Early the next morning, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air in a haze of caffeine and resignation, Suzaku, resplendent in the court version of Zero's costume, nudged open the door to the office of the Head of Covert Affairs. Justice Havens calmly turned from where he stood gazing out his office window, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his suit pants. Carefully cataloguing the man's expressions, Suzaku noted the almost expectant lift to Haven's brows, the total lack of surprise on his face. Apparently, he'd been expecting this visit.

"Ah. Lord Zero. I was wondering when we'd get around to this conversation."

Havens strolled over to his chair, the men sitting in tacit agreement that Zero didn't need his invitation, and Havens wasn't frightened enough of Zero to forgo his home territory advantage. The spymaster tipped back in his chair, steepling his fingers, gazing at Zero over the spears of his hands, eyes slowly and pitilessly tracing over the masked figure's relaxed form.

"You're doing better than I expected. Although you certainly took your time."

Suzaku just casually shrugged.

"Your men are skilled, and ruthless. You should be pleased." His easy tone belied the fact that he was discussing Justice's attempt on his life. Havens frowned a little, a corner of his mouth tightening.

"I don't know about that. You are alive, after all."

The two men stared at each other, tension sliding through the air like the current of air under the wings of predators. Knowledge breathed, without needing voice. Havens already considered himself dead – Zero obviously knew he was the bullet, though not the one pulling the trigger, meant to take his life. Suzaku needed to decide how much information he could extract from this man, who believed he had nothing left to lose. Just as he was trying to reconcile the idea of using force against someone not only very physically dangerous, but the closest Zero could have considered a friend during his tenure in the mask, Havens tipped his head down to the side. Leaning over, he dragged open a drawer, straightening and tossing a thick, embossed envelope across the desk to Suzaku.

"No point in making you ask. This is the order I received calling for your termination."

Suzaku smiled grimly at the clinical term, distinctly remembering the blinding burst of pain as a bullet pulverized the bone in his arm. As he retrieved and examined the order, he struggled against the wash of dismay through his stomach. The order was printed on Nunnally's stationary, distinctive by the unicorn head worked under the embossing in the top right corner. It not only bore her signature, Nunnally v. B., but the stamp of her personal correspondence, a unicorn dancing on laurel leaves. And there, in neat, impersonal text, was the command for Justice to deploy a special unit to neutralize Zero on foreign soil.

"Who delivered it?" Suzaku asked, careful to keep his voice dispassionate. Justice still sat behind his desk, fingers now loosely laced and face calmly controlled, but he could feel the coiled potential lurking inside him. It was still yet to be seen, but neither man knew if Havens would walk out of this meeting alive.

"Prince Schneizel," Justice answered with flat finality. Suzaku hid the flinch that moved across his shoulders; he'd spoken to Schneizel yesterday about this, determining the man's innocence and ignorance of the plot. But the last thing he needed was it becoming common knowledge that the first prince had been the messenger carrying his death order.

"And you, Justice? No second thoughts about releasing the hounds on my tail?" His voice was light, almost teasing. Only the shadow of regret moved across Justice's face, leaving a blasé roll of his shoulders and quiet acceptance in its wake.

"That's how it is, Zero. We've been playing this kind of game long enough to understand that end goals devour sentiment. You know as well as I do that it wasn't the first such mission I've been assigned. You're not immune – neither am I. No hard feelings, sir. It doesn't matter, but I didn't want to do it. When it comes down to it, though, my loyalties are to the Empress first. When she calls tools like you and I to action, we don't hesitate, and we don't get squeamish. Do we?"

Suzaku slowly tapped a finger against the edge of his execution order, observing Justice Havens closer than he had in months. Perhaps more closely than he ever had.

The Covert Affairs head had a slim build and moderate height that hid a well-trained strength, and black hair like an otter's pelt. Dark, hard eyes shifted in a fashion similar to night-time waters, the scar marring his face lending an edge of danger to a demeanor carefully modulated to appear unthreatening. There were lines drawn by hard experience, shadows brushed against skin by sleepless nights – standard hazards of his position. He was a man of primed, coiled strength and ruthless, unflinching power. Surviving the reign of three different monarchs of the old bloodline, Justice had remained one of the most steadfast defenders of the Britannian royalty, despite its recent, and drastic, changes.

Until now.

Now cycling the paper from corner to corner between his gloved fingertips, Suzaku considered. Justice was a powerful force in Nunnally's court; he was the only man realistically capable of killing Zero successfully and skating through the immediate aftermath. However, if he did happen to fail, had these unknown foes intended for these exact circumstances to unfold? If he didn't manage to kill Zero, Havens would be thrown into question, possibly even eliminated. And if he did, but was discovered, same result. One, or both, of Nunnally's staunchest and strongest supporters, eliminated with a single slip of forged paper. It was lethally elegant – disturbingly so.

Suzaku's hands froze. He stared at Justice, his blood turning glacial as the implications washed over him. The feeling was familiar; machinations moving like titans, pieces falling into place with a succinct fatality. Gritting his teeth, Suzaku briefly closed his eyes. He'd been down this road, fought this war. Never again, he'd promised himself. Never again would he fall prey to the clever dealings of insidious minds. He wouldn't let them win, wouldn't let them, whoever the hell they were, eliminate an important ally on the path to destroying what too many lives had been lost to build. It was a flaw of his that was dangerously easy to take advantage of, his stubborn determination that tricked him into believing his options were winnowed down to the most severe. It was Suzaku's responsibility to remember that there was another way.

"No. We can't afford to hesitate or falter, not when the fate of the empire hangs in the balance," Suzaku responded quietly, almost to himself. Finally, though, he straightened, decision made, fully aware of how intimidating it was to have the glass plate of Zero's mask unerringly aimed one's way. Havens, however, didn't cringe in the slightest.

"Nor can Her Majesty afford to lose an operative and citizen like yourself, Councilor Havens."

Justice blinked, the only manifestation of his surprise.

"You can't possibly trust me after this."

Suzaku cocked his head slightly at Justice's flat, disbelieving tone.

"I think you're more valuable kept in place, and in play. Besides, I said nothing about trust."

The set of Havens' shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly.

"You want me to act as a double agent."

Suzaku dipped his head slightly in agreement.

"If you're left unscathed after my return, they might assume you're still a viable asset. As such, it's entirely possible they could try to contact you again. I'm assuming that if contact is made, the Empress or myself will be made aware." The arched brow was in his voice, invisible behind his mask. Havens' index fingertips began to tap together, a manifestation of the wheels in his head beginning to turn on the grist of a plan, finally believing that he wasn't about to be executed, but called into service. Always a good turn of events for a spy.

"Is that the only project you're giving me?"

"I'd prefer it if we could stop referring to the people targeting the Empress as 'they.' See what you can dig up about who they are, and what they want besides me dead and Nunnally weakened. The sooner we know their identities, the sooner they can be dealt with."

Havens nodded, his eyes lighting with the eager glow of a hunting dog loosed onto a scent trail.

"Anything else?"

Suzaku nearly said no, nearly stood to end the meeting, having achieved what he wanted. Instead, his mouth opened largely without his consent, the words spoken surprising him more than Havens.

"One more thing. Do you know anything about an information broker named Rory Seven?" Aghast with himself, Suzaku couldn't help but notice the way Havens' brows climbed, his mouth twisting in nostalgic irony.

"That name's ancient history nowadays. But, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We had a few run-ins during the height of her career. She nearly got me blacklisted, then saved my life. You could say I took a professional interest. Why are you asking? Do you think she's involved?"

"No, I just… She came up a few times while I was away, and I thought it prudent to know as much as possible. Apparently, she was quite the heavy hitter back in the day."

Again, Havens smiled crookedly at Zero's comments, almost the way one does about a wild animal, appreciative of its beauty but bruisingly familiar with its unpredictability. Aurora indeed utterly belonged to the species of the gorgeous untamed, like wild horses and jungle cats.

"She was that, absolutely. Some thought she was the second coming of Lucy Hay before she fell off the map. The tracks she laid made death seem like the obvious answer for her disappearance, but I had my suspicions otherwise. Always thought she was too clever to fall from grace unless she intended on landing on her feet like a cat."

"I'd appreciate it if you could get me any information you have on her. It could come in handy."

Justice accepted the directive with ease, all of his considerable attention already fixed on the challenge of ferreting out the people who had used him.

Later, Suzaku still couldn't decide why exactly he'd made that request of Havens. He tried to puzzle out if renewing Havens' familiarity with Aurora could endanger her, but decided it would only become an issue if they ever crossed paths – an astronomically unlikely possibility. On the move to meet with Schneizel about possible unrest in the Lilith region of Brazilia, Suzaku didn't react to the staff he passed, all trained to ninja-like standards to move through the halls with silence and grace.

One maid, however, was apparently still in training, new enough to be awed into clumsiness by the famous figures that roamed these halls. As Zero passed, she bobbled the stack of books in her arms, the heavy slap of thick texts against hard wood floor catching Suzaku's attention. His eyes narrowed, however; the sound was muffled through the right side of his mask, coming in weak on the side closer to the noise's origin. Frowning as he turned to continue on his way, he decided to have Lloyd run some maintenance on it, see if anything was wrong with his mask. And, oh joy, wasn't that a treat he'd managed to avoid thus far.

Lloyd and Cecile didn't have the slightest clue how to speak to him these days. Cecile tried, but the gag order slapped on them was so thick, they could hardly enunciate. Which, of course, Lloyd compensated for by being a total fool. Being around them tended to wear him out, and Suzaku found himself tired enough as it was.

Exhausted, in fact. Slowing his pace a little, Suzaku relented, reaching up to rub at the tension that seemed to harden into a throbbing rock at the base of his neck. However, he hadn't the luxury to wallow in his discomfort – gritting his teeth, Suzaku straightened, lengthening his stride and turning down another corridor with a snap of his cloak.

"Hey there, ladies. I'm home." Chandler had a moment to privately reflect that even though they'd spent the last three months largely apart, it took very little time for the rhythm to resurge between Kendra and Aurora. They were so used to working together, they nearly functioned in unison. They looked over at him in unison; when they caught sight of his face, they even paled in unison. When he tried to muster a calming smile, it flashed to a wince, however, as the motion pulled at his torn lip, which, of course, had them rushing to his side in unison.

From there, it progressed almost exactly as he'd imagined during the frankly miserable drive home. Between a whirlwind of gauze and iodine and distress leaking off the women like gasoline fumes, he ceded to the demands of explanation about what had happened as he pressed an ice pack to his jaw. Chandler Andrews had pride, after all, and it was humiliating to admit that he'd been jumped by a group of thugs not far from where his car had been parked.

Aurora's lessons had counted for something, however; they'd gotten away with his wallet, but not his car keys. He'd made them work for it, which was something to hold onto when his left eye was swelling like a plum and his rib cage felt like the pummeled keys of a pub piano. When he glanced at Kendra apologetically – the wallet had been a gift from her – she simply laid a cool hand against the throbbing side of his face, and leaned closer.

"Moron. I care about you, not some dumb wallet." The worry in her eyes made the aches on his face and ribs amplify, and he grit his jaw before the flash of pain had him loosening it with a poorly disguised gasp.

It wasn't until about five minutes later that they noticed Aurora was gone. When Bannock didn't appear at Chandler's weakly executed whistle, they glanced at each other, a sense of foreboding stealing across the room like smoke.

"I hope she took her phone. And money. And food."

Chandler just took Kendra's hand.

"I hope she took a gun."

One of the first lessons George had ever taught his pupil was about information. Not just how it could be obtained or sold, stolen or hidden. But how it spread and moved, a flow of energy intrinsically tangled in the web of life humans were much more familiar with. Brokers tapped into that flow, for both their livelihoods and survival. It was impossible for a single person to know everything; informants lived and died by each other, a hard, inescapable rule. And networks were essential to the control and understanding of information, a system Aurora had once sleekly moved through like a dolphin.

A difficult thing about networks, however, is that they are expensive, and often difficult and time-consuming to construct. Just ask any government, spy agency, or law enforcement bureau, George had once told her with a cynical laugh. So why not be efficient? In the underbelly of every city, large or small, there was already a network in place, one inherently linked to the most information-rich sources by its very nature. It was simply a matter of knowing how to tap in correctly.

