Straddling a chair and resting his chin on the hands he'd stacked on the chair's back, Suzaku patiently waited as Lloyd fiddled with his Zero mask. The scientist hummed tunelessly, always pleased with a puzzle. And as he was responsible for the bulk of the upgrades made to the mask after it had been bequeathed to Suzaku, he felt a proprietary possessiveness over it that helped snare his chronically wandering attention.

Cecile sat a little farther down to Suzaku's right, industriously typing away at her computer, running diagnostics on the mask's functions; Suzaku ignored her occasional furtive glances his way, slowly clenching his jaw against the awkward confusion she radiated like warmth. They'd spent years together – Lloyd and Cecile had been the voices in his ear through some of the most intense and pivotal battles of the last century. And yet, when all was said and done, they had no idea what to do with the patched-together puppet Suzaku had become.

Not that he was much better. What could he say, really? What was there left to say that they didn't already know, left to clarify that wouldn't make him sound weak and stupid? They'd been allies, colleagues once. Perhaps even friends. Now though, Suzaku looked at them through the lens of a well-informed acquaintance.

Cecile had allowed her hair to lengthen over the last couple of years, now tamed back in a neat, dense tail that fell straight as rain down her spine. Suzaku knew it was her gentle influence that had convinced Lloyd to get a new pair of glasses; his old pair had been crushed when he'd been arrested, and instead of going back to the same wide, wire-frame style, she'd persuaded him to smaller, squarer lenses and dark frames. It made him appear scholarly and dashing – Suzaku and Cecile knew better, but the impression certainly helped when he was making his dramatic rounds at fundraisers and charity events.

As one of the premier scientists of the Empire, Lloyd was something of a celebrity among the scientific community. His counterpart was, of course, Rakshata, and things could get downright interesting when both of them were in attendance at an event. Suzaku had refereed enough of those gatherings to know that the reason blood had never been shed had practically nothing to do with his presence, and everything to do with Cecile's. Besides her hair, little of her had changed. She was still the voice of reason of the department, still the subtle backbone to Lloyd's fluid conscience. And still a terrible cook, he thought with a suppressed grin/grimace, eyeing the plate of cookies she'd offered him earlier. Peanut butter and pickle relish this time.

He sighed through his nose, briefly letting his eyes drift closed and passing his palm over his mouth at the memory of the travesty Cecile had brightly proclaimed was a cookie. Once, he been the only one dumb enough to actually eat her concoctions. Now, she would look devastated any time he refused, depending on him to be her one reliable consumer. So, at the cost of a single awful cookie, he could make Cecile happy, if only for a little while. Small price to pay, but it was a miserable toll in the moment.

It took a few tries for the sound of Cecile's voice to filter around to his left ear. Tilting his head out of a habit that he'd been forced to build over the last few days, Suzaku listened with half his brain, the other half trying to slow its freefalling pinwheel into panic. The hearing problem had never happened outside of his mask before. Oblivious to his internal strife, Cecile carried on, her soft voice the cornerstone to several years of Suzaku's life.

"…and when I ran diagnostics on all the systems, I couldn't find anything a few upgrades won't fix. Its lack of use over the last three months did cause some minor issues, but there isn't any evidence of processes that had fully shut down." She stepped around his absence with the cool composure that came from years of winding through human minefields.

"And you know I have no tolerance for glitches in my work," Lloyd added, sauntering over to Suzaku, the improved mask balanced in the palm of his hand, casually offering it with a steady, probing gaze. "If there's an error, it's a human one." He spoke of Suzaku the same way he always had – with the banal indifference reserved for the necessary but unreliable parts of his machines. He would always just be a devicer to Lloyd, someone who operated his creations with an acceptable level of skill. But he would never forgive Suzaku for being fallible – for being human. Suzaku didn't know if he could forgive himself, either.

He stood, offering his thanks as he replaced the mask, turning away too quickly to see the worried glance Cecile and Lloyd exchanged. Suzaku was gone before Cecile had the chance to wish him a happy belated birthday.

Intent on getting back to his quarters to cautiously, and privately, probe out the cause of this sudden problem with his hearing, Suzaku was shocked to see Nunnally in his office, idly flipping through one of the few sketchbooks he'd brought with him from Ireland. He slammed the door shut before his conscious mind caught up with the impulse, the loud crash startling them both. Nunnally's huge eyes, soft as lilac in spring, jerked up to his like a startled doe's. It still jolted him on occasion, the way she could see him, the way her gaze carried weight and meaning – Suzaku had met her after her blindness. He'd never known a seeing Nunnally until after the Requiem had been set into motion.

The whip lash of anger surprised him – he had few, if any, secrets that he kept from Nunnally. Why, then, was he suddenly so desperate to keep his experience with Aurora to himself, safely tucked away from even the most understanding of eyes? It was all Suzaku could do to restrain himself from lunging forward, from snatching the notebook from her small, pale hands. As he approached at a measured pace, though, he could see the page Nunnally had stopped on.

It was one of the sketches of Aurora and Ban wrestling and playing he'd made the night following their first dance lesson. He'd liked this one, bright with laughter and affection as Aurora had enthusiastically rubbed Ban's ears, laughing as he'd licked her nose, enough to give it individual attention with the rainbow of pencils she'd gifted to him, all still back in Gallagher. With express gentleness, he slipped the book from Nunnally's grasp, closing the cover with the quiet sound of a boundary being erected, and set it on his desk, blatantly beyond her reach. Finally, Suzaku faced the empress, removing his mask to offer her the vulnerability of his face in compensation for the part of himself he'd just glaringly set off limits.

Nunnally stared at him, struggling to wipe the shock from her expression. Never, she thought. Never had Suzaku denied her anything, never laid down a line she was so obviously forbidden from crossing. He'd sidestepped before, adroitly nudged her away from things he didn't want to talk about, subjects he couldn't bring himself to discuss. But a door that had always been at least cracked open to her had just been softly yet inexorably shut, and she couldn't quite rally her brain as to the why of it, she was so rattled.

"Do you need something, Nunnally?" With a restless sort of confusion, she examined his face, his words. He'd gained a little weight during his time away, enough to soften the hollows in his cheeks from gaunt to artistic. His color was a little better, a warm, golden tint to his skin that had been absent the last few years. His hair was a little shorter, ruffled now from the mask. Otherwise, though, Suzaku was exactly the same as he'd always been, said those words with the same gentle inquiry he'd always given her, the polite interest of an older sibling etched in his expression. Why, then, did it feel like he was miles, not inches, away?

"I…" she began weakly, feeling more young and inept in the face of a Suzaku she couldn't understand or define than she ever had in her rule as Empress, ill-prepared as she'd been. "Is that Aurora's dog?"

"Yes," Suzaku answered simply, resting his palm on the sketchbook cover in an unmistakable gesture of possession and protection, gazing at it for a moment before returning his eyes to hers. "His name is Bannock. Dark gray and black, some kind of Greyhound mix, I think."

"Oh," she murmured for want of something clever, her voice small and unsure. Nunnally suddenly needed to touch Suzaku's hand, to reassure herself that he had indeed returned. But he'd become incredibly leery of touching her over the last few years, largely because of her talent to parse the truth from lies with a simple touch. Would an attempt at contact encourage him to throw up yet another wall to block her out, or remind him that, in the end, they were ultimately family?

He never gave her the chance to try. Suzaku turned away from her, setting his mask down atop the sketchbook before sitting, angling the chair to face her and tilting his head slightly. His tone and face were utterly calm, completely business-like. Yet Nunnally could practically smell the smoke, the fires of conflict and pain burning inside him. But nothing in his demeanor gave his suffering away. If she was being totally honest, very little of it ever had.

"After discussion with Schneizel and Councilor Havens, we've identified three factions within court that could be responsible for the recent trouble we've been dealing with."

"Trouble?" Nunnnally couldn't help but quietly parrot with a quirked brow. Only Suzaku would refer to an assassination attempt that nearly killed him as "trouble." The corner of Suzaku's mouth just curled, tipping his head in acknowledgement of his bald understatement before continuing.

"Two are built around noble families, one with close ties to the throne and the other with a history of opposition to your reign. The third is a guild, a descendant of the old merchant classes, who would like nothing more than to see us return to war. Conflict has a way of being very lucrative to those who know exactly where to place their money." How easily Aurora would deal with them, he couldn't help but think to himself. She'd use one of her enviable contacts to nose around the guild's accounts, find the thread that, with a single firm tug, would send their whole sordid ball of yarn tumbling into the light to be picked apart.

Suzaku, however, didn't have the time for that luxury. The guilds were considered free agents within court, and one could never predict their following or support at any single time. They could be adrift, or they could be rife with backers. Taking on the guilds was not something to be done lightly – a war on two fronts within her own home ground was the last thing Nunnally needed, especially if it was because Suzaku bet on the wrong horse. Squaring off against one of the noble families had its own consequences, as well.

Each faction was built around a young nobleman, the centerpiece for their particular display. The boys themselves, around Suzaku's age but outrageously immature by comparison, were hardly a threat. Keith Wellford and Richard Langley were the modern version of fops, and Suzaku usually made it his mission to avoid them at all costs. Not because they were dangerous; far from it.

They were incredibly annoying. Wellford was a pompous ass, focused on his perceived reputation as a lady-killer more than any sort of weight he could throw around in court. Langley was the opposite in that he was omnipresent in court, but young and dumb enough that no one took his comments very seriously. In a few decades, they might be able to manage trouble on their own.

The real danger of them lay in their lineage. Both were distant cousins of Nunnally, and both could stand to gain a great deal of support should the throne suddenly find itself empty. Wellford's faction had a history of tense interactions with the Empress and her council, while Langley's family had loudly voiced their support of Nunnally from the moment of her coronation. Too loudly, Suzaku thought now. It took an experienced eye to discern those that curried favor simply for power and those that felt a loyalty that could be trusted.

An eye that had seemed instinctual for Suzaku's father, and one that he'd inherited in only the weakest way. Schneizel was must more skilled at sniffing out traitors – Suzaku had depended on the prince's sixth sense before, and would likely have to again before this was over.

"It looks like they're the ones with the potential of the most immediate damage. We'll keep an eye on them, and keep you apprised of the situation as it develops." God, that was military training dripping out of his mouth, all appeasement and hefty, hollow words. But instead of the disgust he felt for himself reflected in Nunnally's eyes, she simply nodded, absorbing his words with relaxed acceptance. Suzaku was gearing up for a status report on possible unrest in the southern regions when Nunnally's soft voice cut through his thoughts like a scalpel.

"I didn't know you could draw."

"Neither did I," he said with a wry smile. "At least, not before Aurora handed me a pad and pencil to keep me occupied during recovery."

Nunnally chuckled, cluing in to the implied joke of an injured Suzaku barred from activity, and the royal hell he was capable of raising.

"You're very good."

This was always the worst part – Suzaku didn't know when exactly he'd become so appalling at graciously accepting a compliment, but the words stuck in his throat like clay. Protest was easy, but etiquette training from his youth made the words sour on his tongue. Nunnally seemed to expect a response, though, and his conscience was still smarted from the way he'd erected a barricade between them that had never before existed.

"Thank you," he managed after clearing his throat, barely restraining himself from choking on the words.

"I'll see you later for tea," Nunnally returned quietly, excusing herself with grace as she left the room. Suzaku watched her go, waiting until the door shut behind her before turning back to his desk, planting his elbows onto the polished oak, and dropping his head in his hands.

He was so tired.

So, of course, perversely, he didn't sleep for the next three days. Chased out of his first REM cycle by gut-clenching, bloody nightmares, it was the final image of Euphie dying in his arms that sent him fleeing to consciousness. Suzaku spent the rest of the first night drawing, then burning everything he drew while the sun slipped over the horizon, hoping to any holy entity possibly listening that it had purged his mind of whatever was haunting it.

The next night, the dreams got worse. This time, he watched Euphie die over and over again, in increasingly worse ways as he stood paralyzed, her screams tattooing themselves in his ears, even the one that hadn't picked up on any sound in days. By the time he wrested himself from the dark cling of the nightmares, Suzaku found himself curled in the corner of the room, hands bloody from scrabbling and pounding at windows that weren't there, looking for any escape. He took to pacing, swift, laser-straight lines that he desperately hoped would cage whatever lurked in his head.

But it didn't help. It seemed he'd only just closed his eyes, too tired to stand after over forty-eight hours without sleep, when blood splattered against his mind's eye. He flinched out of the dream like he'd been slapped, laying for a long time with his palms smashed against his eyes, the occasional tear leaking down his temple. Finally, his skin itching and nerves twitching, he sat up, elbows braced against his knees and hands dangling, and he watched the clock on his desk count down the hours, until he stood to don his mask to again become Zero.

Suzaku had survived this before – he was actually quite accomplished at completing his duties when he was little better than a zombie. He couldn't guess what had been unearthed in his psyche to unleash such horrors when his defenses were down, and he didn't know how to solve it. In a new, painful way, he ached for Aurora. Deep in his bones, he'd have given anything for her to be there, for her to help him through.

Beyond exhaustion and just shy of stumbling, Suzaku had pulled away from a lunch Lord Sellens was hosting, knowing that even if his mind couldn't rest, the least he could do was rest his body. As he all but tripped into his suite, engaging the locks behind him and pulling off his mask with numb fingers, Suzaku's eyes swept through the room in a pass that he couldn't prevent unless he was actually dead. When he noticed the anomaly, it took a few seconds for his fried brain to actually register what it was.

Oh, God. There was a bag of heroin on his desk.

What he wouldn't give for a whisper of relief, the tiniest easing of this immense pressure that was practically driving him into the floor. Sensory memory swamped him, and Suzaku nearly whimpered. It would be so easy, and he was so tired...

A thought shot through his tattered brain like a cobra, almost too fast to see or understand, but it left a lingering venom that stung so badly, his throat closed, yanking him back from his tumble into desire.

It was a wish, a tired, desperate need to alleviate constant agony. He wished… He wished he'd never known Euphie, never loved her. Yearned that she'd never existed at all. So he would never have to suffer like this, spared the war zone that had become his brain ever since the loss of someone he loved so deeply.

He didn't mean it, Suzaku hurried to reassure himself, so shocked that his determined march to his desk trailed to a stiff halt, bracing his hands on the back of his chair as his knees nearly buckled, repeating to himself, over and over, that he'd loved Euphemia. He loved her. He'd never wish her gone. But instead of his light, his compass, the memory of the princess now felt like a toxin, nursing an immense anger that seemed too big for his skin to contain, not without tearing him apart at the seams or running so thick through his blood that Suzaku would stroke out before he ever rid himself of it.

His eyes drifted shut at the injustice of it all. It wasn't supposed to be this way; it was sad, and brutal, and… wrong, that Suzaku's feelings for Euphie could be affected by how his mind was trying to break itself down.

The memory of Euphemia was supposed to be hallowed, free from the corruption of Suzaku's emotions and fallibilities. He couldn't even pinpoint the moment when it had changed, when the fabric of memories had started becoming twisted and stained by the ugly pollutant swirling through him. It was appalling to realize that the heroin hadn't just numbed him; it had tainted the one thing he held sacred.

Was it his fault? Something in him that was essentially broken, responsible for distorting the memory of the love of his life into something lethal?

What could he do to fix it? He couldn't just stop loving her, after all. Even if he could, he wouldn't. His treacherous brain had already betrayed her enough. No, Suzaku had sworn his heart, his duty, his soul, to Princess Euphemia, forever and always.

But there was one thing he could do. Snatching the small bag up, he all but ran to the bathroom, emptying the contents into the toilet before slashing his hand at the handle, watching the white powder flush down the drains in grim silence.

He stood there a long time, staring into the toilet as it washed away his poison, refilled, then eventually fell silent, swaying slightly. Finally, he shuffled towards his bedroom, blindly stripping off his cloak, gloves, shoes, and cravat as he went, leaving them where they fell in a scattered trail across priceless antique rugs. Collapsing on the mattress like he was boneless, Suzaku let his eyes fall closed. Finally, he slept.

Today had been quiet.

Kendra sat at the kitchen table, idly playing gin rummy with Aurora. Chandler, who had gotten the day off for no particular reason, was ensconced in his office, spending his off hours tackling a few of his pet projects that were in need of attention. Several schools across the country enjoyed his patronage, along with four orphanages and two animal shelters. The doctor just shook her head at her husband's generosity as she laid down three sevens, telling herself that the quiet was nice. Not even considering the baby readying itself for its entrance into this world in two and a half months, quiet was in short supply here – always had been, likely always would be. Even as it annoyed her, Kendra determinedly appreciated it.

Chandler had been banned from the game as soon as he'd suggested it, leaving Kendra and Aurora to play, who were much more evenly matched. Just as she was about to start rallying for her final gin, though, Kendra's phone rang. Glancing at Aurora apologetically, she stood to answer it, frowning only briefly at the unfamiliar number before answering it.

"Hello?"

"Kendra? It's… it's Suzaku."

Even as she whipped around to tell Aurora, she was standing as Chandler summoned her to his office. He looked exceedingly confused, explaining that someone had called for her on his office line before shutting the door behind them. Ordering her thoughts, and closing her mouth, Kendra leaned back against the counter, taking a deep breath before responding.

"Hello, Suzaku. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Fine, my ass, Kendra thought swiftly. You wouldn't be calling me unless it you thought you were dying or losing your mind.

"That's good. What can I do for you?"

"You did a physical for me after my surgery, right?"

Her brows knitting, Kendra angled her head in a confusion she kept fiercely from her voice.

"I did. It should be noted in your file."

"It is," he replied quickly. "But I wanted to ask you about something in particular. Specifically, my hearing."

Now intrigued as well as confused, Kendra began patting the top of her belly mound in a light, even rhythm.

"I believe that when I gave you your physical, your hearing was fine. No defects as far as I can remember. And I don't recall you or Aurora mentioning that you had hearing problems during your recovery. Has that changed?"

Silence vibrated through the phone, but Kendra held her tongue.

"I've… lost my hearing in my right ear," he finally answered. Kendra blinked, shocked. Sudden hearing loss in an otherwise healthy young man, localized in only one ear? Sensorineural hearing loss was a possibility, but unlikely in someone his age. She'd seen no sign of infection, trauma, or diseases that could explain it. What the hell had happened?

"Has anything happened recently that could explain it?"

"Nothing," Suzaku replied definitively. Right, Kendra thought with a dark sort of affection. You're the kind of guy to call arterial trauma a scratch – I can't trust you to tell me if you were really hurt. You and I classify pain very differently, my friend.

"Other ear is fine?"

"Perfectly."

"Any pain or dizziness? Vertigo? Ringing in the ears, or ears feeling full?"

"None of that. Except for one ear losing all hearing in a matter of days, everything's been totally normal."

"How about in the past? Have you ever suffered an injury to that ear before?"

"No, I… Wait. I did, but it was minor."

"What happened?" Kendra prompted.

"Someone shot at me." Three guesses who. "The bullet passed close enough to shatter the earpiece I was wearing. I had a small perforation in my eardrum, and had tinnitus for about a week after. But that was years ago, and I've never had issues before now."

"OK. Suzaku, you need to go see a doctor."

"I am."

Kendra rolled her eyes at his stubborn duck of orders.

"Over-the-phone diagnoses don't count. I can't give you the answers you need; go to one of the doctors we listed. They can give you a better idea of what's going on."

"I trust you."

And didn't that speak volumes, she mused with a sigh.

"I know, dear. And I know it's upsetting and disconcerting. But without more information that I could only get in person, I'm shooting in the dark."

"Just give me your best guess," he pleaded. The sound of his voice, low and worried and tired, lanced through Kendra like a spear.

"OK. I don't think it's a disease – you're too young and healthy for some, and others would have shown up on your blood panels or in your physicals. If you're not experiencing any pain, vertigo, or discharge and you don't have any other issues with your head or throat in general, I don't think it's an infection. Any hearing loss from your more recent trauma should have shown up months ago." She paused, waiting for him to contradict any of the symptoms she listed. He said nothing.

"The past injury you mentioned has fully healed, or you would have had issues before now. That isn't to say it's impossible that it hasn't regressed for some odd reason. Your history with the military could have exposed you to situations that hasten hearing loss, but, again, you're young, and it would be odd localized only to one ear. I have no idea as to your genetics, so it could be some disorder that's been traipsing around your family tree." She trailed off, the burn of failure and impotence coating her throat.

"Anything else?" Suzaku probed, waiting for an answer from the list of impossibilities she'd given him.

"No, I'm… Wait," she said abruptly, her mind tumbling through a series of observations, diagnoses, treatments, and procedures. Everything she knew about the health and past of Suzaku Kururugi raced through her brain, puzzle pieces bumping against each other until they settled enough to form a possibility. She hated herself a little for the conclusion, as it felt like a cop-out, but it was the only thing she could think of that made any sort of sense.

"It could be psychosomatic."

Suzaku took a moment before responding.

"You mean it's all in my head?"

"That is not what I mean," Kendra said adamantly, more for his mental health than her pride. "What I mean is you are still dealing with severe PTSD. You've just had your routine enormously interrupted, and are constantly dealing with traumatic scenarios and reminders all the time. You work for the sister of the person who initially caused your hearing injury. I'm sure things are tough right now, Suzaku, and it could be this hearing loss is your brain and body trying to work out some sort of return to normalcy."

He seemed to be digesting what she was saying, and Kendra took the opening to push a little further.

"How is everything else going? How are you sleeping?"

"Fine."

She knew that voice; she'd heard it before. Translation: Bad.

"OK. I still think you should go see a doctor, ideally a specialist. I know there's at least one on the list. My guess could be totally off-base, because that's basically what it is: a guess."

"I know. Thank you, though, for giving me at least a guess."

Like a thread fraying, Kendra could sense him pulling away, unwilling to risk either of them any longer.

"Take care of yourself, alright, kiddo? And let me know if anything changes."

"I will. And thank you again, Kendra. For taking the time. I appreciate you listening." "Do you want to talk to Aurora? I can go get her-"

"No!" he barked into the phone. "That's alright. I have to go. Goodbye." And with that, dead air echoed in her ear. Slowly, Kendra lowered her phone, marveling at the whole episode, hoping she'd done more good than ill. Sometimes, when it came to Suzaku, you just couldn't be sure.

When Aurora stepped slowly out of Chandler's office, Kendra straightened, their wide eyes meeting across the kitchen. The doctor knew she looked shell-shocked, but was surprised to see an equally stunned expression on Aurora's face.

"I just had the weirdest phone call," Kendra began conversationally. Opening the fridge and just staring into it, Aurora shook her head.

"I promise you, whatever it is, I can top it."

The day after his phone call to Kendra, Suzaku tried to resign himself to his deafness being permanent, and possibly without reason. It was hard to swallow, but if he hadn't been able to traverse the morass of his mind to clarity before, he had little hope now.

Still, he tried to function normally. Court was deserted, and Nunnally and Suzaku spoke of several new legislations that had come up in discussion earlier, a few cause for raised brows. Their quiet exchange was interrupted, however, by Lord Wellford. Suzaku glared at the queen's slight cousin, forgetting the uselessness of facial expressions when wearing Zero's mask. The lapse still happened now and again, especially after being spoiled by Aurora's sensitivity.

"Your Majesty," Wellford said, bowing with pretentious elegance and a small smirk on his thin lips. Nunnally politely nodded in return, waiting for Wellford to speak his intent. Engaging the young man in witty banter would trap her in a conversation with him for an hour, and the empress simply didn't have the time. Left without the furrowing of his brow, Suzaku resorted to crossing his arms. Historically, it hadn't been that threatening of a gesture from him. But since donning Zero's garb and gaining four inches in height, it had done wonders for his already commanding physical presence.

Left without verbal encouragement, Wellford awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm, ah, glad to see you looking so well, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Lord Wellford," Nunnally replied simply.

"I'm also glad to see the Barker Initiative moving forward. It could do wonders for the Britannian economy." It had been suggested by those in Wellford' circle, which was cause enough for suspicion.

"If it doesn't completely expose our borders and allow for an influx in organized crime," Suzaku added brusquely. Wellford glanced over at him, a slightly pinched look on his face. But he carefully smoothed it.

"Of course, Lord Zero. Ever the soldier," he said with a small, sly smile. Suzaku stiffened, and he could see out of the corner of his eye the way Nunnally's fingers whitened over the arm of her chair.

Zero had been many things in his flamboyant career. Terrorist, general, freedom fighter, fugitive, even match maker. But there was one thing he had never really been, and that was a soldier. One man who had always been, and would always be, a soldier, however, was Suzaku Kururugi.

Did this little rat know? Before Suzaku could snarl something subduing, Nunnally lightly laughed.

"Yes, Zero is quite militant in his protection of me," she agreed, glancing up at Suzaku. The expression on her face, however, wasn't one of gratitude or warmth. It was a quelling command for calm. Suzaku tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, his hand unconsciously flexing for the knife in his boot. He didn't want to have to kill the idiot, he really didn't. But if things went any further…

"Hmmm. So that's what he was doing during his three month disappearance?"

Even Suzaku's breathing stopped. He could already see how the young earl's blood would splatter against his mask when he slit his jugular, the arterial pressure spraying the blood into the air like a fountain. Something, a voice that had been ground into his head by recent repetition, said simply that it didn't have to be that way. Reaching deep, Suzaku uncrossed his arms, setting a hand on Nunnally's chair in a protective stance.

"You'd be surprised at the lingering dangers that still remain a threat to Her Majesty. But I intend to root out and destroy every one, be they abroad, or at home. I take the security of Empress Nunnally and the realm very, very seriously, Lord Wellford. An enemy of the Empress is an enemy of me. And it's no secret what I am willing to do to my enemies." It was an true enough statement, but with the right inflection and pause here and there, it became downright menacing.

The little weasel swallowed nervously, and suddenly his narrow-eyed intent evaporated. Suzaku could practically see his courage bleed from him.

"Indeed. Well, Your Majesty, you are blessed in your bodyguard, there is no doubt. Good day," he said weakly before making a quick escape. The queen and her guard watched the man leave in silence, both narrowing their eyes at the seemingly pointless exchange. Once Wellford had left the room, Nunnally spoke.

"I think I'd like to go to my study, Lord Zero."

Suzaku nodded, and they made their way quietly to the empress's private office. Once the door was shut, the interference wave engaged, and the curtains drawn, Suzaku removed the mask with a deep breath.

"He knows," he said immediately, with curt gravity. Nunnally frowned as she stopped behind her desk and turned on her computer.

"I think not, Suzaku," she returned gently without looking at him, quickly clicking and typing away at her private correspondence. He approached the desk with a rapid stride.

"Why else would he mention my being a soldier?"

Nunnally glanced up.

"Because he's a moron."

Because her thoughts had so mirrored his, Suzaku managed to choke back the laugh at her word choice. Yet even when saying something rude, Nunnally's voice still made it sound almost kind.

"He is merely the puppet of his faction, yes?"

"Yes, but his backing absolutely has the capacity to be a threat."

"Worry about them. He's hardly a ring leader, and a danger only to the clueless ladies who think him cunning."

Rubbing his brows in an attempt to relieve the aftereffects of the tension, Suzaku paused when Nunnally spoke again.

"Although, I must say, I'm rather impressed with how you handled him. Normally, you don't deliver your threats quite so… meticulously."

Suzaku couldn't help the smile as Nunnally tented her fingers.

"Just something I picked up."

She gazed at him over the tips of her fingers pressed together, the curve to her lips tiny. Her eyes may have been big, but she was also developing the familial poker face.

"In Ireland?"

He stilled at the question.

"Perhaps," he managed, his gaze going distant as images of his time with Aurora raced through his head.

"Have you heard from her?"

Suzaku really shouldn't have been surprised that Nunnally knew who he was thinking of.

"No. I haven't been in contact with her." He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. It wasn't safe, for either of them, and he wasn't sure he could survive it. Just speaking to Kendra briefly had been hard enough, although part of him had soaked up her voice like parched earth.

"I have."

He'd been walking away when Nunnally spoke, intending to sit on one of the sofas. At her words, however, Suzaku stuttered to a halt, spinning around with wide eyes.

"You've… why?"

"To invite her here," Nunnally answered simply.

"What?" Suzaku managed to grind out.

"I've invited my sister, one of my few remaining family members, to come to my home. I'd like to see her, and thank her. And you, Suzaku, will be escorting her here."

He was speechless. It was easy to forget sometimes that sweet little Nunnally was an empress, and that her spine of steel could put admirals to shame. Since he had no idea what to say, battered by a storm of feelings and fears, Suzaku simply said nothing at all. He replaced his mask, and, with a bow, walked out of the room.

I'm moving in less than a month, so I should be packing.

Hell, I should be grading the mountain of diagrams I have waiting on the couch.

But today, we got confirmation that Yuri Lowenthal is returning to voice Suzaku in Akito the Exiled. This is excellent news for so many reasons (God, I am so thrilled to hear him again in that role, even if Suzaku was an angsty twat at that point in his life). Largely because it encourages the likelihood that Funimation will work hard to reunite the cast for season 3 (which I am feeling the eensiest bit better about now). I understand this is not possible for every returning character, but it's always refreshing when they give it the 'ole college try. And let's be real - with very few exceptions, the only deal-breaker for me was Suzaku.

Kate Higgins also returns as C.C., and I have no doubt that JYB will be back as Kingsley (unlikely they'll announce that, as it would be spoilers for anyone with a modicum of deductive reasoning).

So, instead of tackling the boatloads of responsibility I have waiting for me, I came home, sat my butt down, and finished this chapter, which has been languishing since January. Because even when people I should be able to trust implicitly fail me, this sweet, shattered kid and his lovely, lion-hearted lady never let me down.

So here. Enjoy Suzaku struggling with deafness, addiction recovery, grief, and lethal political intrigue.

Maybe I relate to Suzaku so much because he can't seem to catch a break, and I feel like I can't either.

Side note: it made me laugh writing it, but anyone under the emotional age of 40 would look immature next to Suzaku. Langley and Wellford never stood a chance - the guy's a poster child for "old soul."

Hope you like it!

Love, Tango