pub. Nothing exciting."
Suzaku was briefly distracted by the flash of white teeth piercing soft bread, so he missed her next sentence. He had to blink and corral his thoughts before managing to ask her to repeat it.
"I asked if you wanted to come with me," Aurora repeated, a small tilt to her mouth as she took a bite of cantaloupe, insouciantly resting her elbows on the table. Checking the urge to simply agree because it was her asking, Suzaku remembered how the morning had been an episode of wincing and groaning, and then he tried to imagine keeping up with Aurora's enthusiastic exploits around town. Any other time, he'd enjoy it; now, she'd run him into the ground with hardly any effort. Even as he shifted to stretch out his legs and cross his ankles, Suzaku's muscles wept like small, cranky children. She must have seen the refusal on his face before he even opened his mouth to speak.
"You don't have to come with me on my errands. What about bringing a sketchbook, parking it on a bench, and seeing where your pencil takes you?"
Suzaku considered as he took a measured bite of toast, settling back into his chair. Now why would Aurora ask if he wanted to accompany her if he wouldn't actually be accompanying her? What was the point?
Examining her, the way the sun plucked jeweled gleams from her otherwise ordinary hair and how she sat slightly forward, Suzaku could make out of the corner of his eye one of her legs lazily swinging. Catching that soft, now-familiar scent – did she bathe in cherry blossoms? – Suzaku lightly cursed himself a dolt at the click of epiphany. Clearly, he'd been spending way too much time with Britannia's more cynical members of the high court. She wasn't asking for herself; she was asking for him. Asking Suzaku if he wanted a chance to get out of the house, a chance to privately decompress after an immense amount of time spent in the company of the same small cast.
Now that he considered it, the opportunity did sound quite tempting. The weather was pulling itself out of its damp haze, and it promised to at least be reasonably warm, and perhaps a little sunny. How could he say no?
She did that to him, Suzaku reflected later as they slid into Natasha's sleek interior, which, now that he was healthy and marginally less spooked, he could thoroughly appreciate. There was something about Aurora, that strange combination of soft and strong, bright and gentle, that melted his reserves. Maybe it was her honesty, or her humor, or the titanic weight she carried inside that he could feel mirrored in himself. Whatever it was, he'd have to be careful. Because the woman could talk him into damn near anything. Just like Euphie.
If he'd been driving, Suzaku would have instinctively stomped on the brakes as the thought ricocheted through his head, bouncing off the inside of his skull with the power to chip bone. Luckily, Aurora's three inch pumps, matte blue leather adorned at the toes and heels with overlays of patterned white, didn't budge so much as an inch from the pedals. She did glance over at him, though, when he defensively slapped his hand on the dash, bracing against the seat like he could wedge himself in place. Suzaku could just make out the lift of her brows over the edge of her sunglasses.
"You OK? Did you forget something?"
"No," Suzaku managed with what he thought was impressive aplomb. "Just remembered something. Never mind." Relieved when she didn't pursue it any farther, Suzaku pulled his hand back to his lap, slowly balling it into a brutal fist. Oh, yes, he remembered. He remembered how losing Euphie had mutilated him into something Suzaku couldn't even recognize any more. And it was sinking in that, very soon, he would lose Aurora. Not to death, but to time and distance. Would he still know himself, after rediscovering what he'd thought long ago incinerated, when he again donned Zero's mask?
He'd retreated into that battlefield of a brain again; Aurora could practically see the change ripple through Suzaku's muscles. It happened less and less often as of late, but there were still times when his thoughts seemed to tear free from his control, leaving a bloody smear in their wake that, had he been by himself, would have left Suzaku shaking. But, with a discipline that bordered on superhuman, Suzaku silently wrestled himself under control. Aurora wanted to ask, but couldn't quite bring herself to. She firmly believed that the guy needed to open up more, but there were times when extracting painful information was more destructive than helpful. Kendra had mentioned the conundrum more than once when discussing surgery options or more aggressive treatments: Was the possible benefit worth the inevitable damage?
Not this time.
However, she couldn't just leave Suzaku to whatever was jerking him around inside his head. Playfully revving Natasha's impressive engine, Aurora took the next turn at a swift pace, the car's primal growl slowly dragging Suzaku out of his personal mess. They were passing the local church when she finally managed to get a smile out of him as she reached the punchline of the silly story detailing the first time she'd ever taken Natasha over one hundred miles per hour. He just grinned and shook his head at her marked lack of judgment when it came to her magnificently irrational car.
Suzaku was about to speak when something outside the car caught his attention. Instinctively, Aurora slowed, downshifting as he silently inspected the quiet, quaint streets.
"Here. Could you stop here?"
Aurora drew to a quick stop, watching Suzaku more closely than the scenery that had drawn his eye. A cursory glance showed a whitewashed bench sheltered under an oak tree, much more full and staid that its brother on the cliff that had saved their lives. The stones of the walk were swept clean, the bench positioned in such a way to afford a view of what would be considered the heart of downtown Gallagher. Traffic was mild, but interesting. Suzaku looked back at her as he gathered up his sketchbook and a small black bag holding his pencils.
"This'll be fine."
Aurora just nodded, pleased and warmed by the steady certainty in Suzaku's voice. He swung out of the car, walking towards the bench with what could only be described as a marching stride. After waving goodbye, Aurora pulled away and waited at a right turn, propping her elbow on the window sill as she pressed two fingers against her temple, watching Suzaku in the rear view mirror.
In another life, she would have pursued Suzaku like a wolf hunting down a stag. His build was rounding that last bend to recovery, no longer jagged and gaunt with abuse. Now, he stood straight and strong, his shoulders broad and hips almost impossibly lean. Those long legs cut over towards the bench with a sure, confident stride, the dark green shirt briefly tightening against his chest and biceps as he set the sketchbook down and twisted to look around him.
Oh, yes. With chiseled features and thick chestnut hair, stunning eyes and almost girlish lashes, he was a handsome specimen. If Aurora had set her sights on him before her retirement, she wouldn't have stopped until she'd had him, repeatedly and thoroughly. Luckily, she was older, and wiser, capable of significantly more developed self-control. Because seducing Suzaku Kururugi was only something an incredibly foolish, or incredibly heartless, woman would carry out.
Then it was a good thing she was neither, not anymore. When there was a clearing in the traffic, she pulled away, heading to the bank for some of her less sensitive monetary activities. As she accelerated, she saw Suzaku settling down on his seat, his pencil already swiftly moving over the paper as he observed a man walking along, speaking seriously with his teenage son. She put possible lives out of her mind; no reason to dwell on what never existed.
Suzaku saw her a few times throughout the day. Natasha would slide into view, stopping at the post office or going to the grocery store. Aurora always flashed him a jaunty little wave as she passed by, and he'd salute her with his pencil. It was odd, this sort of easy bond acknowledged genially over a distance. It stayed on Suzaku's mind, the way he and Aurora could move in different spheres and still maintain a sense of each other. Even as he made his steady way through the sketchbook, he thought of the blond fairy queen dancing on the edges of his attention.
There was plenty to distract him; the woman running herd on her three young daughters with patient fatigue, her lovely brogue tinted with resignation and, unmistakably, love, as she directed the girls out of the park and towards home. The old man and his tiny dog, an ancient black and white terrier with a handsome leather collar and leash, going for what was likely their daily walk, both of them moving with the careful, deliberate stride of the elderly. The pair of gangly adolescent boys, loudly swapping tales that Suzaku knew, simply by merit of having been that age himself once, were largely false.
All of them were transcribed into his sketchbook, rough lines that he worked to make certain held some modicum of the life that inspired them. For the most part, Suzaku was surprisingly satisfied with what he managed to get down. A few hours passed that way; he worked his way through three pencils, wearing them down to respectable nubs. It didn't occur to him until later, but Suzaku felt that Moira would have been pleased with his progress.
Finally, he surfaced enough to look for Natasha's striking blue flash, eventually locating her parked in front of the ancient stone church skirted by a ring of dense green grass. Tucking away his pencils and carefully closing his sketchbook, securing it with a thin leather strap, Suzaku stood, having to pause and steady himself against the back of the bench when his legs, already abused beyond patience, protested this sudden demand for action. Eventually, though, they straightened and let him move with little beyond a lingering stiffness.
Strolling down the narrow cobbled walk next to the street, Suzaku inhaled deeply the scent of flowers and sea water, rich earth and old stone, remembering all too well what it felt like when every breath ached like a bad tooth. It marveled him, how quickly and well he'd already recovered under Aurora and Kendra's care. They could try to convince him that their wings were tattered and stained, but Suzaku believed with a concrete certainty bordering on blind stubbornness that fate, after so much agony, had deposited him into the hands of two incomparable saviors.
Pausing in the open doorway of the old church, it took Suzaku's eyes a moment to adjust, to see into the murky depths to try and find out where Aurora was. As it turned out, she was gesturing animatedly as she spoke from her seat behind a beautiful parlor grand piano at the far end of the aisle, the movements of her hands and face substantial and expressive. But there was an authority to her, a control that reined the motions in so they didn't trip into the territory of wild. The five people standing around her all bore the distinct demeanor marking them as pillars of the community, listening with careful attention.
Confidence glowed from Aurora, stronger than the gentle light filtering through the stained glass windows and dappling her in jewel tones. As a unit, the five other nodded and retreated to chairs circled near the piano, three raising their waiting instruments while a handsome older couple simply sat next to one another, holding each other's hand. A violin, viola, and cello were rosined and primed, and, for a moment, the silence, echoing and ancient, engulfed the church.
Then, slowly, bows were drawn across strings, building a haunting cry that pierced the quiet and trembled in the air. Aurora sat utterly still, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes trained on the other musicians. She then raised her gaze to the statue of the Virgin Mary holding an infant Jesus in her arms, and opened her mouth to sing.
The words were gentle, hesitant, even unsure. But Aurora's voice soared, sure and strong and sweet, the expressions moving eloquently over her face as she questioned the worth of an exile's, an outcast's, prayer. Then her hands parted, her fingertips resting like feathers on the ivory keys before beginning their slow, graceful dance across the board.
Suzaku's lungs ached as her graceful piano joined the weeping strings. His hand blindly reached out, and he slowly collapsed on the last pew, his hand braced against the back of it, his heart in his throat as Aurora sang a castaway's hymn. Asking God for mercy and compassion for those most often overlooked, the reverent lyrics both bitter and soothing, Aurora's face had lost its composed tranquility; she looked unbearably sad, and heartbreakingly regal. She fell silent, concentrating on the keys, and the older couple without instruments began to sing.
They juxtaposed Aurora's theme with the much more selfish, typical wishes often flung to any deity that happened to be listening. The trained tradition of their styles contradicted Aurora's more organic voice, but it emphasized the difference of the two lyric themes. The violin and cello players lowered their bows to include their own voices in the chorus, the joined, powerful wishes almost drowning out Aurora's lone prayer.
The strong crescendo of their words had just peaked when Aurora's voice flew high again, asking for nothing, as there were those less lucky than her, and more deserving. The power in her voice seemed to slide along his bones, effortlessly reaching every corner of the old church in an unflinching call for aid to those most in need of it. The last time she raised her voice, it was in a powerful, pure note, quivering through the air and into Suzaku's blood for what felt like an impossibly long time. Maybe it felt so long because he couldn't help holding his breath until the last hum of her voice faded away, his chest aching from both emotion and lack of oxygen.
With a final, sweet swell from the strings and a small flourish at the chime-like keys at the far end of the piano, silence again descended. Aurora and the other musicians just smiled at each other, and Suzaku felt an uncharacteristic need to bask in the soft, warm glow left in its wake. Even if the yearning and pain from the song still hung in the air like smoke, that just made it visceral. He had just managed a soft, slow sigh when the door behind the vestibule opened with a disruptive squeak.
The man who appeared was quite obviously the priest of the parish. Even if his robes didn't make it obvious, his bearing did. An impressive man, his hair was dark red, silvered at the temples, the coloring mirrored in thick, forbidding brows and a proud beard. Tall and broad as a bear, his eyes immediately landed on Aurora, and viciously narrowed. The brutal slam of the door behind him made everyone else in the church, including Suzaku, flinch. The expression that dawned in the man's eyes had him instinctively rising to his feet – he didn't even realize he'd moved to protect Aurora from the open, raw malice that lit the priest's face. Moving down the aisles with a careful, stealthy stride, Suzaku came within range to hear the exchange.
"Father O'Riley," Aurora acknowledged quietly, her voice much cooler and calmer than he would have expected. She slowly rose from her seat behind the piano, stepping aside and away, relinquishing the right her talent should have given her.
"The Andrews' stray," he fairly sneered. Aurora's face remained utterly blank. "What are you doing singing that trash in a house of God?"
The five other musicians had noticed Suzaku's approach, but he was rapidly growing too furious to measure their expressions, or even care to try.
"It was a hymn, Father," Aurora politely returned. The priest's whiskers all but quivered in righteous indignation.
"If you could call it that. Little better than a sinful gypsy tune. I'll not have that nonsense sung in my church." He aimed quelling eyes at his flock, and not a one voiced a protest, cowed by the man's resounding voice and commanding presence. Suzaku had reached Aurora's side at this point, still perturbed by her lack of response. Taking this sort of unreasonable, intolerable behavior without a fight was very unlike her. But she just stood, her hands quietly folded and her shoulders straight as she steadily gazed at the man ripping at her character and skill.
"I was under the impression that God appreciated all songs made in his honor, no matter the origin," she softly replied.
"Not when they're sung by the likes of you. The Andrews' backgrounds are questionable enough as it is, and they shelter some creature without ties or family. For all we know, you're a killer, or worse, a whore." Father O'Riley abruptly stopped his tirade, startled by the lightning quick movements from the pair. Suzaku had made to lunge forward without thinking, rage throttling his reason and sense of propriety. Eviscerating a priest in a church was hardly polite, but all he could think was that this man had no idea, no idea, just who exactly he was so cruelly condemning.
However, he'd done little more than tense and threateningly shift his weight forward when Aurora's hand clapped onto his forearm. It was a testament to her strength that she managed to halt his headlong leap for the father's vitals.
"It's alright," she said quietly, but Suzaku still glared at the priest. There was no way for him to know that his eyes glittered with wrath, the snapping of an enraged wolf in defense of his pack. "Suzaku," she said again, tightening her fingers on his forearm until he reluctantly broke his gaze and turned towards her. "It's alright," she murmured again, her voice soft and reassuring. His anger began to drain away, but not his protective tendencies. Suzaku looked at her closely, searching her face for he wasn't exactly sure what, before nodding his acquiescence at her implied call for retreat.
"Good day, Father," Aurora said, her voice low and firm, smiling faintly at the musicians as she took her leave. Throwing one last violent scowl at Father O'Riley, Suzaku turned with her to exit the church. As they strode down the aisle, the stares following them weighed heavy. Suzaku tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hoping to shield her in some way from the baseless hatred.
Perhaps it would have satisfied Suzaku to know that Father O'Riley said nothing to the five wide-eyed parishioners as the woman who changed her name more often than her hair and the damaged, likely deranged soldier who had apparently appointed himself her guardian left his church. He turned away from them, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket with hands that weren't quite steady. Wiping his brow, pearled with sweat born from instinctive, gut-clenching fear at the psychotic man's aborted charge, Father O'Riley shook his head.
The female who occasionally went by Aurora Silver was dangerous enough due to the sheer scope of her mystery. The father didn't like things he couldn't understand, things he couldn't trace back through decades of lineage. Not to mention her radical notions, some of which were downright ridiculous in their liberality.
And now she'd brought that maniac into his town, his church. The man was practically rabid, likely held under that woman's control by sinful fornication. It churned his stomach to remember the fierce rage that had lit those eerie green eyes. The father hadn't quite heard the foreign name she'd muttered to yank her guard back onto his leash, but that fact alone made the priest suspicious. He didn't trust anything that wasn't inherently Irish, and neither of those two bore even a whiff of the island in their blood or brains.
Firming to his decision, he turned back to the musicians packing up their instruments, no doubt waiting to whisper their gossip until they'd cleared the door.
"That woman and her wild dog are not welcome in this church. Do I make myself clear?"
Their agreements were low and reluctant, but they were said. Satisfied with his re-establishment of control, Father O'Riley flinched at the feral, throaty roar of an engine outside. As if there wasn't enough he hated about that woman, her car was an insult and a bloody menace. It snarled like a panther, and the priest nearly growled in response.
They drove back to the house in near silence. Suzaku was still angry, and couldn't wrap his head around Aurora's general lack of response. She was quiet; too quiet. He wanted to be courteous, to let her find her way to vocalizing what exactly had happened back at the church. But by the time they were halfway home, she hadn't said a word, not since she'd bid that bastard a polite farewell. Aurora had barely looked at him except to flash a vaguely fake smile in thanks for his protecting arm before slipping out from underneath it with a quick, light touch to his hand. Drawing a deep breath, Suzaku angled slightly towards her.
"Aurora-"
"It's fine, Suzaku," she interrupted smoothly, briefly sparing him a glance and a small, understanding smile. Dammit, she was doing that saint-thing again, and he was far from convinced.
"No, it's not," he argued adamantly. "What happened back at the church was completely uncalled for."
Aurora just shrugged a shoulder as she shifted gears.
"Father O'Riley has chased me out of his church before. He's warned me that I'd never step inside by invitation."
"So why go back?"
Her face softened at his question with a crooked smile, and her fingers fluttered over the steering wheel like they were back on the keys.
"Because they've got the best piano in the county. And I like singing with the McBrides. They tolerate me because I can hold a note and have an able touch on the piano keys."
Suzaku thought that was a gross understatement of her abilities, but decided not to pursue it.
"But they don't defend you," he pointed out instead, remembering the way the other musicians has silently sat by as Aurora was driven away like a fox herded away from the henhouse by some big, ugly bully of a dog. Again, she just shrugged.
"Father O'Riley is their priest. He's baptized their children, spoken over the graves of their parents. He's a good man, in his own way."
Suzaku just stared at her.
"In what possible way could that pompous fuck head be described as a 'good man'?" he was finally able to reply, squeezing the words past the shock that coated his throat. Aurora coughed a little, a poorly disguised chuckle at his word choice. She grew serious, though, her face almost dreamy.
"I snuck into a service once. He'd just started, and no one noticed I was there. Father O'Riley's sermon that day was about sacrifice. You should have seen him – upright and certain, his voice booming to the farthest corners of that old church. He didn't just tug at your heartstrings; he yanked them out and wove a tapestry. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard. Reminded me of George." Her voice was low, reverent even, before she cleared her throat and continued more briskly. "But I'm an unknown, which is bad enough in his mind. When he caught wind of some of my opinions, I imagine he nearly had a stroke. I don't think along traditional Catholic lines."
"Like what?" he prompted when she fell silent again.
"The fact that my mother, and any other woman who experiences what she did, should have had the choice whether or not she wanted to carry me to term. How Connor, who is a good man no matter what his parents think, should never have been exiled from his home and family simply because of who he finds attractive. How judging one, good or ill, simply by the merit of ethnicity is not only ridiculous, but criminal. That those who are different do not deserve to be persecuted, and humanity is the only true condition that matters."
Suzaku gazed at her for a long time, noting the lines of her profile, fit to grace a cameo; the way her lashes, the color of Guinness, were silhouetted by the gentle light, softening her face with brushes of shadow.
When she glanced over at him, her eyes deep and chin strong – no doubt challenging him to debate her on her progressive beliefs – Suzaku couldn't help the smile. Aurora, he knew, had the heart of a lion and the soul of a dragon.
"Perfectly sound opinions. Only an idiot would think otherwise."
It took a moment for Aurora's defenses to cautiously lower. Once they had, she laughed softly, a little note of relief in the sound, as she turned up the road leading to the house.
"And he is an idiot. But he's also an authority figure with complete control over his domain. It's a fight I'll never win, and I'm not sure I have the right to. He doesn't like me. That's just the way things are."
"I'm surprised you'd let it go," he admitted. Aurora just continued dancing her fingers over imaginary piano keys.
"Maybe it's my daddy issues that keep pushing me back to be disappointed. Or maybe I just love the music. Either way, he'll not keep me away. Not as long as the songs are there to be played."
There. That was the Aurora he knew. Surprisingly relieved, Suzaku contemplatively tapped the cover of his sketchbook as she pulled into the drive.
"Did you have a good day?" she asked, looking pointedly at his sketchbook. He nodded, still trying to shift from his need to shield Aurora, or at least be angry for her, to his artistic feats for the day.
"Well enough. I'll have to polish them up tonight, see if I managed to get anything decent."
She nodded encouragingly, and Suzaku voiced the question that had been niggling in his brain since the moment he heard that first quiet wail of the violin.
"Aurora?"
She hummed in question as she parked by the front porch.
"That song you sang…"
Pausing a moment, Aurora turned to face him.
"You heard it, huh?"
Suzaku nodded.
"It was… lovely," he eventually murmured with solemnity, remembering the clear, haunting notes tinged with an aching wistfulness.
"Thank you. It's a hymn for the lost, of sorts." She turned off the car, leaving a lingering silence in its wake. Finally, Aurora tilted her head, and met his eyes. "I sang it for you."
With that, she opened the car door and got out, bustling to gather her purchases and carry them into the house. Slowly, Suzaku got out too, leaning his arm against the top of the car door frame as he watched her. She and Bannock met with the enthusiasm of friends separated by years of war, not a few hours of errands. Moving to carry his things and grabbing the remaining bags of food from the back, Suzaku followed Aurora inside.
I'm alive! Here's part one of the promised update. I didn't originally plan on this being two chapters, but when I finished the second half, I realized it didn't meld with the first part very well, and seemed to have a theme and arc of its own. So after my disturbingly long absence, you guys get a double update! More details on the next chapter's a/n.
Hope you like it!
Love, Tango