The building was like the rest in the Bones; tattered, decaying, and dangerous. This one, however, still seemed relatively structurally stable. Aurora ducked inside, familiar with the fires burning in metal drums and the crinkle of newspaper used to stuff shoes and coats. It was high July, but nights could still get cold, and the unprepared all too often ended up dead. The air was heavy with the scent of wet wool and unwashed skin, cold floors and rusted metal. The people moved around her with wraith-like caution, shifting away like scattered mice at her approach. Until a few recognized the shine of her hair, the shape of the dog at her side. When they called out to her with a friendly tone of voice, she returned the acknowledgement with a protein bar paired with a ten-pound note, earning directions towards Clea.

Aurora knew that few information constructs were more effective than the homeless network. Working at Kendra's clinic had afforded her the chance to develop relationships within that society more thoroughly than she might have otherwise, lending a symbiotic note to their interactions. It was a simple system, one that lasted if respected. Thugs and mercs came and went, but transient populations were sorrowfully eternal.

Finally, tucked in the warmest, strongest corner of the house, Aurora found Clea. She'd been pretty once, before time and woe carved her into a wooden block the shape of an old woman. Her ancestors had likely once ridden camels over the sands of the Middle East; nowadays, Clea held court in the Bones, a rugged survivor and queen of those who had no place to call home. Aurora shook her hand respectfully, brittle skin draped over bowing bones, the air heavy with sweat and cloves.

"Wondered if you were coming back." Clea's voice was as rusty from years of smoking, not necessarily cigarettes.

"Had a job overseas. Done now, so I'm home."

Clea nodded – she already knew about the second part. Aurora's involvement in the treatment of those affected by the collapse yesterday had likely become common knowledge before she herself had been made aware of it. Ban, as was his way, wandered over to Clea, delicately sniffing her hands before gazing at her with quietly entreating eyes. Finally, the fireplug of a woman, a faded scarf tied over graying hair, smiled and stroked her gnarled hands over Ban's head before returning her eyes, dark as pitch and spider-webbed at the corners by wrinkles, back up to Aurora.

"And just in time, too. What can I do for you, Sterling?"

Aurora dove her hands into her jacket pockets, aware that fisting them unconsciously could set off defense mechanisms in the people around her she had no intention of tripping.

"Someone jumped Chandler today. Stole his wallet and tenderized his face."

Clea looked at her out from under the tattered hank of hair falling into her eyes as she continued to rub Ban's muscled shoulders. Oh yes, Aurora thought. Clea understood the lay of the land perfectly.

Kendra's clinic was well known for its open-door policy; practically everyone in this building, and frankly this district, had sought aid there at one time or another. Since she required payment only when feasible, Kendra was something of a patron saint amongst the homeless, providing a place they would be guaranteed care. All too often, their survival depended on the generosity of the good doctor. Yesterday's incident merely emphasized that fact. What fewer knew was that Chandler was often the one throwing his weight behind legislature that would benefit Clea and those like her, defending the people all too easily forgotten.

A threat to either of the Andrews was a threat to an entire population, and could be seen by some as an act of war. Clea's people may have had little in the way of outright power, but they could make life impossible for anyone that even brushed against the fringes of society. Aurora was petty enough to enjoy the idea, but she had something to take care of first. This was personal.

"Who's new enough to be that stupid? I have something I want to clarify."

Clea took in Aurora's expression and stance, far too experienced in the harder ways of life to miss the bulge of the shoulder-holstered Glock 19 currently ruining the line of the blond woman's tough brown leather jacket.

"A band of sharks have been making a nuisance of themselves down in the Corridors. Dug in like ticks at the old tire shop."

Aurora's brow quirked, leaving her looking austere and lethal in the flickering fire light. She appeared ready, even thirsty, for combat, and Clea didn't doubt the woman's capacity for destruction. Every inch of her was pulled taut with purpose, the pulse of breath, blood, and bone beating against a steely control. Her eyes glittered like a quick, cold death, and Clea could almost hear her teeth creaking from the way she had them fiercely clamped.

"Then I'll just have to dig them out, won't I?"

Clea gave Ban one final pat before accepting the customary offer of money and food. Aurora nodded, then turned on her heel, Ban slipping away behind her. If she wasn't so irritated at those little pricks, Clea would have almost felt sorry for them. Those guppies fancied themselves dangerous; it would be interesting to see how they'd handle coming face to face with a tiger shark.

By the time she stepped outside, a thin, cold rain misted down, sliding another layer of oily anger over the mess already roiling inside her. Turning up her collar, Aurora glanced down at her dog, muttering "Perto," into the chilled air. Bannock immediately glued himself to her side, the Porteguese word for "close" one of his hard commands. It was blatant enough by his mistress's tone and demeanor that this was no time for play; the use of one of his hard commands ensured the dog was absolutely obedient. After all, this particular task had the promise to be treacherous.

Quickly calling up her mental map of the city, Aurora set out, her boots grinding over the detritus of the streets with her determined stride. Things had changed in her time away; it surprised her, even as she chided herself, knowing it shouldn't have. Nothing stood still, not really. Even she had changed over the course of a mere handful of months.

Aurora shook her head, scattering those thoughts like droplets of rain shaken from a dog's coat. Not now. Now was the time to focus, to see to it that she completed her mission as safely as possible. Her heartache was her own – she refused to be responsible for more because of simple foolishness.

She found the tire shop easily enough. The defining characteristics of the exterior had rotted away long ago; the only reason anyone knew its original purpose was the large rubber facsimile hanging above the boarded-up windows, precariously clinging to its perch. Since the front windows and door were still blocked and unused, the men who had attacked Chandler had to access the building from another point.

Carefully ducking through a side alley, her eyes narrowed when she came upon a much more adequately barred door under a tilting overhang. A thin stream of water trailed from the left corner, adding a dissonant note of water pooling on cracked concrete to the hiss of rain. Rocking back on her heels and surveying the building, Aurora considered her options. Finally, she sighed. When in doubt, it was best to go with the classics.

Yanking the tie from her braid, she scrubbed her fingers through her damp hair. There was no convenient mirror, and the puddles were too dark to be of use, so she just had to hope that she looked like she'd tumbled out of bed, not off a garbage truck. Making sure the lapels of her jacket were pulled back, she tugged down the plain black tank she wore, enough to have the edge of her bra peeking over the hem. It was too late to wish for purple or lace trimmings, or concealer for the shadows under her eyes and a bit of mascara, but Aurora would just have to hope that her bone structure and the proffered curve of her breasts could carry the day. Finally, she glanced down at Ban, who'd watched her preparations with patient interest, lazily sniffing at the garbage scattered from a nearby, overflowing dumpster, layering the rain-heavy air with the scent of decay.

"Chosaint." The Gaelic word for "defend" had his hackles raising, ranging himself against her leg. With that, she heaved a deep breath, and knocked on the door. Arranging herself in an alluring slouch against the door frame, also conveniently blocking Ban from view, Aurora waited patiently for the door to crack open. When it did, the chain a thin defense, she pulled a seductive, inviting smile over her face.

"Evening, handsome."

The man, barely more than a boy, who had answered the door was, in fact, average at best, lank blond hair awkwardly parted. His pale brows jerked up, and the clouding of his watery blue eyes as they dropped down to her appealing displayed breasts told her that the ploy stood a solid chance.

"I heard you fellas had a few good scores today. Figured you'd be up for a little congratulatory fun."

He grinned lustily, revealing bad teeth and a soft brain.

"Hell, hard to say no to that. What would you say to a group rate?" He was already edging the door closed to the pull the chain.

"I think I can work something out," Aurora murmured as she pulled her gun free from the holster, flicking the safety off with a practiced twitch of her thumb. Pathetic, really, how the promise of a victory fuck was enough to allow a breech.

As the door swung open again, Aurora added to the momentum with a hard shove, sending Blondie jerking back and off balance, too confused at the sight of the barrel advancing on him, about to tap his nose, to reach for the gun on the cracked table. With absolutely zero remorse, she crowded close, kneeing him in the balls before cracking the butt of her pistol against his cheekbone, sending him crashing to the ground in a lump, his hands still raised.

Hearing the advancing thud of steps, Aurora whirled, her gun raised. For a minute, a black fury pulsed through her, demanding that she empty her clip into the thug coming at her like a freight train, easily twice the size of his compatriot. Better reason, and thicker guilt, however, won out – at the last moment, she stepped to the side, tracking the heavier-set brunette as he crashed into the table.

He came up with the gun in his hands, and Aurora moved quickly. Pulling in close again served her well; she kicked at his knee, and when he howled at the crunch, she snatched his pinky, bending it back with a crack and guiding him down to the ground. The gun fell uselessly from his unpracticed, slanted grip, and Aurora snagged it and economically tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, her Glock's nose pressed convincingly to the thug's forehead. Knee to his chest, she moved the gun to his right hand, pressing against his palm. Leaning closer, she let the anger light her eyes like sheet lightning.

"You're getting off easy," she murmured, and pulled the trigger. The man's scream competed with the second gunshot, and the sting on her upper arm warned Aurora to get her brain back into the game, and quickly. Before she had time to scold herself further, or even turn around and finish off Blondie, his wail rent the air, paired with a deep, vicious growl. She turned in time to see Ban's teeth latched onto his right wrist, throwing his entire, considerable weight against the man, eyes lit with an unholy fury.

Blondie twisted like a fox caught in a trap, whimpering and blubbering as long teeth sank into vulnerable flesh like a barbed vise. Burying her fingers in the big boy's greasy hair, she yanked his head up, then slammed it against the concrete, his eyes rolling back into his head, sinking obligingly into unconsciousness. Standing, Aurora approached Ban and his quarry, waiting until the man's teary eyes met hers.

"You, however, aren't so lucky," she said quietly, leveling her gun at his forehead. Blood and tears and snot streaked his face. "I need to speak with your boss. And he'll only let go," she jerked her chin towards Ban, "when you're willing to cooperate. So – you going to help me out?" Frantically, he nodded, sobbing as blood dripped on the dirty floor, oily in the weak light.

"Släppa," she said quietly, this particular command for release using the Swedish word. Ban loosened his jaws, allowing Blondie to collapse in a sniveling pile. He remained close, however, his lips lifted threateningly but utterly silent. The thug raised his hands placatingly, still openly weeping at the torn wounds on his wrist pumping blood. Stepping behind him, Aurora roughly snagged his collar, yanking him to his feet and propelling him forward, burying the nose of her gun in his spine as Ban stayed close.

At her quiet questions, he directed them across the cavernous stable of abandoned bays that still stank of metal, oil, and rubber, up rickety stairs, and down the hall. Aurora couldn't help but roll her eyes – they were either drunk, stoned, or dumb, not to come racing down at screams and gunfire. Or cowards, she silently amended upon kicking open the door her hostage had gestured to, shoving him to his knees and revealing a dank room full of stupid, scared street thugs, mid-debate as to who had to be the chopped liver sent down to investigate.

The few that managed to think clearly enough to grab a weapon lowered them in consternation when Aurora pressed one gun to the back of Blondie's trembling skull and produced the other from the small of her back, aiming it at a slim, dark-haired guy, a blue bandana wound around his upper right arm the only splotch of color in the otherwise drearily dying room. The quick, panicked glances towards him cinched the assumption that this was the leader.

"Now that I have your attention," she said pleasantly. "I have to inform you that you made a grievous error today, gentlemen. You took something with excessive force from a friend of mine. A friend with enough connections in this city to make this little wake-up call look like foreplay. Now, if I had it my way, this would be the last we ever see each other. But," she continued with narrowed eyes, the menace suddenly lacing her voice sending a few boys gulping in terror, "if you ever tangle with someone close to me again, it won't just be a slap-on-the-wrist like today. I will annihilate every single one of you, leaving the kind of remains behind that demand closed coffins."

More than one paled, only the leader daring to respond.

"Bitch, if you think-" His words, and his advance on Aurora, were swiftly halted, however, when Ban snarled then snapped twice, Blondie flinching like he'd been hit with a bat.

"Here's a piece of friendly advice," Aurora said conversationally. "When you're new to a town, take some time. Figure out the safe targets. News flash: the guy you hit today is off limits. As are me and mine. Trust me, kiddos. I play in the big leagues – this is one war you are not ready to wage. Call my attention to you again, and I'll rain down fire like the Demon Emperor himself. Now, before you say anything else stupid and testosterone-fueled, I want the wallet you stole today." She locked eyes with the leader, completely unfazed by the rage burning there, calmly engaging in the battle of wills.

When he turned towards a table littered with liquor bottles and overflowing ash trays, she tucked the acquired gun back into her waistband, neatly catching the wallet tossed her way with her freed hand. The good leather flipped open at the jerk of Aurora's wrist, and she frowned back up at the scowling head of the snake.

"I'm not even going to bother asking for the cash back, but you're going to hand the cards and ID's to Blondie here. Do anything stupid, and I'll redecorate the walls with brain splatter, starting with yours."

Oh, the little leader looked ready to tear her limb from limb, but he obeyed her request nonetheless. Her hostage still whimpered quietly, shuddering when the items were slapped into his hand, then presented back to Aurora. Satisfied all were accounted for, she quietly commanded Ban to retreat in Mandarin, rocking her weight onto her toes in preparation.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now then," she continued more softly, locking eyes with the leader – she hadn't missed the bloody bruising around his knuckles, likely damaged when they'd been driven into her friend's cheekbone and eye socket. "This is for Chandler." Lowering her gun, she neatly shot him in the foot. Before the rest of the group could react beyond stunned horror at the blue bandana's throaty scream, Aurora raised her gun and shot out the light, plunging the room into brittle darkness. To the sounds of panicked chaos, she slipped away, her shadow patiently waiting for her downstairs, and together they sprinted back to the door, still left ajar from her forceful entrance. As she stepped out into the misting rain with Ban at her side, Aurora took a moment to toss the gun she'd gained into the dumpster before loping home.

Kendra and Chandler jerked to attention when the kitchen door opened, admitting Aurora, exhausted and on-edge, and Bannock, his muzzle still bloody and his eyes pinned to his mistress. She paused next to Chandler, gently setting his wallet on the table at his elbow.

"Cash was a lost cause," she said coolly, heading towards the refrigerator and snagging a bottled water. "But everything else should be there."

Husband and wife stared at the wallet, good, simple brown leather, for a moment before lifting probing eyes to Aurora, damp and pale.

"I'm assuming no casualties," Chandler said, fighting to remove inflection from his tone. Aurora shrugged as she gulped water, and for a moment, his battered head swirled.

"Nothing fatal," she reassured them. "If anyone not tagged by Clea, Zwei, or Bruno show up here looking for treatment, well. That's your decision."

"You didn't have to do this," Kendra said quietly, her voice tight and hard like bone. Aurora just tossed the now-empty bottle into the recycling bin, her entire face blank and cold as she turned to leave the room.

"Yeah, I did," she returned, certain and calm. Kendra stood angrily, the screech of the chair against the floor drawing her friend to a stop

"No, you didn't. You took an enormous risk to get back a stupid wallet. God, Aurora, what if something had happened to you?"

Aurora had halted at Kendra's words in the kitchen doorway, her shoulders drawing up defensively, her back still to her friends. Even cloaked in her wet jacket, the painfully straight, strained line of her spine was glaringly apparent. For a moment, they watched her struggle in silence, watched her fists clench with breaking force. Then, on a soft sigh, they loosened.

"Please," Aurora whispered, the sound seemingly wrenched from her very core. Finally, she turned back partially to face them, her eyes bleak with a kind of pain that could rust out a soul if left untended. "Please let me protect you. Because I'm helpless here." She turned her hands palm out, achingly weaponless and deceptively fragile. "I can't do anything for him, not against the kind of danger he faces. And if I let the impotence set in, I'll go insane. So please. Let me keep both of you – all of you – safe." The naked pleading in Aurora's eyes had Kendra's knees wobbling, Chandler's throat tightening. What could the doctor do but nod?

At that, Aurora turned away, quietly mounting the stairs to her room. Kendra sank back into her chair, tightly gripping her husband's hand. Together, they stared mutely at the retrieved wallet.

Howdy, guys and gals! My schedule's still packed to the gills, but I'm doing my best to hack out time for Phoenix. Come March/April, things should settle down a bit, but until them, I'm doing my best to keep the updates coming, slowly but surely.

Chapters will kind of be like this for a while – the kids are approximately four thousand miles apart, so things are happening in their lives that are not tightly linked, and jumps are driven more chronologically than thematically. I'm trying to keep Suzaku and Aurora's screen time pretty evenly spread, although Suzaku might lead a little, as he's technically the main character.

Let me know how that action scene felt. It's been a while since we played hard and tough, and I really like getting my hands back onto the faster paced stuff.

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango