What followed was a week the likes of which Suzaku had never experienced before in his two decades. He'd lived in luxury, endured war, stood tall in the spotlight, subsisted in the shadows. But never had he experienced a contentment, even a joy, that percolated every action, every minute.

Dancing and stargazing. Sparring and cooking. Exploring and drawing. It seemed so normal, but that's why Suzaku marveled at every moment even as it slipped away. It was the normalcy that he found so amazing. He became possessive of every moment, drawing them close and defending them as best he could.

That was likely why he uncharacteristically stiffened when he caught sight of a boring sedan pulling into the drive, Kendra and Chandler's faces visible through the windshield. Ever since that day by the pond, Suzaku had been braced for this visit. Because what could it mean but being cleared for active duty? Still bemused and guilty that the thought didn't send a wave of relief through him, Suzaku set aside his sketchpad and stood, trotting down the porch steps just as Aurora came jogging around the side of the house. She'd been primping and spoiling the duchess, evidenced by the smear of black along her cheek and the downright frightening state of her hands. At least, he noticed with relief, she wasn't bleeding this time.

Ban came racing around the other side of the house from his undoubtedly unsuccessful rabbit patrols, and Suzaku thought idly that the gang was all here. They were his, he realized. Never before could he claim a group of friends, allies, as truly his own simply because they wanted to be. Long before their relationship had been destroyed and a steely promise forged from its ashes, he and Lelouch had always wrestled with so much that stood between them. Ethnicity, history, old resentments and wounds that neither could help the other heal.

Every other person Suzaku could label a friend had been funneled through another person or the lense of his cause.

Nunnally cared for him because of Lelouch. The same could be said for the rest of the Student Council.

Cecile and Lloyd were friendly, but his abilities and the Lancelot had always come first.

Gino and Anya had latched onto him largely because he'd been a Knight close to them in age.

Euphie had been different. She'd loved him, seen him as a partner in her vision for the future. But he could admit that her appointment of Suzaku as her personal knight had been driven by his birth, his skill. He blinked owlishly as he realized she'd used aspects of him to make an admittedly good point, but used him nonetheless. The burst of grief nearly made him breathless, dimming a little as Suzaku forced himself to blow out a hard, bracing breath.

But Aurora, Kendra, and Chandler had inducted him into their tribe for no reason other than they'd wanted to. Maybe they had known just how badly he'd needed them – he was only beginning to realize it himself. They were Suzaku's friends despite his past and status. And they wanted absolutely nothing from him in return, except his recovery. They'd invested so much in him, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Perhaps that was the beauty of it, he thought as he shook Chandler's hand, tentatively tugged Kendra's tail of hair as she crookedly smiled at him and ran a warm hand over his healed shoulder.

Aurora kept her distance, gesturing to her grubby condition and waving her eager greetings before dashing inside to clean up, leaving Suzaku and Bannock to escort the doctor and senator inside. They chatted about the warm, fair weather, the summer shower that had drizzled through yesterday, the recent ultrasound of the baby, the state of things in London. Normal, easy things. Things Suzaku realized that he would miss when he returned to Nunnally, and the weight of Zero's cloak. Bannock trotted ahead of them, standing at his mistress's side as they entered the kitchen, Aurora still elbow deep in warm, soapy water. Chandler ambled over, teasing and poking at her, which of course meant that Aurora had to flick water at him. While the blondes were distracted, Kendra leaned over to speak into Suzaku's ear under her breath.

"Let's get your appointment over with."

He met her eyes, and felt almost breathless – as if he were about to dive into dark water. Compelled, yet reluctant. Silently, he acquiesced, and they slipped from the kitchen to head upstairs to the study. As he climbed the stairs behind Kendra, matching her ponderous pace, Suzaku couldn't quite decipher what he felt. The glaring fact that this needed to be done, however, loomed large in his mind. As it had all his life, that knowledge pushed him through the motions.

It was like every other time that had preceded it, only it was accomplished in pensive silence. Excepting Kendra's brief instructions, neither said anything. She put him through his paces, carefully watched as he moved, molded and pressed none too gently where he'd been so badly injured. Suzaku weathered it without a wince, and when Kendra finally sat down, she propped her elbows on the chair's arms, loosely threading her fingers together in front of her.

"You already know what I'm going to say," she murmured finally after gazing at him over her sparkling wedding ring, Suzaku's skin tingling from her ministrations and the weight of her feline eyes.

"I can go back," he breathed, and she nodded, almost reluctantly.

"Yes, you can."

For a moment, all sound receded, until the only thing Suzaku heard was the echoing thud of his heartbeat. His hands and lips had gone numb, and it was all he could do to remember to breathe.

It was time.

It was over.

The low hum of Kendra's voice, though, recalled his attention.

"But I'm going to ask a favor of you."

Still overwhelmed by the way his world was once again shifting, testing his already compromised balance, Suzaku merely lifted his brows in an invitation for Kendra to continue. Her mouth quirked a little – he thought she appreciated the honesty in hearing out a favor before granting it, even to someone he owed so much to.

"I'm asking you to wait a couple of days before going back to Britannia. Give Aurora a chance to adjust, to say her goodbyes however she thinks is best. Give yourselves a chance to see this through the end in a way you'll be able to live with. Nunnally's survived without you this long – she can manage a few days more."

He wanted to protest, to cede to the pressure of his past and his guilt. To run out of this beautiful house, as fast as he could, and get back to his dead friend's sister, the monarch of an empire he'd sworn to protect.

But if these past few months had proven anything to Suzaku, it was that he was more than his mask. Enough to recognize that Kendra was right. He also needed time to think through his strategy – his return had to be accomplished with deliberation, not panic. Anything less, and he could prove to be more of a detriment than he already was.

And Aurora. He couldn't just desert her because Kendra had given him the green light. For so many reasons, chief among them being that both of them had experienced far too much abandonment in their painfully short lives. She deserved the honor of the best goodbye he could muster.

"I'll give her a few days. I can't promise any more than that." His answer relieved Kendra; he could see it in the way her shoulders lowered, her eyes warmed, and her hands dropped to her lap.

"I know. Just give her what you can."

He could only nod – he hoped it was enough. After frowning at him for a moment, Kendra scooted closer, an awkward affair considering her bulk. She laid her hand a little heavily on his, and Suzaku couldn't help but brace.

"When I first saw you, first understood what had happened to you, I have to admit that I thought, 'No way.' I'd do everything I could, but there was no way you'd survive, at least not well. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed being proven so thoroughly wrong, Suzaku. It's been a delight watching you evolve, seeing you change from a ghost to a man. To see you succeed. Wherever your life takes you from here on out, I want you to remember these days in Ireland as one of triumph. Because you've earned it, every moment of it."

Stunned by the solemn speech, Suzaku couldn't help but stare at the doctor for a few moments.

"Thank you, Kendra. I…"

She smiled, and the hand on his that had been heavy and a little awkward now struck him as beautifully warm.

"I consider you a friend, and a good man. So I wish you nothing but the best. And I want you to know that if you need anything, especially regarding your health, you can call me. You're smart enough to be careful with contact, so I don't want you to suffer in silence. Not anymore. You're not alone. And I'm unspeakably proud of you."

Enormously moved, he could only stare silently as Kendra stood, moving in close to pass a soothing hand over his head.

He wasn't sure why he did it; maybe after years of starving for human affection, Suzaku had found a morsel of it here, becoming greedy for it. He rested his head on the bump of Kendra's belly, allowing himself to be comforted by the sensation of her fingers in his hair. She enfolded him into an embrace, and he carefully looped his arms around her waist at the invitation.

"You will be an amazing mother," he said quietly, lulled by the heartbeat echoing in his ear. It took him a moment, however, to recognize that the beat was far too fast for that of a relaxed adult woman. He slowly pulled back, staring first at her stomach, then up at Kendra with wide, shocked eyes.

"It's…"

She smiled, so gently, Suzaku felt reverent, awed by the intimate evidence of the life inside Kendra and her capacity to carry and nurture it.

"Her heartbeat. Or his. Whatever the case may be, there's quite a little engine in there, as Chandler loves to say." Kendra's eyes were a little moist, and Suzaku chalked it up to hormones and the miracle of her baby with a little desperation. Because there was really no other reason for her to be crying. She still just stood there, her palm a welcoming pressure on the back of his head. Cautiously, now aware of the enormity of it all, he lowered his head again, and shut his eyes as his ear rested against her womb, and the quick thrum echoed in his bones.

It was a gift, this proof of a tiny, lusty life. Suzaku would carry that small, fast heartbeat with him, wherever he went, as long as he lasted.

The hand-off was a thing of beauty, seamless and steady.

Kendra and Chandler were an amazing team – like a pair of collies, Kendra rounded up Aurora while Chandler herded Suzaku out of the house. He didn't really mind; he wanted a chance to say goodbye to Chandler, and he knew that Kendra would tell Aurora that he was free to go. Suzaku was deathly afraid that if he witnessed her weeping, especially for him, as the news was broken to her, it might unman him.

So he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, matching stride with Chandler as the man idly wandered east, past the shadow of the barn and into a rolling meadow some farmer would likely harvest in a few months' time. Ban disappeared into the shadows of the waving stalks of hay, the occasional flash of a gray tail the only indicator of his location. The crisp fragrance of things growing in the sun washed over them, the fresh smell of grass occasionally tinted by the richness of earth.

"Big news," the senator finally murmured. Suzaku started to somberly nod before he pinned slightly narrowed eyes on Chandler.

"You knew?"

The taller man just shrugged, looking enviably at ease as he turned his face to the fitful breeze.

"Kendra had her suspicions. The check-up today was really a formality; I figured we all needed it if we were going to get some closure when we let you go. Just so we could be sure." Now, Chandler did meet his eyes, and Suzaku understood. As always, the man was protecting his girls.

"Thank you," Suzaku with quiet seriousness. "For everything."

"Don't mention it," Chandler said lightly with a shrug. But the quirk to his mouth meant, Really. Don't mention it. He started walking again, and Suzaku fell in step.

"Excited to go back?" Chandler asked lightly. He just jerked his shoulders.

"I'm a lot of things, but I'm not sure I'm excited. Doesn't really matter, though. I have to go back."

At that, Chandler just sighed.

"Yeah, that's a pisser, all right. You think you'll be OK?"

"Of course," Suzaku replied by quick rote. At Chandler's lingering silence, he glanced over, noticing the crooked brows and knowing, lopsided smile.

"I'll be fine." It was a likely a lie, but if he said it firmly enough, it could become true. Chandler just hummed, calling Ban back when he started to charge after a squirrel.

"You'd know best. Do something for me, though. For all of us."

Interesting. Kendra was blunt and asked; Chandler was canny and maneuvered. Between the two of them, they could get someone to do just about anything.

"What's that?" He couldn't help it – he had to ask, had to know before he made a promise he wasn't certain he could keep.

"Take care of yourself."

Suzaku blinked once, taken aback. That hadn't been at all what he'd expected.

"I'll keep an eye on Aurora, as best as she lets anyone keep an eye on her. But I need to know – we all do – that you'll keep going on as best you can. Make certain all my wife's fabulous work doesn't go to waste. Because she'll hunt you down and kick your ass if you do, and nobody wants that. You keep it together on your end, I'll do everything in my power to see to it we do on ours. Sound like a fair deal?"

Suzaku stopped, silently watching Chandler as the man pivoted to face him. He seemed so different in comparison to himself; so at ease when Suzaku constantly struggled to find his balance, so humorous when Suzaku had all but forgotten what humor was. Excepting their gender, he'd really believed that he had nothing in common with Chandler Andrews.

But that was wrong, and unfair to both of them. Chandler defined himself by how he protected those he loved, just as Suzaku had. Was learning to again. He understood that he could walk away, because he was leaving people like Chandler behind. And that was one of the hardest parts of it. Suzaku offered his hand, which Chandler clasped with a firm grip.

"Fair enough. I'm depending on you to keep her safe."

As long as Aurora was alright, he could do his duty with honor and integrity, do what needed to be done, regardless of the cost. Chandler just grinned, a little wryly.

"Aurora keeps herself safe; always has, probably always will. But I'll make sure she's OK, me and Kendra both. You've just got to keep up your side of the bargain."

"I'll do what I can."

With a nod, Chandler released his hand.

"That's all anyone can ask."

After a few more minutes of meandering, Chandler adjusted their direction, eventually heading back towards the house. They had been walking in companionable silence for several minutes when Chandler spoke again.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Here."

Suzaku glanced down at what Chandler casually offered him. It was a trio of photographs.

"Figured you'd want something to remember her by."

In the first, Aurora was sitting on the stone wall behind the house, Bannock standing atop the rocks next to her. She had an arm around his neck, a wicked grin crossing her face and laughter in her eyes, her hair a riotous tumble floating on a breeze. Her thin white blouse billowed a little, her ankles idly crossed as she appeared to happily swing her legs. She looked fresh and happy, stunningly beautiful.

In the second, she was in her stark black workout gear, her hair fiercely braided and her eyes like battle-hardened metal, rife with knowledge and tinted with a threat. He recognized the deep bow stance she'd centered herself into, her hands gracefully, lethally, spread. It was a breathless moment of elegant stillness before an explosion of destructive motion. Here, Aurora was his titan, his equal. His motivation.

Suzaku hadn't recognized either of the individual instances captured in the first two photographs. But he remembered the third. Had it only been a few weeks ago?

He and Aurora stood, intimately close, carefully twined. It had been the last day they'd practiced the choreography; the day Kendra and Chandler had come, snarling over paint colors. He remembered now the feeling of holding her in his arms, of Aurora trusting herself to his strength, the way she guided him through the momentum. At the time, he'd felt a little foolish, if pleased with his relative success and her warm praise. But the couple in the photo didn't look foolish. They looked…

Right. They looked right, in sync and rhythmically connected. Perfectly balanced.

Chandler had gifted him with the three strongest aspects of Aurora; the woman, the fighter, the dancer. After looking at each for what seemed years, he tucked them carefully in his breast pocket, giving himself a chance to regain his composure before meeting Chandler's eyes.

"Thank you. Very much."

He just shrugged, looking a little embarrassed at Suzaku's heartfelt thanks.

"Memories have a way of fading. I want to make certain she stays whole and bright for you. No matter how much time passes."

It was harder that way, Suzaku knew. Because some memories never faded, no matter how badly he wanted them to. And sometimes, the things he wanted to hold closest disintegrated, sun-bleached on the banks of his mind. But it was better this way, too. Because if Suzaku lost his memories of Aurora, the only things he would have left of her once he left, he was afraid of what else he would lose as a consequence.

"She will. You all will."

They had to, because he could bring himself to protect a world with them in it. Even thousands of miles away, it would still matter. And he would still remember.

Later that night, Suzaku found himself uncomfortably restless. He wandered his room, unable to settle down and drift off to sleep, or devote himself to a single drawing enough for any sort of progress. He'd been learning to fall asleep on command again over the last month, but his brain refused to cooperate tonight. Too much swirling around, he supposed. Too much weight that couldn't yet find a place to rest.

They'd returned to a painfully cheerful Aurora and an impassive, impenetrable Kendra. If Aurora's eyes and cheeks were still a little red, no one said a word. Due to the expectant mother's flagging endurance, the visit was cut short, the farewells brief, but sincere. Hours later, it still nagged at him that he might have forgotten to say something important, but the moment had inevitably passed. It took some hours before Suzaku could reconcile himself to the fact that he would never see the Andrews again – the hurt pulsed in him like a wound.

Perhaps that was what had him too nervy to even consider sleep. The realization that his lasts in Ireland were rapidly bearing down on him, some already sweeping past with only a rush of wind and color and warmth left in their wake. He could steel himself, could heft all the armor he managed to scrabble together; but it wouldn't change the fact that, with every passing second, Suzaku drew ever closer to his sworn mission, and farther from the dream-like reprieve Ireland had offered him.

After a few more minutes of pointless pacing, the sensation of being hemmed in became pungent. Moving quietly and carefully past Aurora's room, Suzaku all but snuck down the stairs, unsure of his direction when he hit the ground floor. He noticed a soft glow coming from the porch through the windows by the door. His brow furrowing in suspicion, Suzaku made his way over, silent on bare feet, the shadows enfolding him like old friends, worried over his absence and happy at his return.

However, as he eased the old, carved door open, he saw immediately it wasn't a threat. Not to the house. To his sanity, maybe.

Swamped in an enormous dark blue hoodie, so old that the emblem on the chest was all but worn away, Aurora was comfortably seated on the porch swing. She idly kept it rocking, her moccasined feet propped in front of her, her ankles negligently stacked, a travel mug that smelled of her daily brew wrapped in her hands. Ban was curled on one of his beds, nose tucked under his tail, his gray coat gilt in the shifting light of the scattering of candles along the railing. Aurora turned her gaze from the sky at his approach, blinking a few times, as if he was the last person she expected to see. Considering they were the only ones around for miles, Suzaku couldn't help but wonder who she had been expecting.

Her mouth curved, and his chest ached. She patted the section of bench next to her, and he obeyed, stepping out into the easy cool of the summer night. Without exchanging a word, she set the swing into motion again once he sat, tipping her head back slightly, turning her eyes to the icy scatter of stars glimmering across the dense, dark blanket of sky. Suzaku noticed the glitter of tiny diamonds at her ears, twins of the stars she stared at. Then he followed her gaze, and let himself see.

They sat like that for a while, comfortable in the quiet, interrupted only by the peeps and rustles of night creatures. Like a fog on the horizon, the reminder of Britannia and Nunnally hovered on the edge of Suzaku's mind. He'd already lost Kendra and Chandler to the inexorable duty he was bound to across the ocean – he couldn't yet quite bring himself to accepting the loss of Aurora, too. But that was all beyond the globe of the candlelight; here, within the province of those tiny flames, time, that which was his enemy and his savior, stood still.

Until Aurora spoke, restarting the clock.

"I…" She faltered, obviously at as much of a loss at what to say as he was. Finally, though, she rallied herself. "I want you to make sure you drink enough water."

Suzaku turned his head, and could only stare at Aurora. At the way her brow wrinkled, the way her fingers tapped and rippled over her mug of tea.

"And eat enough. Don't forget to do your stretches, for at least another six months. Get a music player – I've noticed how much you like using mine. Sketch whenever you can. You're too good and you love it too much to just stop. And-"

"Aurora." He couldn't help the patient, puzzled way he said her name, the syllables soft in his throat. She swallowed jerkily, still pinning her eyes to the bright pinpricks of stars. Moving on instinct rusty from disuse, remembering what Kendra had done for him earlier that day, Suzaku rested his arm along the back of the bench, running hesitant fingers over her hair. Gently, he guided her head down to his shoulder. Aurora went willingly, sighing when he continued to slowly brush his fingers over the glittering strands.

When he felt a spot of damp warmth on his shirt, though, Suzaku stiffened, his eyes drifting closed as pain and guilt wormed their way to the surface. He'd never wanted to make Aurora cry again; it seemed his mere presence was enough to cause her sorrow. Yet, he was afraid what his leaving would do to her. Arrogant to think that, perhaps, but it was a dilemma rapidly growing more disturbing.

"Please don't cry," he quietly begged into the crown of her hair, steeped in the soft scent of petals and sky. She scooted slightly closer, turning her face more truly into his shoulder, so that her words were a little muffled.

"I'm not crying."

The wet spot on his t-shirt was steadily growing larger.

"Of course you're not," he couldn't help but huff. A part of him wanted to laugh. Another wanted to curl into Aurora and weep with her. Instead, he did neither. He rested his lips against her hair, closing his eyes so that the dancing candles were an impression of light and warmth against his eyelids. And he said the lie they both needed.

"We have time."

He felt her nod against his shoulder, and deep in his heart.

"Time enough."

*Sob.* Yeah, fluff it up, Tango. God, you're going to need it in the coming chapters.

I'm kind of surprised with how short this one came out, but it got the job done. I'll make up for the baby chapters soon enough.

A few things made this chapter happen the way it did. I binge read the Captive Prince trilogy by C.S. Pacat. Again, except now with the addition of the new third book. It's amazing. Seriously. Go read it. The series can only be thinly tied to Phoenix thematically, but it's such a stunning piece of writing, I was inspired.

Then I came to the part where the silence had to be broken on the porch, and I sat there. Stumped. Who the hell would say what? Why?

So I went to ole reliable YouTube, and looked up a few of the more angsty clips of Suzaku from the series, including the infamous last ten minutes of the show. With Yuri's voice ringing loud in my head, I came back, and realized he would say nothing at all. Until Aurora started running her mouth.

I feel a rewatch coming on. Who's with me?

Review, review, bugaboos! (Yes, I'm obsessed with Miraculous Ladybug. I'm not ashamed.)

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango