Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
EvSem, pretty heavy background Zemyx, roughly canon-compliant
Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow.
A series of loosely interconnected oneshots set after Beyond this Existence. Zemyx (Demyx/Older!Ienzo), roughly canon-compliant, complete. NSFW shorts will be designated with an N.
Short 1: Privacy N
Ienzo struggles to recover from the coma, leading to unexpected difficulties between himself and Demyx.
Short 2: Date
Now that things have settled down, Demyx asks Ienzo on their first date. However, the past crops up unbidden.
Short 3: Insomnia
Ienzo has trouble sleeping.
Short 4: Gesture N
Ienzo has a gift for Demyx.
Short 5: Hair
Demyx helps give Ienzo a haircut, but this is not as simple as it seems.
Short 6: Picnic N
Demyx and Ienzo go on a picnic.
Short 7: Burnout
A tough patient causes Demyx to burn out, which raises some questions as to why he's turned to healing in the first place.
Short 8: Precarious
Demyx finds Ansem wandering deliriously in the rain, and this dredges up painful memories for all involved.
Short 9: Still
After witnessing Ansem's fragile mental state, Ienzo is deeply unsettled.
Short 10: Too Late
Demyx loses a patient, and it dredges up painful memories of the past.
Short 11: Revision
While getting his help with the memorial project, Ienzo has a troubling conversation with Dilan.
Short 12: Vulnerable
A hidden diary sparks an unexpected conversation between Demyx and Ansem.
Short 13: Chemistry N
The newness of Demyx and Ienzo's relationship takes some getting used to.
Short 14: Explore N
Living together shifts the dynamic between Demyx and Ienzo.
Short 15: Smoke
One of Aerith's tests leaves Demyx with an unanticipated award.
Short 16: Unlucky
A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.
Short 17: Potential N
After seeing his project to fruition, Ienzo tries to figure out what to do next.
Short 18: Anniversary N
Now that Demyx and Ienzo have been together a year, they're struggling to come to terms with permanence.
Short 19: Friendly
Even comes to Demyx to have a wound healed, only to end up in a deeper conversation neither of them want to be having.
Short 20: Storied
Ienzo and Ansem attempt to repair their bond.
Short 21: Census N
Radiant Garden's census should be simple and boring, but ends up raising bigger questions about Demyx and Ienzo's relationship.
Short 22: Listless
Ienzo isn’t okay.
Short 23: Escape N
Having space to return to grants Demyx and Ienzo new freedoms.
Short 24: Unsettled
Troubled by the lack of purpose, Ienzo attempts to dispose of papers of the past, only to end up caught within it.
Short 25: Visitors
Demyx meets someone who also has an ancient legacy, and comes to a realization about his past.
Short 26: History
Ienzo gathers the stories of the survivors and presents them to Even. The effects of the darkness linger.
Short 27: Committed N
Demyx and Ienzo reach a new phase in their life together.
Short 28: Seaside N
Demyx and Ienzo go on vacation.
Short 29: Grown
It’s Ienzo’s birthday.
Short 30: Adventurous N
On a rainy day with nothing to do, Demyx and Ienzo decide to go exploring.
Short 31: In Sickness
Ienzo catches the flu.
Short 32: Rendezvous N
Demyx helps Ienzo with something in the library.
Short 33: The Day Off N
It's just a lazy Sunday.
Short 34: Scarred
Demyx and Even try to deepen their friendship.
Short 35: Someday
Time passes. Those at Radiant Garden's castle continue to change and grow. Demyx and Ienzo live out the rest of their lives.
Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 35--Someday
Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.
Current short: “Someday.” Time passes. Those at Radiant Garden's castle continue to change and grow. Demyx and Ienzo live out the rest of their lives.
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
There was a sense that things had finally settled, finally calmed. Their days, though they were busy, found a sort of comfort. Time seemed to pass quickly, the weeks becoming months… becoming years. It seemed like Demyx blinked and turned twenty-five. He woke up with Ienzo’s cold feet pressed against his calves. “...Do you have to,” he mumbled.
“I can’t help it. You’re so warm. Like a furnace.” He blinked slowly, like a cat. “Happy birthday.”
“I’m old now,” he said.
He scoffed a little. “Hardly. I’m afraid things are barely beginning.” He pulled him close, spooning him.
“...Are you actually trying to cuddle, or are you just cold?”
“Does it matter?”
Demyx sighed heavily. “Come here. Bastard.”
---
Demyx wasn’t sure anything would ever be “easy.” He carried the memories within him, and every now and again they would rise and wrap around him, like vines. He’d jolt awake, covered in sweat, convinced that this was it. But then he’d return to earth, usually with Ienzo there to console him, or vice versa. This was home; they were comfortable with each other, worn into one another like stones in a river. Demyx watched Ienzo bloom, coming into his own so slowly, until the shadow of pain faded from his eyes.
It was a slow, tedious process, this healing. Demyx guessed he too must be getting somewhere. He felt like less of a stranger than before, like the world was more real.
They worked for the committee in a sort of tandem; and then for the city council, once they were elected, when a real government started to form. The work seemed to suit Ienzo; the planning, and brainstorming, and to a degree the coding too. Demyx figured using those abilities made him feel more comfortable in himself. He felt that way too. Caring for people always had the opportunity to be harrowing, but with the bad came some good. The deaths and losses were accompanied with the new lives. Pain came with catharsis.
In their spare moments, they walked without a destination. “It’s often hard to internalize how much time is passing,” Ienzo admitted.
“How so?”
“Well--there’s so much to do still. So much opportunity for growth, for betterment. Yet… for example, this morning before you woke I was looking out the apartment window. We’ve built so much. The face of the town itself has changed. I… almost forget how much work has gone into it.”
“It’s easier when it’s work you like,” Demyx said, with a wink.
“Much,” he admitted. “It helps when I know all I’m doing will only make lives easier… rather than harder.” He smiled a little. “I can see a sort of future, all of a sudden. Before there was merely noise.”
“...I know what you mean,” Demyx mumbled. “But we made it.”
Ienzo squeezed his hand.
---
One of these mornings, Ienzo was brushing Beans, trying to curtail her seasonal shedding. “Getting chunky, aren’t you?” he mumbled to her, and the cat meowed in response.
Demyx barely looked up from Arpeggio. “We’re not double feeding her again, are we?”
“I don’t think so. That’s what the schedule is for. Chunky, chunky.” Demyx could hear the cat purring. “Wait--” Ienzo began feeling at her stomach. Then, he laughed. “Come here.”
Demyx set the sitar down and came over. “What?”
“Feel her belly.”
Demyx did so. Sure enough, he could feel small little lumps inside of her. He laughed too. “Dilan did mention that there was a feral cat colony in the upper floors. I guess Beans found a boyfriend.”
Beans swished her tail, irritated at all the poking and prodding, so they let go.
Ienzo sighed. “We’re too young to be grandparents.”
Over the next few weeks, she began building a nest in one of the rooms on the floor with stolen things--towels left to dry from their bathroom, the odd sock. One of these days she came up to Ienzo, meowed insistently, and led them to said room. In the nest were four tiny kittens. She climbed in with them and began grooming them. “I suppose I am her mother,” Ienzo said, with a shake of the head. “Good job, girl.”
She blinked.
They ended up naming these other kittens similarly; Peanut, Clover, Lentil, and Tamarind, based mostly on their coat colors. They would see Beans toting them around by their scruffs, tiny scratchy kitten mews. But eventually these kittens grew up, and only came around their floor to see their mother, give her a rub, before disappearing into the rest of the castle. Beans, however, seemed perfectly content to remain a housecat.
“She’s got a pretty sweet gig,” Demyx said, scratching her behind the ears. “Comfy bed, food without foraging. Two idiots to worship her. I wish I could be a cat.”
Ienzo laughed.
---
This was their someday. Change was continuous and expected, but love remained constant. And while it didn’t and couldn’t solve anything, it was there to give them stability.
“What do you want from life?” Ienzo asked him one rainy morning. Beans was curled at their feet in bed, purring contentedly.
Demyx turned onto his side. In this light, the thin chain of Ienzo’s scar was almost invisible. “Pretty deep question first thing in the morning.”
“Humor me, then.” He propped himself up on an elbow.
“I’m not… sure,” he admitted. “I have everything I used to want.” He touched Ienzo’s cheek. “I’m kind of okay with letting things play out how they are.”
“You know, I think I am too,” Ienzo said. “All this aching and faffing about for a higher calling… maybe this is all life is. Quiet contentment. I have meaningful work to fill my days, I have you and my family. Truthfully, I don’t need to ask for anything more than that.” He leaned forward and kissed him. “Let’s watch the world grow.”
---
In all this, something odd and funny.
As Demyx grew closer to Even, he was asked now and again for his help with the man's research project, surreally enough. Even was investigating the long-term affects of darkness on the body, the mind; he thought darkness might be something of an addiction and impact them similarly. Demyx didn't particularly want to think about it too hard, but it was good that Even again driven. Demyx helped him look at minds with his magic, as they no longer had equipment. Dilan was often there too, helping with this research. And so was Ansem, in his own time, though he was working less on the scientific and more with the council.
Demyx noticed things.
He might not do reconnaissance anymore, but that seemed to be one part of him that never quite went away--he was always observational, he guessed. Even and Ansem interacted differently. Things had shifted. They ignored each other less when they were all together, sniped at each other less. There was less tension; rather, tension of a different kind. Ansem looked at him with such warmth, and once when he thought nobody was looking he rested a hand at the small of Even's back.
Oh.
Demyx actually had to excuse himself after he saw that. He went into the bathroom and laughed into his hands. He'd known the two men had been friends for longer than he'd been alive, that they'd raised Ienzo when he was little. It wasn't surprising at all. But it was hilarious that after outing Ienzo those years ago, Even had a secret of his own to keep.
"You're not going to believe this," Demyx said, one day after dinner.
"I believe a great many things," Ienzo said, without looking up from his computer.
"Have you been paying attention to how Even's been acting lately?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Should I? He seems much the same as ever. Keeping himself busy."
Demyx leaned over the couch. He wasn't sure why he was being conspiratorial in their own home. "I'm pretty sure he and Ansem have a thing going on."
Ienzo paused. "No," he said.
"Uh, yeah."
He scoffed a little. "How can you be sure?"
Demyx presented his evidence. Ienzo raised his eyebrows.
"Huh," he said. Then, "oh, this is going to be delicious. He gave me such hell for getting with you." He grinned widely. "Let me talk to him."
Sure enough, after some prodding Even admitted it was all true. Demyx was glad for them, but at the same time the thought of getting to needle an Even in love was too tempting. The next time he was asked to go down to the lab, he was ready to tease and cajole and be incredibly annoying.
If anything, Even seemed displeased to see him. He wrinkled his nose. "Apparently there are still some things that remain of the old you," he said. "Was it quite necessary to inform Ienzo of my personal life--without asking me first?"
Demyx laughed a little. "So it's true then?"
He turned a bit pink, but his expression was neutral. "As I said. I don't think it's any of your business."
"Why were you keeping it a secret?"
"As if I need to flaunt such things," he said, waving his hand dismissively and turning back to the work at hand. "I'll leave that to you two."
Demyx rolled his eyes. "Does it make you... happy?"
Even looked up, as if confused he would ask. "Happiness is relative, I think," he said. Then, "I believe it is... only suitable these things happen now. Ansem and I have put one another through hell. There was a lot to mend for anything else to be realized. There still is. But I suppose... life is... not quite as heavy as it once was. And that's as much as you'll get from me."
Demyx smiled a little. "Guess that officially makes you my dad too."
Even scowled. "Go on, then. We have a lot to do."
"Sure, dad."
"Boy--"
---
They became older; Radiant Garden grew from something somewhat haphazard into a real city. Demyx was no longer a trainee, or an apprentice, but a full-fledged healer. Ienzo worked on a little bit of everything, but was mostly engrossed in developing mental health support with the new government. It was no longer always so easy to get out of bed; he also needed glasses now. It was only when he realized the first baby he’d delivered was now in second grade that he was conscious of how much had really changed. His thirtieth birthday loomed on the horizon; Ienzo wasn’t far behind.
The passion was still there, bright and intense and impossible to reckon with; after one of these nights they lay, holding one another. Demyx ran his fingers along Ienzo’s throat, the scars that were no longer quite visible. “You remember that day I gave you a haircut, and you said that within seven years we’d have new bodies?”
“New cells. Yes.” He blinked. “It… it’s been that long?”
“Longer, actually.”
“Every day still feels so new,” he murmured. “Am I silly for feeling that way?”
“Not at all.” He stroked Ienzo’s hair. He’d finally caved a few years ago and cut the bangs short enough to show his full face, but other than that it was all the same. Demyx was fairly sure the gray was a bit fainter now, more white. “Can I ask you something?”
“We’re beyond that, aren’t we?”
“Depends.” He took a breath. “I… I want to start a family.” Ienzo opened his mouth, but Demyx forged forward. “When I help those people give birth, you know, it makes me feel…” He trailed off. “Things are… better than they were. I really think I could be a good…” He faltered on “dad.”
Ienzo touched his face. “You’d be wonderful,” he said softly.
“...But that’s not something you want.”
His expression was unreadable; Demyx began bracing himself for the hurt. “I’ve been… weighing the options,” he admitted. “I’d be lying if I said I weren’t terrified, but if anything, it’s a… good sort of fear.” He blinked. “I’m all in, Demyx.”
---
There were only two options for them; adoption or surrogacy. Most of Radiant Garden’s children were wanted, leaving them with the other. But why would someone go through the roughness of pregnancy for nothing? Demyx was on the verge of giving up when he got a phone call from Yuffie, asking him to go for a walk.
She hadn’t changed much in the intervening years; she still did a lot of security detail, only now with the city government, not the committee. She was brash as ever. “Nice glasses. Nerd,” she said when she saw him. “I bet this was your husband’s idea?”
“Mine, because I need to see,” he said. “Used to irritate the shit out of me when Cid complained about his eyes. But here we are. So what’s up?”
“I can’t catch up with my good friend Demyx?”
“You can. Though I don’t know what’s changed since drinks last Thursday.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on.” They walked in the early spring air. The flowers were just starting to come into bloom. “So I’m going to just come out and say it.”
He had no idea where this was going. “Okay?”
“I know you and Ienzo want to have a baby. I also know that because people are having responsible sex or whatever that there aren’t a whole lot of extras hanging around. I’m healthy, I have a functioning uterus. I’d love to be the weird aunt to your nerd baby.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Sorry--am I hearing this right?”
She’d turned pink. “Make me say it again and I’ll kill you.”
Demyx blinked. He was on good terms with Yuffie, but they weren’t that close. “You’d do that for me?”
She exhaled heavily. “You two are good people,” she said, with a shrug. “Whatever kid you had, you’d love the crap out of them. I didn’t get that when I was a kid, and I don’t think you did either. Plus… I always kinda wanted to be pregnant, but without the responsibility. Weird shit happening to my body? An excuse to eat as much as I want and be a total bitch? Could be worse.”
He turned to face her. “It’s a lot to ask of you.”
“Well I’m offering.” She crossed her arms. “I mean, the way you and Aerith do things, it’s basically painless anyway.”
“But not easy. It’d interfere with your work.”
She shrugged. “You know the council kisses committee ass. They’d find something for me.” She squeezed his hand. “Talk to him about it. This thing? Has a vacancy sign on it.” She pointed to her stomach. “I’ll be around. Let me know.” She winked and wandered off.
---
“...Wow,” Ienzo said, once Demyx had told him the story.
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
He set his phone down. “Should we do it?”
“She’s offering. Pretty insistently. It wouldn’t be… hers, anyway.”
“Only by about one percent,” Ienzo said. “Mitochondrial DNA. It’s unavoidable.”
“...So we’d both jerk off into a dish, put it in her, and nine months later there’s baby?”
He groaned. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. She’d have to take hormones, to stimulate egg growth, then once those are harvested we’d have to exchange her DNA for one of ours, then fertilize the egg, implant it, and then , if you’re lucky, there’s baby.”
Demyx blinked. “...You have been looking into this.”
He shook his head. “It’s either this or trying to make some sort of replica.” He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. “There’s a… slim chance we might not be able to conceive regardless.”
Demyx sat down. “What do you mean?”
“Nobodies are sterile,” he said slowly. “We know this from our studies. Not just biological males--Larxene, too, did not have a period or ovulate. I was one for twelve years , Demyx, through puberty.”
“So then you can go in the egg and I’ll do the rest.”
“You were one too.” He exhaled. “Thankfully we can test for these things. But… even if somehow we’re fertile… it’s a long shot.”
Demyx took a deep breath. “We’ve beaten bad odds before,” he said slowly. “Let’s see what happens.”
Ienzo ended up being half right; upon further examination of their… DNA, they found that he was, more or less, completely sterile. “...Shooting blanks,” he muttered, in a moment of unusual crassness. “The more work I put into this, the more I wanted it, and here we are.”
He squeezed his shoulders. “But if it’s just you we can still make this work. And me?”
“You have a count, but it’s not great. Not ideal or even passable. Before we put Yuffie through the misery of all those shots, perhaps we should… reconsider. Maybe it’s not meant to be at this moment in time.”
Demyx sat down heavily on one of the stools in the lab.
“I’m sorry, love. I know how much this means to you.”
“No… you’re right, we shouldn’t force what isn’t meant to be.”
He took his hand. “There may still be the off chance for adoption. We merely need to… wait for the right opportunity.”
He nodded slowly, treading heartbreak. “Yeah. Sure. That.”
---
He was trying to get to work when Even stopped him. “Again your DNA taunts me,” he spat.
Demyx raised an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He softened a little. “I’ve heard of your… desire, for a child. I’ve worked with bodies for years, boy. Why didn’t one of you come to me?”
He blinked. “Well, Ienzo figured--”
“Does Ienzo have my increasingly specific skillset when it comes to molding genetic information?”
Despite himself, a spark of hope. “...No.”
---
It took time, but eventually it did happen. Even never revealed exactly how he did it--he claimed that his research wouldn’t be released until he died, “and I do not intend to do that for many years yet”--but he made the embryo, the one that might maybe be a human, and combined with Yuffie’s strange fascination that she “grow a baby” for them, it went from something that was a vague dream to a real, tangible fact.
She sat on the couch in their living room. “I gave it five days,” she said. “Nothing. Nada. No blood. Just test my pee.”
“That’s not how we look for pregnancy,” he said. His heart was starting to race.
“Well then, doc, do what you have to. The anticipation is killing me.”
“Not a doctor.”
“Shut up. You’re basically a doctor.”
He held his hand over her stomach, searching, sensing, only to feel a weak, but very present, beginning of a new life.
“...Oh god. You’re crying. I lost it, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”
He wiped at his eyes. “You didn’t lose anything,” he said. “You’re pregnant.”
She screamed. “You’re going to be a dad!”
---
None of them breathed until she passed the twelve week mark; even then Demyx lived in a state of anxiety. Ienzo fussed over everything from names to what sort of detergent they might use on the baby’s linens. But it was no longer an impossibility; before long they could see it, and even feel it move.
While Yuffie took immaculate care of it with an almost uncomfortable enthusiasm, getting used to having her around was… something of an adjustment. “I make an entrance now,” she said, flopping onto the couch. “Ba-bam, here she is. Belly first. I trip over everything.”
“The human pregnancy is technically aerodynamically impossible,” Ienzo said. “I think a loss of grace is not uncalled for.”
“People keep asking me who the dad is. I think my favorite way to respond so far is to say I’m not actually pregnant.” She rubbed her hand absently over the mound. “It’s really active. I think it likes the sound of your voice.”
He turned pink.
“Come here. Feel the baby,” she said in a weird voice. She took Ienzo’s palm and laid it on her bump. “It knows who you are.”
He blinked. Demyx expected him to say something like, “well it can’t know anything, it’s just a fetus,” but instead he said, “I should hope so. The lengths we went to to get it here.”
She laughed.
For the first time in a long while life felt a little weird, a little performative, especially as the pregnancy only progressed. Demyx could feel his and Ienzo’s dynamic slowly shifting. They were no longer just a married couple, and wouldn’t always be able to just do whatever they wanted. Soon there would be a responsibility. It changed the way they interfaced, especially because they didn’t agree on anything when it came to raising the child. They squabbled over things like how to educate it, whether to feed it formula or breastmilk, and more intensely, how they would one day explain their pasts to it.
Yuffie had her own opinions on this. She stroked the bump absently. “Well, you shouldn’t lie to them,” she said, adjusting her swollen ankles a little on the ottoman. “Not the way people lied to you two, right? I think you should… keep it simple, at least until they’re old enough to understand. If they’re your kid, they’re going to be smart. Yeah. Simplicity, and vagueness. Aerith’s having the same problem with her daughter. How do you explain darkness? The Fall? But kids… hear things. And with all this lying around?” She gestured to the bookshelf closest to her, which happened to contain some of Ienzo’s research. “Once it learns to read it’s all out the window.”
Ienzo sighed heavily. “I… I don’t want them to feel unsafe, though, and learning these things might make that happen.”
She shook her head. “As long as you love them, and are present with them, and are kind , I think they can accept it with a grain of salt.”
Demyx gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Like you did with Ansem and Even.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Well. Glad to know you care so much, and I’m not doing all this for nothing.”
---
They spent time, the three of them, putting together the nursery in the room next door. Kids seemed to need so much stuff , clothes and pacifiers and bottles and so many other little things. Ienzo would spend hours reorganizing everything, and Demyx kept cleaning and cleaning. It was an old space; it got dusty quickly. Wasn’t that a bad thing? It seemed like everything he’d learned about the human body seemed to go out the window.
“This is why I don’t self-treat, or heal my loved ones,” Aerith said. Her daughter kept flipping through the heavy cardboard page of her picture book, holding it up to them and saying “Look! Blue!” “I know, sweetie,” she added, patiently. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Demyx laughed a little. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“I’m surprised as you about Yuffie,” she said. “I’ve known her for years and I can’t pretend to understand what goes through that woman’s head. Vincent’s been trying to get her to settle down. I wonder if this is something of a test run for her. To see if she can handle being a mom.”
Demyx thought about it. His niece handed him the book. “Blue,” she said. “I know!” He said to her. “What other colors do you see?”
This question seemed to blow her mind; she looked at the book. “Red?”
“On the next page, maybe.” He turned back to Aerith. “That… kinda makes sense. It did seem out of the blue, even for her. We thought she was… a little too into it.”
“She talks a tough game,” Aerith said. “But she’s… honestly, she just wants to love and be loved.”
“I can relate.” The little girl approached him and held up her arms, wanting to be picked up. Demyx obliged. “I think this is part of what started me thinking, you know?”
“Me being a mom?”
“Yeah. Being the babysitter.”
She picked up a cloth and wiped at something on the toddler’s face. “You’ve got a very nurturing personality,” she said. “It’s only natural, to want kids.” She smirked a little. “You’ve got about three weeks of freedom left. If you do anything, sleep. ” Her eyes became serious. “For the love of god.”
---
The weeks seemed to pass quickly. They all waited for the labor anxiously, especially Yuffie herself, not that Demyx could blame her. If he could take her discomfort for her, he would; all he could offer was some palliative care. She stayed with them, the last month or so, rather than do the long walk a few times a day. She tried to be in good spirits, but Demyx could tell this was wearing on her; she’d been unusually quiet, when before she chattered for hours on end about nothing much. “I can’t wait to, like, not be peeing every ten minutes,” she said. “God. It’s going to be so good. And sleep! I don’t think I’ve slept more than a few hours a night since November.”
It was rainy that day, and hot; February was always something of a nightmare. Ienzo was off at a city council meeting; Demyx was home under the guise of making medicine, but really he was trying to keep an eye on Yuffie, who was completely reticent, lying on the couch and staring into the middle distance. “...You doing okay?” he asked her. “I can get you another ice pack.”
“I feel… weird,” she said slowly.
Demyx tried to keep his face impassive. “Weird how?”
“I don’t know, just… weird. Heavy. More than normal.”
He went over to her and checked her vitals. Her temperature was a little high, but no more than an at-term person in the dead of summer. “Any pain?”
She thought about it, her eyes glassy. “I’m not sure.”
“Can I touch the baby?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said wearily.
He rested his hand on the bump, trying to sense it. He could tell without prodding much at all what was actually going on. He swallowed, feeling a little dizzy. “So you’re in labor,” he said.
“For real?” she ran a hand through her hair. “I thought it would hurt a lot more.”
“The heavy feeling could be contractions. How long have you felt like that?”
She blinked. “I don’t know, since last night, maybe?”
Nerves fluttered inside of him. “Since last night ?”
“Well I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel!” She sat up a little.
Demyx squeezed her hand. “I’m going to make a few calls, okay?” His hands were shaking; he didn’t trust himself to text. “You just lay down for a few minutes.” It was hard to be both a healer and an anxious parent. He tried to get himself under control. Ienzo answered at the first ring.
“It’s now,” Ienzo said, without prelude.
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming.” He heard papers shuffling. “Time for things to change.”
It was an easy birth, almost startlingly fast, actually. They kept her in as little pain as possible; their daughter was born just after four in the afternoon, small but otherwise healthy. Holding her for the first time overwhelmed him, and he cried ceaselessly for some time.
“She’s got your hair, look,” Ienzo said, running his hand oh-so-gently over her skull, a soft brown tuft. “I was hoping.”
Yuffie turned onto her side, flinching a little. “You know I didn’t even imagine what she would look like,” she said. “She was just, like, a question mark.”
“You okay?” Demyx asked, through tears. He passed the baby gently to Ienzo.
“I’m actually fine,” she said. “I can tell I’m going to be sore--but honestly that wasn’t so bad. I was expecting, like—”
“Screaming? Hair tearing out? Squeezing someone’s hand until it breaks?” He tried to dry his eyes. Ienzo had drawn the baby close, his eyes shut tight.
“Well, yeah,” she admitted. “But it was like, a little pull, oops there it is.”
“I don’t even know how to begin thanking you—”
“It’s not exactly over,” she said dryly. “There’s still… the matter of this.” She patted one of her breasts. “But I… I wanted to see if I could do it. In case I… wanted to have one that’s really mine, you know? My boyfriend… really wants it.”
So Aerith had been right. “You didn’t think you could handle pregnancy?”
“That’s not it.” She shook her head. “The idea of… helping bring a life into the world, and then having to let it go. I wasn’t sure I could do it.”
“But it’d be your baby,” Demyx pointed out.
Yuffie smiled. “Mine to take care of. But in the end, they’re their own person, you know?”
“And how did this answer your hypothesis?” Ienzo asked softly. He was also teary.
“Well… if it makes us as happy as it makes you two… then maybe it isn’t a complete waste of time. Could I hold the bugger? Nine months in me and I haven’t even seen her face.”
Ienzo hesitated, holding her a little more tightly, before handing the baby to her. “Sorry you ended up with neurotic squares. But they’ll love you.” Yuffie touched her cheek. “Someday I’ll teach you how to make their lives hell.”
---
There was a fullness to their lives that there hadn’t been before. While they were exhausted, with the feedings and the fussiness, Demyx knew they had done the right thing. It felt natural , comfortable.
“She needs a name,” Ienzo said, coaxing the bottle into her mouth. “I thought the one we’d picked was it, but…”
“Seeing her changed your mind.”
“...Precisely.”
Her eyes were open, newborn blue and unfocused. She ate like she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Demyx took one of her tiny hands and felt it close around his finger. “What if…”
He looked at him. “What?”
“What if we named her after your mom? Isn’t that a… tradition, here?”
Ienzo blinked a little. “I suppose…” He thought about it a moment, then nodded. “Well that’s the one, isn’t it. Chiara. It fits.” He sighed. “You named the cat and our daughter. The next one’s mine.”
“The next one?” Demyx smirked. “We barely got this one.”
“I’m thinking ahead.” He smiled. “Who knows what the world has in store?”
---
It was a pleasure, to see her grow; even once they returned to their work, they had a slew of babysitters. Even put up a front of unwillingness, but Demyx knew he doted on her. “I feel I owe you that much,” he said, to Ienzo. “Goodness knows you two must need some time for yourselves. I think we’ll be alright, won’t we?” He addressed Chiara. She put her hand right on his nose.
“The bag should have everything you need,” Ienzo said anxiously. “And you’ll call me, if—?”
Even raised an eyebrow. “I have done this before, you know. And she returned with her head still attached, did she not?”
Chiara burped and smiled.
“Goodness, I do hope you don’t inherit your fathers’ anxiety. Off we go.”
Demyx rested his hand on Ienzo’s waist. “He loves it,” he said.
“He and Ansem are certainly vying for her heart. Little do they know that Moosie is number one to her.” Noticing the offending stuffed animal still sitting on the dresser, he swore. “Goodness. I should bring this to them--she’ll get upset if she notices it missing—”
Demyx took the stuffed animal out of his hand. “She’ll be okay,” he said. “Why don’t you spend some time with me, hm? Like adults?”
Ienzo nodded, reddening a little. “I can do that.”
---
“Daddy?”
Demyx stirred weakly. He turned on the lamp at bedside. There she was, at his bedside, thumb in mouth, bedraggled, half-rotting Moosie in one hand. “What is it, baby?”
Chiara hiccupped. “I had a bad dream.”
He picked her up. She was getting so big , so heavy. He settled her between them.
“What happened, love?” Ienzo asked, smoothing a strand of hair from her face.
“Dream about ghosts.” She sobbed a little. “They go boo.”
Ienzo and Demyx exchanged a glance. “What kind of ghosts?” Ienzo asked.
“Dark. Like.” She lifted her hands above her head and hissed. “Grandpa telling me about them?”
Something like anger flickered across Ienzo’s face before he was able to control it. “What did he say?”
“I was… playing,” she said, sniffling. “I goed… downstairs. He said I can’t goed down there because—people are sleeping.” She held a finger to her lips. “Shh. But I…” She tapped her head. “I seed them.”
“Do you see them still?” Demyx asked gently.
Chiara shook her head. “No. That’s why I’m sad. They were my friends. They play with me when I sleep. They say… hello. And manners.”
Ienzo blinked. “You mean “thank you”?”
She nodded. “They said tell daddy thank you. They say we sleep now. Shh.” She started to cry.
“Shh,” Demyx said gently. “It’s okay. You have to say goodbye sometimes. It’s okay that it hurts.”
---
Chiara got along well with Aerith’s daughter; they were both feisty, adventurous. More than once she slipped away, to explore the castle, much to Demyx and Ienzo’s horror. Even seemed to find this endlessly amusing.
“Now you’re getting a taste of your own medicine,” he said, once they had found the bedraggled child. “Not so fun that you’re on the other side, is it?”
For a moment they watched her sleep, wan and exhausted, before returning to their bedroom. There was an odd look on Ienzo’s face. Very slowly, he took off his glasses and lay back. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
He laughed a little to himself. “She’s the same age I was when I first came here.”
“It’s all going so quick. They said it would, but--”
“I know.” He groaned a little. “She’s too much like us.”
“I don’t know what you were expecting.” He took Ienzo’s hand, ran his finger over the smooth metal of his wedding ring. “But she’s… getting a more normal childhood than we ever did.”
“There’s certainly no shortage of love,” Ienzo admitted. “For that, I’m eternally grateful.” Aeleus and Dilan both, in their own ways, also doted on her. “Would you ever… want another?”
Demyx considered it. “I’m not sure,” he said. “When you look at it logistically…”
“Aside from that.”
“If there’s a chance, then maybe,” he said, with a shrug. “But I’m happy with just her.”
“I am too.”
---
Chiara was bright, much like Ienzo; but people came easily to her, like Demyx. After much debate, they sent her to public school, much to the chagrin of everyone else; but they could teach her whatever else she may want to learn. She couldn't grow up isolated. To let her go and get something like their lives back was difficult. They were able to find one another again. They were closer to middle aged, now, rather than young. He knew it would happen. It still felt strange. He was shaving one morning when he saw it. “Ienzo,” Demyx said. “Come here.”
“Something the matter?”
He could barely contain the laughter. “Look.” He lifted the part of his hair gently, revealing the strands of gray.
Ienzo touched it. “It must be starting early, for you. After all the stress you’ve gone through in your life, it’s not surprising.”
“We really aren’t young anymore, are we?”
“As though these things last forever? We’ve still got more than half our lives left.”
“...Huh.” He brushed his hair back into place. The style was less radical and more functional than it had been in the past; gone were the days of the shorn scalp, the gel. His younger self would probably find him infinitely boring, he realized.
He was okay with that.
Ienzo kissed him softly. “I rather like the idea of you being a silver fox.”
---
So that’s really it, then.
In his rare moments of alone time, he composes. His style has changed considerably, away from the technically difficult and more towards lightness, subtlety, expression of emotion rather than skill. He writes a sort of memoir, with these compositions; more for his daughter, and maybe her eventual children, than himself. It’s a sort of project that takes years, years of stolen minutes and endless editing. He leaves a copy of it, quietly, in the archives, on the internet.
She’s almost grown up when she finds it.
“...Dad?”
He’s at work, up to his elbows in medicine. “What’s up, sweetie?” She has his coloring, but she looks so like Ienzo; small, delicate. She moves like him, too, using her hands when she speaks.
“You busy?” She nods her head towards the door. “I’ll get lunch. You keep forgetting yours at home. It makes Father so mad.” She chose how to refer to them herself.
They walk for a while, get lunch at some cafe.
“I was studying for my entrance exams,” she begins. College around the corner at the fledgling university (how?). She still isn’t sure if she wants to pursue the arts or the sciences. “Researching folk ballads for this essay I want to write. You… left something in the library. For me.”
“...Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Because…” Any number of reasons. “Well, for a long time it wasn’t done. You know your dad and I… went through a lot. I didn’t want you to find it until you were ready. Old enough to understand.”
“I’m not a little kid anymore,” she says, so earnestly it makes him laugh. “I… I want to know how I came to be. Not just the Aunt Yuffie story, the… rest of it. The history of my existence.”
Demyx can hear both his husband and himself in her words. He takes her hand, gives it a squeeze. “Let’s play it through together.”
And they do.
She has so many questions, not just for them but for Even and Ansem, Aeleus and Dilan. Hearing about the way they suffered, the way they made suffering, makes her cry, but she doesn’t see them as at fault, not in a way that makes her love them less. The knowledge changes her. She says it gives her a deeper insight on how to help people.
She goes off to college--lives with friends in an apartment. She grows up.
And they move on. For some reason only then does it feel right for them to move from the castle, to a small home in town. They bring with them their memories, the great-great-grandson of the cat Beans. They have over their friends, their family; one day their daughter brings along a young woman who will become her wife.
When the time comes--and it does, it’s inevitable--they pass away gently, quietly, and against all odds, together. Demyx knows it will hurt her, her children, but he also knows this is the way things must be. They’ve both left their legacies behind, full of healing, of progress, of goodness.
So their story ends, and they sleep peacefully. She visits their memorials, teaches her children about her namesake, about what her family did and how they then atoned. The city government reopens the castle to the public, restores it to something resembling its former glory. Again, it becomes a place of learning, but they never do forget the ills they are capable of.
For the last time, Chiara stands in the rooms where she was raised, where one of her fathers played endless songs for her, the other reading to her infinite stories, both teaching her all she needs to know, stories she hopes to hand down. Rooms now empty, rooms now for someone else. Her wife takes her gently by the elbow, leads her away.
Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
Chapter summary: The revelation of Ienzo's relationship with Demyx throws Even badly, forcing him to confront his humanity and the past.
Read it on FF.net/ on AO3
---
Uselessly, Even sits, trying to come to terms with… all that. He’s feeling dizzy himself, and he honestly cannot tell if it’s his actual physical condition or not.
The boy’s health matters above all. Ansem must be given a stern talking-to, though doubtless he’s so used to overworking himself that he wouldn’t have noticed anything undue in Ienzo.
Ienzo. Oh, child, what are you getting yourself into? Of course, now that he’s no longer a Nobody, odds were he would have come to these feelings sooner or later--it’s only natural--but he’s so emotionally immature that something like this would only end poorly. And is Demyx even capable of giving the boy what he needs--an understanding of his mind and how it works? Intellectual stimulation?
Have they actually been working on a project, or have they instead--
Do not dwell on that.
Ienzo can’t handle heartbreak. Likely at the moment, neither of them can see the consequences facing them.
Even feels sick. It must’ve taken him hours to figure out why--time where he gives said troublemaker more fluids, more glucose, Demyx stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes all the while--but eventually… he does.
Ienzo is not a child. He’s grown now, and will surely have adult wants and needs (as much as it reviles him to think about). But so like a child, he’s not yet capable of understanding those needs. He’s probably never had to feel anything like this, doubling the trauma if things go south.
Even’s own son never got to grow up. He would be perpetually five, a ghost whispering in the background, fading more day by day.
This is uncharted territory. He does not know how to be of use.
Ansem needs to know--if anyone can convince that boy of anything, it’s him.
It feels odd, after all these years, to approach him first. Worse still, to find him at the computer at the hearth of their old lab. Knowing the genesis of all this is so close only makes him feel sicker. “Master. A word.”
His head snaps up, likely at Even’s odd tone. “Is something the matter?” Then, immediately. “Where’s Ienzo?”
“I have to talk to you about that.”
Ansem stands; and stumbles. Without thinking, Even grasps him to keep him upright.
“You need rest,” he says.
“I… am aware. And I shall. But first you must tell me what’s going on. I’m not fond of this new flair for the dramatic you have, Even.”
“I’m only as dramatic as the lot of you,” he spits. “Come. I’ll take you back to your quarters.”
He knows he’s been here recently, but only with the others; seeing it on his own gives him a new perspective. He’s spent so many hours here, over the years--arguing, brainstorming, simply conversing with someone at his level. He feels something like… nostalgia? Bittersweetness? He plies Ansem with water, sinks onto one of the chintz chairs. To Ansem’s tired eyes he explains, “Ienzo’s very unwell.”
“I know you’re concerned about his mental state, as am I--”
He scowls. “I mean the boy collapsed, Ansem.”
Perhaps it’s the use of his first name, but Ansem just blinks. “Is he--”
Even stands and begins pacing. “Where to even begin? Dehydrated as a desert--blood pressure of the dead. Had such a bad nosebleed it looked like something out of a tawdry horror novel. His heart was starting to palpitate--likely if this continued for any longer, he might’ve--” He stops cold, his anger cooling. “It’s lucky he was not alone when it happened.”
“But is he--”
“Stable. Asleep. I gave him a very mild tranquilizer to calm him down, and his body will take care of the rest.” He crosses his arms tightly. “This has to stop. I know you desperately want to be close with him again, but simply indulging the boy won’t do any good. It’s going to take--more work.”
Ansem has turned very pale. He holds his glass of water tightly.
He takes a deep breath. “There’s something else you have to know.”
“...Which is?”
“Demyx and Ienzo’s liaison--”
“ You’re going to fault them for finding friends in one another?”
“--it’s more than just that. They’re…” He can’t bring himself to say the word.
Ansem gets it. “...Oh. Well.”
“There’s no way this can end well. The boy’s gone through so much--both of them, actually--can he really take much more?”
“I’m afraid you know them both better than I do.” He sighs heavily, swills the water around in his glass. “I know you want to protect him, Even.”
He feels weak, tired now.
“I am not happy about it either. But he also… has to be given the space to make his own decisions.”
“They both have trauma they haven’t come to terms with--Ienzo doesn’t--he’s never had to feel such things. I’m afraid--”
“I know, Even. And it’s touching you care so much--for a moment I almost saw the old you.”
He can’t stop himself from admitting, “I feel as if I never have enough time--and yet I’m also doing nothing more useful than waffling. Which I suppose… is all I ever did.” The realization saps the strength from him. “Hiding behind my research… foolish, prideful, passive. I… All I’ve ever done is hurt people--especially those I considered the most dear.”
Slowly Ansem says, “I wonder why it is you feel this now.”
He rests his face against his palm for a moment. He feels overwhelmed, on the verge of dissolving. Remorse closes a fist around his heart, making it almost impossible to breathe. He stands, feeling the ground pitch a little--a sear of pain cuts through his chest. Before he loses consciousness he realizes this is exactly how the boy felt.
---
It hurts to breathe. “Easy. Steady, now.” He’s eased carefully into a sitting position. He wonders if he hit his head on the way down; a splitting ache makes the light hurt. He gasps a little, pressing a hand against his brow. “Are you alright?” Ansem asks.
“Clearly not,” he spits. “All along I thought…”
“What?”
“That the boy was being dramatic…”
“Ienzo?”
“Demyx.” He takes his weight back from Ansem. He’s on the study floor. “It is exquisitely painful.”
“What is?”
One pinch of pain and all of a sudden he’s revealing things he shouldn’t. “You know very well our hearts are not yet whole,” he says. “All these fainting spells on his part… I guess I’m not an outlier.”
“So you were feeling.”
“As if one can make it stop.” He takes his own pulse. Surely enough, it’s racing. “Damnit…”
“You’re not well either, are you?” Ansem asks gently. Even can’t read his expression either. “I thought you were self-aware enough to understand hypocrisy.”
The surge of anger he feels brings the pain back, but he stays conscious. “The only thing that is certain is that I truly understand nothing. ” He tries to stand, stumbles.
“...You should not go anywhere in this state.”
“I’ll be fine.” He sounds breathy, and can’t fight Ansem when the man sits him gently on the loveseat.
Even can feel it coming; he shivers. And the last thing he needs is Ansem to witness him like this.
“Are you cold?”
If anything, he’s sweating. But he admits in a pathetic voice, “Yes.”
Ansem drapes a blanket around his shoulders, one that smells vaguely musty. Even keeps his eyes on the floor, fighting the rising tide inside of him. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. “You struggle,” Ansem says quietly.
Even can feel the cutting retort on his tongue, but it’s like flash paper, gone in an instant. “Don’t you?” Then the words are spilling out of him like he truly is some kind of puppet. “How do you do it? Just--go back to the way things were? How can you bear to look at me? At us ? Why are you letting us stay here? Aren’t you angry?”
His expression is curiously neutral, diplomatic. He may be king no longer, but he’s dusted off the mask. “The situation is rather complicated. I’m horrified at what you’ve done. But Even, you’ve been my friend for thirty-five years. As though I can forget that at all. Nor does it make it easier to see you like this.”
“Some friend I was, to let this happen.”
“You cannot ignore the truth of Xehanort’s manipulation. Of the darkness.”
“...The darkness merely brought out the truest parts of myself.”
Ansem flinches. “It… does.”
They hold eye contact for a long, long time. Ansem breaks the silence first.
“I believed Heartless… Nobodies… all of your discoveries were abominations. That they needed elimination. Even those with sentience were just… tools I used in my vain attempt at revenge.” His hands are both outstretched. “Much like you… I gave myself a new name… covered myself in a new garb… and hid behind my so-called work, claiming good intentions.” He looks back at Even. “We’re not different, Even. Had I been in your shoes, on the ground with Xehanort… who knows what I have done? And were you in mine… would you have been able to stop me?”
The tide threatens to choke him now.
“Maybe we can’t find forgiveness in each other. Maybe we’re not meant to. But to… forsake one another is not much better.”
He gasps out one sob, clapping a hand over his mouth.
“If you don’t allow yourself to feel, Even, you can never hope to be any better.”
How truly odd a mental breakdown is, he thinks. He feels almost as if he is watching himself, a shaking, weeping wreck. Simultaneously numb and in agony at the same time. This must be how Ienzo felt, while Even was recovering from his wounds; overwhelmed, uncontrollable, utterly weak.
“Don’t fight it,” Ansem says. “Just let it be.”
More painful yet, to be consoled by him. “I betrayed you--and all you stood for. I betrayed… Ienzo . He said he wouldn’t touch the boy. Why did I ever--”
Ansem frowns. “Xehanort?”
He’s said too much. Even feels how tightly he’s curled up, face parallel with the ground. “Who else? But he… he felt no… anxiety, no overstimulation. Now I’m afraid--” Afraid of what?
Perhaps, simply, afraid.
He sits up. Ansem offers him a clean handkerchief, a glass of water. “I should like to go see Ienzo myself,” he says softly. “You stay here as long as you need.”
Of course Even leaves as soon as Ansem’s out of earshot. He’s beyond humiliated.The fever, brief as it was, has left an unpleasant film along his skin, and so he bathes, winching as he brushes scars, the strange numbness and hypersensitivity.
The towel he’s draped over the mirror has fallen; he sees himself. His skin is a patchwork. From his collarbones all the way to his feet, brittle scars cover him.
It’s no less than what you deserve.
He dresses and falls into a restless sleep.
---
For a while he feels numb. Even sleeps a lot; it seems like his strings have snapped, and he can’t move. He can’t tell if he’s merely just exhausted, or if this is his depression worsening. He considers pharmaceuticals; but when he checks his stock, he finds everything expired. Figures.
He decides he must go to the marketplace, to get some supplies. See what he can find.
“Where have you been?” Dilan asks. “Feel like I haven’t seen your mug in some time.”
“I’m afraid I was feeling rather ill,” Even tells him. It’s the truth, at least partially. “I fear I wasn’t taking adequate care of myself, and needed rest. Ienzo’s collapse was something of a wakeup call.” Despite his sweater, and coat, he’s shivering, and he isn’t even outside. Is this because his BMI is too low? Or is he merely unused to feeling the cold anymore, after being Vexen?
“Yes.” Dilan sneers. “I’ve heard about that.”
“Oh?”
“Impossible not to. They’ve been practically joined at the hip since last week.”
“...Have they.” He feels that swell of anger, of concern.
“It’s not all that surprising. This is just a flash in the pan; nothing more. Warm bodies, you know? That’s all I care to think on the matter.”
He feels another swell of disgust. “...I feel similarly.”
“Where are you going?”
“My supply of medication is expired. I need to seek out more--considering it seems I’m the one for such things now.”
“That woman Aerith is a healer. Perhaps you might get what you need from her.”
Even chuckles. “I’ll feel better with what’s proven.”
Dilan shrugs. “Would you mind particularly if I joined you?”
Why? Even nearly asks. “...If you must.”
It’s colder outside; more jarring. Even winces, adjusting the scarf at his throat. “I forgot about these winters,” Dilan says. “Say what you want about that godforsaken castle--at least it was well-insulated.”
“Those coats were rather warm, weren’t they,” Even mutters. But the thought of putting one on repulses him.
He chuckles. “No, I do not wish to be young,” he adds, shaking his head. “These things are… difficult enough as it is. I don’t know how either of them are sane.”
“Clearly, they aren’t.” I don’t feel much better off. “But if Ienzo wants to get hurt… well, I’m to let him make his own decisions, aren’t I?”
“He is twenty,” Dilan points out. “It was bound to happen sometime.”
“I’m not sure if you agree, but I… feel so very odd, being here.”
His expression darkens. “Yes,” he says. “But where else would we go? And--what else would we do?”
"I can't tell you. I feel as though…" He trails off.
"You've no idea where to begin?" Dilan offers.
"...Indeed."
"I can… tell. Even, my old friend. Please do not take offense. But whenever I've seen you recently… you seem so besides yourself."
"I… am not offended." He smiles wryly. "I'm merely realizing the all-too-human costs of what we did."
Town is approaching. For their own protection, soon they will have to lower their voices.
"I've been rereading our Organization reports," Dilan says. "I didn't realize you had so many."
"I'm afraid with my… unseemly departure, close to a year is missing--arguably the most cataclysmic year."
"Isa left a relatively detailed record. You needn't worry too much." The frozen ground crunches a little under his feet. "All those Heartless that were made--that I made--the people who were killed because of it--"
Even touches his arm. "Peace," he says softly. "You and I… are much in the same boat." Streets begin blooming around them. "You have to forgive me, Dilan."
He raises his brows. "Oh?"
"That day in the cemetery… I've known you over twenty years, and yet I could not recall who you lost."
The memory softens his face. "I'm afraid I'm--frightfully sentimental," he murmurs. "I had a twin, once. I used to… visit her on our birthdays. She was quite young. The thought of having missed so many… put things into a sort of perspective. A human pain."
Even furrows his brows. "Oddly… it was my worry for another that helped me decide to atone. The bonds." He shakes his head.
"Ienzo." Not a question. "You always had a soft spot for the boy."
"I wonder often if he's the by-product of some parental instinct of mine."
"...A replacement for your son?" He thinks, fussing with his jacket cuffs.
"Perhaps."
"A heart has room to love more than one." He shrugs. "Though--essentially the boy is your son . "
"I'm sure if he heard that he'd disagree." Even stops cold.
Dilan frowns. "Even?"
"We've… betrayed him, the three of us. We…"
Dilan puts his hands on Even's shoulders. "I… know."
He swallows. "Let's finish this errand."
---
"Errant" is the right word for it.
Even sits at the desk in his quarters, a frightful numbness overtaking him in waves. He had no luck finding antidepressants; not that it could've cured him anyway. He's never felt quite this woeful. But every time he thinks he's understood it, he realizes more ugly truth.
I am irredeemable.
A gentle knock at his door. "Enter," he says tiredly.
It's Aeleus--Even breaths a small sigh of relief. "We've been invited to dinner," he says. "Up with Ansem. Ienzo's cooking."
His heart aches. "Oh… I… see."
"I can tell them if you're in the middle of something."
"I'll go. Better than subsisting off of toast."
Aeleus nods, but remains there. Even turns towards him in the chair.
"You've more to say."
"Why do you think the three of us grew apart?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Who? Myself, you, Dilan?"
"You, me… and the boy." He drops his eyes. "I was… reflecting on my time in Castle Oblivion. The three of us… all we basically did was argue with one another.”
“Until we all started dropping like flies, you mean?” Even asks. He sighs.
“I’m afraid to say I did not feel much for either of you.” He drops his eyes.
Even nods slowly. “I experienced much the same,” he admits. “The moment I became Vexen--the first time--I could feel that I had been ostracized from all I ever cared for. And in the moment, it was… liberating.”
“To not have to care?”
“...Yes.”
“It was,” he says softly. “Wasn’t it? But then again… to have those feelings back… it seems only right. Natural.”
Even can’t help but agree, despite the pain it’s causing him; his concern for the others is the only thing keeping him here. (In the castle? Or--)
Do not dwell on that.
“Shall we walk together, Even?” Aeleus asks.
“Of course. I admit.” He sneers a little. “I am curious to witness this trainwreck in motion.”
They set off. After a moment, Aeleus says, “I know you are worried for Ienzo’s heart,” Aeleus says. “I am too. But at the same time… if something makes him happy, however brief, are we justified in trying to take that from him?”
“He’s already so mentally fragile, I fear--”
“Aren’t you? Aren’t we all? Aren’t bonds supposed to help with all that?”
Even scowls, irritation rising in him. “Who knows,” he mutters. “I surely don’t, apparently.”
Aeleus, either stung or out of tact, lapses into silence.
It’s odd. The table has been set, neatly; he can see Ienzo conscious for the first time since he’s collapsed, in civilian clothing, his skin a normal color again, bustling around the kitchen. Demyx hands him a serving platter. Even observes them warily, notes that Ansem and Dilan are doing the same; but neither boy seems to notice. Ienzo laughs at something Demyx says, a sound Even hasn’t heard in a long time (if ever?). Demyx looks at the boy with… something, something that isn’t quite lust, it’s much too soft.
Oh dear. It’s worse than he could’ve thought.
They settle in for dinner; Demyx sits in the spot that normally Even gravitates towards, unaware of the decorum. Nobody mentions this. Nobody talks about much of anything, actually, and for a while the only sounds come from the gentle scrapes of spoons against bowls. Demyx and Ienzo both keep their eyes on their plates.
Even can’t help himself. “I see you’re feeling well, Ienzo. What is it you’ve both done to keep yourselves busy?” He tries to keep his tone affable, but he sees the dangerous look in Ienzo’s eye and Demyx’s blush, only further confirming-- you’ll just torture yourself.
“Not much you’d find of interest, I’m afraid,” the boy explains. “Resting, mostly. We both were lacking winter things, so we’ve spent some time in town. That’s about all.”
“I am sure we’re all glad to see you back in good health,” Even says to him. “I just hope that this new development does not cloud your judgement going forward. To be young and… caught up in such matters, can no doubt impede your critical thinking. However natural it is.”
Ienzo sets down his teacup. He’s blushing, but the frustration in his voice is undeniable. “Clearly you have thought on the subject, and I appreciate your concern. But I feel as though I am just as able to take on my research as I ever were. Not that I have asked for your advice. Should you have more to say on the matter, please let us discuss it in private.” After a moment, “You needn’t worry about me anymore,” Ienzo says, a bit more gently. “I… I’m not the little boy I was.”
He shakes his head. “I will always worry about you,” he says. “After all, I’ve so much time to make up for.” It’s the most personal thing he’s said to him in some time.
He softens a little, but says no more. After a rather awkward silence, Demyx speaks. “Anyone want seconds?”
The boys remain around long enough to be polite; they do the dishes and take their leave ( do not think about what it is they’re going to do). Revulsion makes his stomach sour.
But Even finds it’s actually more awkward with them gone; without the drama of the relationship as a buffer, it’s the four of them together alone in a room for the first time since…
No, can’t be. Is it?
Since the last time they were all together in the basement.
Even considers excusing himself as well, but Ansem breaks the silence. “I believe we all are… concerned in our own ways,” he says slowly. He poured himself a glass of wine at the beginning of the dinner, one that is still untouched. “But it’s only right to allow the boys to be human. You’ve been rather defensive, Even.”
Dilan smirks. Even isn’t sure how much wine he’s had, if he’s drunk. “What was it you said? “I’ve so much time to make up for?” Rather softhearted now, aren’t you?”
“It’s what I have to hold onto,” Even admits, startled by his own candor. “Almost all else is lost.”
“We can’t pretend things didn’t happen,” Aeleus says. “Master, I…” He bows his head. “No apology I offer can ever be enough.”
What little humor Dilan’s found fades; he drops his eyes, twisting the ends of one of his braids. “Some code we were supposed to uphold,” he mutters.
“You’ve all separately come to me, in your own way. But truly… I am not an innocent victim, as you may suspect.” He chuckles. “You remember the man who called himself DiZ?”
“That thorn in our side?” Dilan asks, incredulous. “That was you ?”
Even knows this was what Ansem was alluding to, but still feels somewhat surprised. Despite himself, he laughs, too. “Never pictured you as a vigilante.”
“Anger was all I had keeping me going. This shouldn’t be a surprise--we’ve all spent too much time with darkness.”
“Was it revenge you desired?” Aeleus asks.
“Revenge… death… who knows?” He shrugs.
“We needed to be taken down,” Even says, to the floor. “Though sadly for you--all of us save Dilan were already gone before you put your plan in action.”
“I was after Xehanort-- Xemnas .” He sneers. “The fool. I sure felt something about him when I found him. I thought it was something good. I should’ve known what was going on the moment he arrived with darkness.”
“What’s the saying--“hindsight’s 20/20”?” Dilan shifts his weight a little.
“And I’m king no longer. I have no authority, no title… I’m merely a foolish old man, weighed down by memories of the past. Are we not all wretches?”
He’s right, but Even can still feel something like fury. “So what, are we to not even try?” he spits. “Are we just to--waste away here in this castle, sealing ourselves up and getting nothing done? Avoiding one another like the plague--and ourselves more?”
“What do you propose we do, then, Even, since you know so much more?” Dilan hisses. “Try to assist the townsfolk we’ve terrorized? How will that be of any use?”
“Retraumatizing,” Aeleus whispers, his eyes on his knees.
“You both have a valid point,” Ansem says. He seems unnervingly calm, but Even can see the tension in his jaw; the mask is back on. “To merely sit on our hands and do nothing would in and of itself be another atrocity. Yet… the landscape of this city has already been so scarred by what we’ve put in motion.”
“We?” Even asks, incredulous.
Ansem meets his eyes. Behind the cool diplomacy, Even can see something like fire. “You think I did not realize what could happen?” he asks. “Once you began studying the darkness, I’d heard by then it could change you, morph you into something… less. But I’ve known you all for years, handpicked you for your various specializations… I figured… no, they’re friends of mine, they should simply be better. I could’ve stopped it--instead I chose to sit behind my title, my supposed… power, over you. In every single aspect, I’ve failed.” He hasn’t raised his voice, in fact was quite soft spoken. But when he stops speaking, the silence is especially notable. “In a way we suit one another, do we not?” He’s addressing them all, but it’s Even’s gaze he holds. “Four grown men--intelligent, educated--and all we can wreak is havoc.”
He’s had enough. “I refuse to believe this is all we’re capable of.”
“How can you help anyone if you can’t even help yourself?” Ansem levels, and for the first time, despite the very calm cadence of his voice, can Even feel the depths of the anger the man has for him.
Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
Chapter summary: Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea visit, dredging up more than Even bargains for. Even discovers something unexpected about Ienzo.
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
He studies Demyx with a fascination he didn’t think was possible. He itches for the Organization’s medical records; when he tries to upload them from his old thumb drives, the files are corrupt. But what will it belie, anyway?
The boy’s suffered a lot of stress in his life; cortisol has impacted his DNA in innumerable ways. Does this explain his Nobody’s laziness, his inactivity? Was he trying to spare himself pain--perhaps subconsciously? He begins sequencing his own samples, to act as a sort of control. It makes the work not quite watertight or unbiased, but beggars cannot be choosers, and everyone else seems to be busy. Besides, if he must experiment, best to do it on himself.
He receives a text from Ienzo. He’s barely seen hide nor hair of the boy for days; if he hasn’t been working with Demyx, he’s been with Ansem. Even is sure Ienzo is throwing himself so deeply into new work to avoid processing everything that has happened.
Pot, kettle, black.
We have some visitors, the text reads. Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea would like to see you.
The mention of Lea’s name makes him bristle; but he does not mind the girls or Roxas. After all, they’re his research, walking and talking. It will be good to see how they’re adjusting, if they’re having any issues. Send them down. He almost asks how Ienzo is doing.
Almost.
He tries to fix himself up a bit, knowing his clothes are wrinkled and his hair is a mess. He brushes it and finds himself automatically trying to smooth it into a ponytail--a style he hasn’t worn in many years. Even, is that you? Is he changing too?
There’s a gentle knock at the door, startling him. He takes a quick breath. “It’s open. Do come in.” He’s not used to seeing so many people at once, he realizes. “Hello.”
“Deja vu, huh,” Roxas says pleasantly.
“You are right,” he says. “Then again--not too terribly much about my days are different.” He tries for a patient smile. “Xion, Naminé. Good to see you as well. Frankly I’m surprised you’re back so soon.”
“I heard about the flowers,” she says shyly. “I wanted to see them.”
“I’m afraid it’s nearing winter, but no matter. Town is plenty beautiful.”
The last figure, leaning against the door frame, finally speaks. “...You look good.”
Even can’t help the small flinch. “Lea.”
He’s as tall and wiry as ever. Like everyone else, he looks odd without the frame of the Organization cloak. “When you… have a minute, I wanna talk. I’m sure you want to poke and prod.”
“We volunteered,” Roxas says, grinning.
“Oh, Lea, that’s not necessary.”
The man looks confused. “After everything? But I want to apolo--”
“Who’d like to be examined first?”
Lea lets it drop, and returns to his position at the door. He’s blocking the only exit. Calm down, you fool. He takes each of the teenagers aside, takes blood and the like, asks them how their bodies are behaving. Almost unanimously, they all say that everything is just fine. They certainly look indistinguishable from humans, and aside from the fact that neither Xion nor Naminé are menstruating, they essentially are. He needs to examine their telomerase, to see if they’re aging. And yet in all this, he feels little pride.
“You really made me?” Xion asks softly.
“You flatter me, girl,” he says. “I made your body. You did all the rest. Grew your own heart. Figured it out--somehow.” He affords her a smile, finds it genuine. In a rather roundabout way, he realizes, he's her father, having created her body not once, but twice. He finds the thought so jarring he immediately shoves it into the background.
“I wish I could tell you how,” she says, with a laugh. “I just know that--this body feels so much more mine than the last one.”
“Because it was made just for you. The last one was for someone else.”
Slowly, she nods. “You let me be a girl,” she says, more quietly.
Even blinks. “Well… that’s what you are, isn’t it?”
“Isa--Saïx--referred to me as “it.””
“Because he saw you as a puppet--nothing more. To a degree… I’m ashamed to say I did too. But I realized… these replicas are so much more than vessels. Here you are, aren’t you?” Even wonders, had the other vessels not merely been implanted with hearts at their birth, if they may have formed their own hearts as well. Would it even be worth exploring that? What right does he to create new life when he barely understands morality?
She smiles shyly, and nods. “Do we really get to just grow up?”
“I need to look into a few things--but I surely hope so.”
“I guess being alive is enough for me. Being remembered, too.”
He drums his fingers on the exam table. He can hear the other three roughhousing behind the curtain, and hope they don’t disturb Demyx’s data, still spread willy-nilly. “Should you not… mature, perhaps I can look into making a body that appears more age-appropriate.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She pauses. “Thanks, Even.”
It’s this more than anything that catches him off guard. “It’s the least I could do, child. I just hope this new life treats you well.”
“Aside from Sora being gone--it is so far.”
He bobs his head. “That’s all we can ask for.”
The three teenagers leave, but Lea hangs on. Even feels his heart in his throat, something like acid in his veins--he tries to bring himself back under control.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks coldly. “I have a lot of work to do, with what these three have left me.”
He looks, more than anything, ashamed of himself. Even doesn’t like the way it feels when their eyes meet; he can feel sweat beading under his arms, cold and unpleasant. “I… spent the whole ride here thinking about how to talk to the two of you,” he admits. “But I just… now that I see you... “ He exhales. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Even.”
He blinks. “I hope you don’t expect me to assuage your conscience,” he says. “Though I’m sure Ienzo did.” Below anxiety, a rage. He tries to hold onto it. “The boy was loyal. If he truly needed elimination--” It’s physically difficult to get the words out. “Why did it need to be so violent? Why did you feel the need to-- You were peers, Lea. You grew up together. Does that mean nothing to you?”
He can’t make eye contact. “I know, Even. I know. I… it’s one of the things I wish I could take back most. But I can’t. Now he has to live with it--and so do you.”
Even thinks of Ienzo’s scars, of the panic that overtook him. Of his own solemn brutalization. “There’s one thing I want to know. Was it worth it?”
“No. Not at all.” His breath sounds vaguely wheezy. “But it… it wasn’t right. It isn’t right. I never really had to… pay for what I did. Is there… something I can do for you?”
Even just wants him out of here. “You could avoid mentioning it again.”
He’s never seen Lea like this, so shaken. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t give him immense satisfaction. He takes a step forward, and Even immediately takes one back. “Right. I… Right.” He nods. “I’m so… neither of you deserved it. Not that way. I’m sorry.” He says it almost like a nervous tic. “I…”
“We all have to learn to deal with guilt,” he adds.
“Yeah.”
“You should go join those friends of yours. Make sure they don’t get in any trouble.” He wants to turn back to his work; but his body won’t let him.
“I will.” He straightens a little. “I’m sorry.” Finally, he leaves, and Even shuts and locks the door behind him. He’s breathing hard. He tries to remember what he told Ienzo--about this reaction being normal--but it doesn’t feel normal. He sinks to the floor weakly, his white coat puddling around him. He can’t recall ever having such intense anxiety. He tries to breathe, remembering what he was taught in med school about reversing the flight or fight instinct--inhale, eight count, hold, seven count, exhale, four count--and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.
---
When he finally, wearily pulls himself together, he can’t bring himself to begin studying their samples. It makes him think too much of Lea. He turns back to Demyx, because this is a problem he can solve, or try to.
On the matter of Demyx…
It’s Isa who has the diplomacy to find him, this time. “I… truly apologize for the interruption,” he says. “I realize you’re probably unsettled after seeing Lea.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The man nods once. “I’d say it’s good to see you--and it is--but I’m afraid I need help.”
Even sighs. “Which one of the miscreants got hurt?”
“Nobody’s hurt. Well, not literally, anyway.”
Demyx has, again, collapsed. Apparently the three have spent some time together--spoke about their pasts--and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. His vitals are much the same as last time. Whatever this is, it’s either getting better or worse; it seems to be happening with concerning frequency. The last thing Even needs is another dead body on his hands.
Ienzo arrives back on their floor, looking exhausted and ragged--when was the last time the child got some sleep? He sees the three of them by Demyx’s door and furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”
“Demyx fainted again,” Even says tiredly.
“He was hanging out with us, and we were just talking about our lives and pasts and whatnot,” Lea says.
“It is strange he doesn’t have his sitar,” Isa adds.
Ienzo is nonplussed. “Well, none of us have our Nobody weapons,” Ienzo says. “It’s a pity, yes, but it’s just our biology.”
Lea stares him down. “Then explain this.” He summons his chakrams; it takes all of Even’s strength to keep his expression neutral. But once the wave of panic begins to pass… why is it Lea, of all people, retains his Nobody’s weapons?
Ienzo blinks. “Have you always had them, as Lea?”
“Since I woke up. Came easier than the Keyblade.”
Ienzo seeks Even’s gaze, an explanation; he can’t offer one.
“And if he’s half as connected to his sitar as I am to these babies, --and he is--, he should definitely still have it.” The weapons disappear, much to Even’s relief.
“We told him as much, and then he blacked out,” Isa says.
“He and I still only have part of our hearts,” Even tells them. “It’s made him very brittle.”
“He’s taken the loss very hard,” Ienzo says. “I hope this is a good sign that it’ll return to him.”
“We’ve all handled this situation uniquely. I don’t think there necessarily is a standard,” Even says. He’s sure he’s right; their sample size of Nobodies-then-humans is so small. They can’t consider anything to be set in stone. “I’ll try to investigate further. I should like to be able to use ice again. It made my experiments so much easier.” But if power comes from the will…
Ienzo touches his face, a thoughtful gesture.
Even tries to puzzle it out, aware of the errant small talk around them; finally the two leave. He takes a quick breath. “Those two tire me,” Even says. “Lea would not stop apologizing. As if the path to goodness is so simple.” He shakes his head. “I admit it was nice to speak with Xion. She’s a lovely girl, very bright and personable. I should like to get to know her. To believe I created her myself, and I don’t understand her mind. It’s fascinating.”
“Yes,” Ienzo says numbly.
He looks beyond exhausted; terrible. Even feels concern blot out the rest of his anxiety. “Are you off to get some sleep?”
“In a few moments. I wanted to check on Demyx first.”
“His vitals are stable and he’s merely asleep now. I was just in there.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
He turns to leave. Seeing Ienzo like this has tugged something in him. “On the subject of people I raised… you do know I still care for you, yes?” It feels so odd to admit it. Uncomfortable, almost.
He cants his head slightly. “What made you think about that?”
He considers it. He’s made Xion as surely as he’s tended to Ienzo. Yet, he’s barely seen or interacted with either of them in all this time, holing himself up, doing--what--and being largely pathetic. “Xion’s presence gave me clarity. I have been… cold, to pardon the pun. I have been isolating myself, and that is not healthy. I am wondering what it might be like to be Even again.” He chances touching him, giving his shoulder a squeeze; he doesn’t flinch away. “You’re a good boy. You’re too hard on yourself.”
Yes. This is all true.
How is being alone helping anything? How it is healing these bonds? How is it atonement? He needs to do better, to be better. To try harder and not indulge his own selfish whims.
Ienzo cares about Demyx at least a little. If Even can help the boy…
---
It's late at night when he figures it out. He's drowsy, very nearly nodding, papers spread around him like a fan. He's been comparing his results with the boy's, not finding anything of interest, to his rising frustration.
And then.
It's all in the frayed, fragile ends of telomerase. Temporal markers. Even knows Demyx is about twenty-seven years younger than himself, a generation before. Ergo, their timelines should roughly sync up, they should have at least a few markers in common.
They don't. Not even close.
His hands tremble as he holds the paper. He blinks, hard, hoping his exhausted mind isn't playing tricks on him. He sees it there. Undeniably.
He's breathing hard, tasting paper.
"Oh, Xehanort. You bastard. "
---
For a long time after that Even sits, his head in his hands, on his cot. The boy's from the past. The boy's from the fucking past. How? How? This makes no sense given what they know about time travel. But it comes to him in pieces--Demyx hasn't volunteered his old name because he can't remember it. And if Xemnas hadn't been lying--he hasn't so far, unbelievably--then the boy is also a Keyblade wielder.
He laughs out loud, a weird, mostly-feral sound. How like Xemnas, to torture him for years about his progress with the replicas only to have four sleepers right under his nose. It feels very nearly personal. Was this revenge, for trying to run off with Ienzo?
But--why wasn't Demyx's weapon of choice a Keyblade, then, nor the other three neophytes?
Xemnas had been part of Xehanort--a Keyblade wielder--and hadn't had one either.
Ah.
He found the four somehow--old friends? But they never got along in the Organization--blanked their memories, only to have their Nobodies immediately lose their worthiness. Hence, the need for Roxas, and the replicas. But not to get rid of them, in case he can find a way to make them useful. And without memories, they were all the easier to manipulate.
In a flash, Even feels sorry for the boy, and then stricken because he has to tell him all this.
He forces himself to try to sleep. He’s able to manage a few hours, though it doesn’t give him much clarity. He has to find Demyx. He has to know.
The boy sits leaning heavily against one hand in the apprentices’ kitchen, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “Have you a moment?” Even asks.
He seems shocked; Even’s tone must be half-deranged. He stands, and Even grasps him by the wrist, tugging him back to the lab, his evidence. “Are you mad at me?” the boy asks.
“I suppose, in a sense. Your DNA has caused me to lose countless hours of sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. Since when does Demyx apologize for anything? “I’m guessing you didn’t find anything.”
Even begins bracing himself. “No. Precisely the opposite. Come here.” He herds the boy over to his table. “I’ve parsed everything you’ve given me. Looking simply at your genome, I was frustrated. It’s normal. See, have a look. If you compare yours and mine, aside from the average differences owing to our makeups, they’re the same. But then… I decided to look at your epigenome. Have you heard of it?”
He shrugs. “Well… isn’t that stuff like… how I was raised?”
“Well, it’s countless different factors, like the amount of oxygen you received in the womb, and the food you’ve eaten. Which is why it’s taken me so long to isolate them, and then to make sense of them. Now, again, I used myself as the comparison point. If you look at yours…” He shoves the papers in front of the boy. “...And mine, it started to make sense. Of course nearly all of the markers are going to be different. Take a look at these. These markers here… they’re kind of like the amount of time your body’s spent in the environment, so to speak. Hard to tell just by looking at the regular genome. I can tell from your genome that you’re roughly twenty-two years of age, and you can tell from mine that I am… well. It’s accurate, I can assure you. But these… these!” He finds he can’t breathe. “Your temporal markers should at least slightly resemble mine. They don’t. If I’m right at all… your little theory might have some purchase.”
He looks like he’s been punched. “So you’re saying--” He swallows. “It’s true?”
“The initial tests seem to indicate that, yes.”
He slumps heavily against the table, horrorstruck.
“I had the precise same reaction,” Even says.
“It’s why I don’t remember,” Demyx says.
“You’ve no memory?” Even asks. He’s figured--yet, to hear the truth of it is all the more jarring.
“Only the dreams. Only what I’ve told you about.” He’s shaking. Even’s never seen the boy so upset. “Am I really… did I really live through the Keyblade War?”
If his legacy is sleeping… he was seventeen when Xehanort recruited him. Supposedly the first Keyblade war involved children… “You may very well have.”
“How? Why?”
“I’m thinking it has something to do with some sort of self-preservation. We all know that when the body and heart are in danger, especially if one is a Keyblade wielder, a person can produce otherwise impossible feats of magic. This had to be what Xemnas, and by extension, Xehanort saw in you.” Still time travel. Yet--
The boy puts a hand over his mouth. He’s breathing hard.
Even tries to be gentle, but to be dishonest would be imprudent. “I don’t know if it’s possible to awaken those memories. It would most definitely be too much for your new heart to take.” Even shakes his head. Which explains the fainting. “Fate… is cruel.”
His blue-green eyes are full of pain. Even feels something very nearing concern. “I don’t want this. I just… I just wanted to play sitar,” he says. He turns and flees. Even actually tries to follow, but the boy is too fast, and is gone in a blink. He’s not sure how much comfort he can offer, if any.
No memories. No home to turn to, no way to get there. Without the comfort of a calling, or passion. And if he’s a war survivor--of course it makes sense that his Nobody would despise fighting, would avoid it at all costs. Would settle for observing, avoiding, staying under the radar…
Almost against his will, Even gets better insight of the boy than he’s ever had.
And he’s been nothing but short with him.
Why is it that trying to help has only caused more damage?
---
He tries to sleep, in a real bed this time. He refrains from going to his lab. His mind is horridly muddled, emotions crawling unpleasantly below the skin. He needs time. He cannot perform if he cannot think clearly. He walks, reads. The light coming in through the windows of his quarters seems impossibly sharp.
Early one of these mornings, he sits with coffee, trying to convince himself he’s not unravelling (weak). Ansem, with books and sheafs of paper. Ansem, looking every bit as terrible as Ienzo did the other day. “You’re unwell,” his master says.
“I could say the same,” he says levelly. “I’ve… had a lot to do.”
“Yes. As have I.”
A few beats of silence.
“Any progress, with Sora?” Even asks.
But Ansem just shrugs. “I’m not certain. We’ve been reviewing the footage of the Data Sora Mickey sent us… We’re to see if it has bonds. If we can partially understand Sora’s heart, maybe we can understand the real thing… might be able to use one of his real friends, to find him, much as Riku did during the Mark of Mastery.”
Even mulls it over. “Sounds something of a fool’s errand,” he says.
But Ansem doesn’t get defensive; in fact, he just sighs. “Yes,” he says. “I agree completely. But Ienzo… this is so important to him. I must do whatever I can to help the young man.”
Even frowns. “Yes.”
“He is… truly different than I remember. More verbose, for one thing. I recall a time when the boy struggled to string words together. And softer, too.”
At least they have this one thing than I can talk about. “I saw it happen, and I’m still baffled by the change,” Even admits. “He was once so cold and calculating as a Nobody.”
“That… makes sense. Grew up in darkness, in nothing, with little need for a conscience. Doubtful the new presence of empathy is very painful. We’ve spoken only briefly about the past… and then this seems to upset him deeply.”
“He’s compartmentalized,” Even realizes slowly. “Otherwise… how to survive, psychologically?”
A sigh. “Quite. If any of what you’ve told me about Demyx is true, perhaps he can teach that child how to relax. I daresay he needs it.”
Even debates--should he tell Ansem? Then again, he doubts Demyx wants this secret everywhere. “...Yes.”
“I should… return, then. He asked to see these.”
Even flicks his eyes up. Ansem’s eyes aren’t warm, but they’re not quite so cold, either. “I’d say “good luck,” but… well…”
He nods once, and leaves.
Even truly does not know what to do with himself. He worries about Ienzo, the boy’s mental state. If he feels half as unwell as Even does--and likely he feels much worse--then it could potentially be disastrous.
So he does the only thing he knows--he researches. He goes to the library, pulls some volumes on abnormal psychology, carts them to his lab, and reads. But there’s no precedence for anything like this, such acute psychological devastation. The closest it comes to is complex post traumatic stress, and even that doesn’t seem to fit the bill. Even again feels that desperate itch, the need to help, only how?
The door to his lab bangs open, and there’s Demyx. He’s breathless, flushed; he must’ve been running. Even realizes that he’s probably the only one without a gummiphone, and ergo, this is likely some emergency. “I need…” he gasps.
“Slow down, boy. Catch your breath. What’s the rush?”
He clutches his chest. “Ienzo,” he spits. “He had a… a nosebleed, and then I was trying to get him to go to bed, but he just…” He seems so concerned, more than Even has ever witnessed--perhaps the two really are friends. “He passed out, Even, isn’t responding at all.”
He feels a surge of something like fear, and then anger--of course Ansem’s been allowing the boy to work himself into the ground. He grabs at supplies and follows the boy back as quickly as he is able to.
Even knows it’s bad, but he’s still not mentally prepared for what he sees.
Ienzo isn’t just pale, he’s sallow, his skin waxy, his lab coat stained with close to a liter of blood. The boy’s half-conscious, his eyes empty, vacant, not completely unlike the night Xehanort arrived. The first thing he does is start the boy on fluids and glucose, checking his vitals, finding them even more disturbing; blood pressure like that of a cold snake, the rhythm of his heart off. His skin is dry, as well, likely from dehydration. He gives him a few different injections, to try and neutralize the cortisol he’s no doubt flooded with, a very mild tranquilizer to force him to sleep. He’s positive the boy’s been neglecting his own needs, unaware as to how much more devastating they could be to his human body. Humans simply don’t bounce back the way Nobodies do when subjected to such stress; nor do they metabolize it so well.
Demyx is horrified. “I told him. I told him to take care of himself.”
“He only listens when he wants to,” Even says.
“Is that what this is? Something because of overwork?”
Even sighs and explains. “The blood loss must have only exacerbated his condition. Best you found me when you did. With rest, and the proper care, though… he’ll recover.” He’s already stabilizing, thank the stars. He wipes the smear of blood off of the boy’s face and turns back to the medicine at the dresser. Perhaps at the damp cloth, Ienzo seems to come to. “Demyx?”
The other boy crouches at the bedside and takes his hand. Even bristles. Against his will, it’s starting to make sense--
Ienzo’s voice is very weak when forces out a “What--”
“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.”
Then, very deliberately, or not deliberately at all, Demyx leans in and kisses him on the forehead.
Oh.
Of course.
He feels something rising in him, something like disbelief, or anger. He hears Demyx consoling Ienzo (so gently?), but his own heart is racing. “So. That is the nature of your connection with Ienzo.”
He turns, and Even sees it in his eyes; caught. Ienzo has either fallen asleep, or is pretending to.
“He has mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?” Not to mention, what does it mean concerning Demyx’s past?
“I don’t know,” he says. “But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”
That so. He exhales slowly. He’s definitely angry; this much he can grasp. “It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes,” he said. “But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.” Not just from him, he’s sure.
But this doesn’t faze him, or intimidate him, like he hoped. There’s an odd resolve in his eyes Even’s never seen before. “Yes. I know.”
“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am much too tired.” Even shakes his head, feeling the brunt of a headache in full. “I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”
“I will.” He turns back towards Ienzo, his eyes full of such worry and--dare Even see it--tenderness.
Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
Chapter summary: Despite Even's efforts, Ienzo makes a choice which ripples across the castle.
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
His peace, incredibly tenuous, does not last long.
He receives a call midmorning the next day, from Ienzo. “Even. I need help.” His voice sounds shattered.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s Demyx--”
Even takes a quick breath. “Is he hurt?” He seems to have recovered from that wound, but that means nothing.
Ienzo’s voice is full of glass. “Not physically.”
Oh. Of course. Now that they’re bonded… he may have very well become fully human. And his memories were only a hair’s breadth away. “I think I understand. I’m on my way.” He goes to his lab, grabs a few different things which may be of help.
He finds them in the study room which seems to be their favorite haunt. Despite himself, he feels a concern for the boy--is it for what this implies about his own wellbeing?
“What is it? What’s happened?”
Ienzo has the boy on the ground. The boy’s face is contorted in pain; he’s breathing hard and twitching a little. Ienzo’s face is drawn. “I’m not really sure--he--this score… he insisted it was his, and then he went into this weird trance, and I think he’s remembering something . Even, I don’t know.”
Even catches sight of this supposed score. At a glance, he can tell it’s ancient; much like the young man on the floor. He crouches next to him and begins checking his vitals. The boy’s heart is positively racing. The blood loss was really hard on his heart. “He’s clearly in pain, and cannot maintain a heart rate that high for very long.” He sedates the boy, and finally Demyx settles into it, his expression slackening, his heart rate beginning to lower to something livable.
The boy’s memories must be coming back. The score was a trigger. If he is as emotionally fragile as Even--and is reliving all that war trauma--he might not pull through, his new heart might break.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Ienzo asks.
He looks back at the score again. It doesn’t surprise him Demyx hasn’t told Ienzo. Where to even begin? Then again, does Ienzo need to deal with yet more lies of omission? “It was not my secret to share.”
“Even,” Ienzo says, his voice sharp and, if he’s reading this right, afraid.
“Xehanort had more than one trump card up his sleeve.” He sighs.“Didn’t you find it strange how we all arrived in groups? Us apprentices with Lea and Isa, and then the four neophytes. There was some degree of time between each arrival, but not nearly enough to justify what were were told. If we were to believe it, that humanoid Nobodies were rare, shouldn’t it have taken a lot longer to find the original thirteen?” He brushes his hair out of his face. “I’m not sure how exactly, but Xehanort pulled four Keyblade wielders from the age of fairy tales and made them Nobodies. Obfuscated their memories too, from the looks of things. I have no idea why it is he did this. But Xemnas told them at some point before the war, and Demyx asked me to investigate. I’m guessing this connection between you two only furthered his progress to humanity, and that when presented with a trigger, the memories came back.”
Ienzo looks down at him, his expression pinched. “So it’s true then.”
Even nods. “...Yes. It’s true. I’ve studied his DNA myself. You positively would not believe it, Ienzo--”
Something like hurt crosses his face. “And you didn’t think it prudent to ever mention this to me?”
“Would it have changed your mind?”
He drops his eyes. “No.”
“Precisely. I assure you he hasn’t experienced that passage of time.”
“...He said he’d remembered something from his past. I did not think it was this. So that means he’s really a--” He bites his lip.
“Yes.” He smiles sadly. “I worked so hard to make replicas who could wield Keyblades, and we had four wielders right under our noses.”
“But will he be all right?”
No point lying any longer. “Hard to say. All of those memories, some doubtless very gruesome and traumatic, his heart just healing… we must be patient.”
Again, they maneuver him to his bed, as gently as possible. Even starts him on fluids, another dose of the sedative. They can’t afford to have his heart rate spike. In all this, and despite his own nursing training, Ienzo doesn’t help; his expression is empty, horrified. He’s crying, though soundlessly. Even takes him away, makes him drink some tea.
“It is… a lot to process,” Even says. “But we’ve seen Roxas and Xion in spells like these and they both came out on the other side. Have faith.” He doesn’t mention that the two had considerably fewer memories to recover. This will not help Ienzo. Then again, Even isn’t sure what will.
In a voice that breaks Even’s heart, he asks, “Why is healing so dangerous?”
Question of the century. “It’s only as dangerous as we delude ourselves,” Even says finally. “Unfortunately, the spell he was under was a strong one.”
“Do you think he’ll be different?”
He thinks about it, about Ienzo’s own dramatic transformation once he returned to himself. This gentle boy is nothing like his cruel Nobody; though likely that took, and is taking, work. “Perhaps,” he says. “But no different than you yourself are. But the boy loves you, Ienzo. You can tell by the way he looks at you. I don’t think that will change.”
He drops his eyes. “Is it typical, to feel this amount of shock?”
He reaches out to feel Ienzo’s temperature. Clammy. “Like many such reactions, it’s a stress response.”
He speaks haltingly. “It is so… strange. With all that’s happened in the past month or so, I find myself wondering if it is good to allow such vulnerability.”
This is the most candid Ienzo’s been with him yet, the closest insight Even’s had to his emotions.
The last thing the boy needs is to close himself off more. “I admit the situations have been… extreme.” Even flinches. “But we’ve spent long enough closing our hearts and minds off to others, don’t you think?”
This doesn’t provide the comfort he thought. “You’re one to talk,” he says in a sharp voice. “You’ve been holed up in your lab all day every day, barely speaking to anyone. You seem to be the most hesitant of us all to accept humanity. Atonement aside.”
Thing is, he’s right. “I don’t deny it. But I have not spent my time experimenting.”
“What are you doing, then?” He looks exhausted now.
“Writing. Reflecting, mostly. Things always were the most tangible to me when they were on paper. If I can record my thoughts as data, perhaps I can make sense of them.”
His eyes soften just a little. “Is it working?”
Even can’t believe it; a real conversation. “Heavens, no. But if I do not tread these tides of emotion, then I am more foolish than I thought.”
He cants his head slightly. “What is it you feel?”
“Mostly--remorse--” He admits. He shakes his head. “As scientists, one of our duties is upholding a moral code. Needless to say, we broke it. Xehanort was manipulative, yes, but while you were a child, I was an educated man who should have known better. I did know better. But I figured the gains I made would offset the costs. They have not. And now I want to use my skills for the greater good.” But how?
“Do you think the replicas could have anything to do with that?” He becomes yet more earnest.
He still has those samples needing analysis, sitting quietly in the freezer. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” But--what right does he have to create life, anymore? Isn’t it unnatural? A query to ponder over later--back to the matter at hand, the real, tangible human sitting across from him. He gathers the rest of his remaining strength and looks Ienzo in the eye. “I must apologize to you, Ienzo.”
He blinks. “Even--”
“We can blame Ansem’s utter lack of paternal instinct all we want, but ultimately it is my fault that this all happened to you.” He thinks of his foolhardy plan to escape; even after that there were opportunities. “I should have understood Xehanort’s machinations and taken you out of that mess, but I was selfishly nearsighted. Things are always clearer in retrospect. Are they not? You deserved a normal childhood, a normal adolescence, and got anything but. And years of fear and trauma on top of it.” Who knew where Ienzo might have gone, otherwise? Without all this holding him back?
The boy exhales. “I forgive you,” he says.
He can’t mean that. There’s no way. But there’s no dishonesty in his face, his body language. A warmth wells in him, something bittersweet. Is it possible to mend their bond? Or is this just another example of Ienzo’s newfound “niceness”? “You’re a kind young man,” Even says. “I will try to make this up to you.” He stands. “I’m off to do some reading. There might be a better way for me to help Demyx after all.” He squeezes the boy’s shoulder.
And retreats to his work.
He wonders if his replicas might be of use once more. The screen seems piercingly bright when he cracks open the laptop.
It’s actually been a while since he’s read the real journals. He starts from the most recent, begins working his way back, skimming over all the biological nonsense, towards the more metaphysical.
There’s a question how to give No. i memories, he reads. It’s going to need them, to carry through--if we hope to make its “heart” worthy of a “Keyblade”, it’s going to need a sense of self, a certain nobility. How to do this while also keeping it under our control?
Oh, Vexen. You naive dunce.
The replica reports aren’t much use. Xion did all the work on her memories herself, almost spontaneously. There has to be something he can do to wavebreak the tide, so to speak; not just for Demyx, but for everyone. He storms to the library, digging for volumes, his hands trembling. In a sort of desperation, he even seeks fairy tales. The boy basically is one. But it’s all magic, and Even has no magic--
He feels helpless. If he fails Demyx, he fails Ienzo. And he can’t do that.
Maybe sleep will give him some clarity?
Some hope.
He’s just drifting when he hears the door creak open. Without thinking, he grabs the scalpel on the table next to him. “Who’s there?” He blinks, his vision focusing. “Oh… Ienzo? Is something wrong? Is it Demyx?”
“No, he’s still stable--it’s fine. It can wait until morning.” His tone is devoid of feeling.
“Clearly not, if you felt the need to come to me at this godforsaken hour. Whatever is the matter?”
He thinks for a moment. Then, “Do you think it’s possible to regain our powers?”
Of course--with Zexion’s power of illusion, and therefore memory, he might be able to shake this horrid spell, or at least find some way to help. But… humans simply aren’t meant to have these powers, otherwise they would’ve had them already, yes? He’s read something about this… he tries to remember. Won’t the use put yet more undue strain on Ienzo’s body? “Why on earth would you want that?”
“Illusion let me see memories. If I can gain control over it, maybe I can help purge the darkness in the basement and help whoever’s stuck down there find peace.” He bites his lip. “Demyx is likely to be shaken up. Perhaps I can help him too. If I can make order of his memories, perhaps he will wake up without too much damage to his heart.”
Naturally Ienzo will be the best one to handle this-- if he can control those powers. But the nature of such power is that it is unnatural. It’s not supposed to exist. In their studies, the calculated entropy alone-- “Have you even tried casting a spell?”
“Once,” Ienzo says. “It… did not go well. I had a terrible migraine. I was wondering if you might have some sort of medicine that might let me work through the pain.”
Even darts over to his bookshelf, seeking a certain volume, finding it finally. “You see… the thing is… such elemental power comes from the will, typically as a manifestation of some psychological trait or another. Hence why, in the absence of a heart, we were able to use it as Nobodies. But now that you are human… you’ve no need for such defense mechanism. Your being is whole. Trying to invoke it could be disastrous. The entropy of it alone would, in the best possible scenario, induce sleep.” His heart and will would fight for control over his body, destabilize him…
“Sleep?” the boy asks.
“Sleep akin to death,” Even says darkly. “They must lie so closely together. And you must hope you find the strength, fast enough, to save your life before you’re claimed by the other side. Ienzo.” His turns towards the boy beseechingly. “Would the risk be worth it? Is there not another way you can atone?”
“What about the reward?” he asks instantly.
“Ienzo--”
“Please, Even. I’ll be careful.” His eyes show that his mind is made up. Regardless of whether or not Even helps him, he’s made his decision.
Even can’t make this boy’s choices for him anymore. If he were ever able to. He crosses over to a cabinet, considers what’s left of his store, what’s still good. He finds one of the only painkillers he has which can also allow the boy to remain lucid. “Take half of one of these,” he says sternly. “You’ll feel no pain. But should your nose start bleeding, drop everything instantly and rest.”
“Is that a side effect?”
“No. But that’ll be entropy wreaking havoc on your body.” Even presses the bottle into his hand. “Let me watch over you.”
He looks at the pills. “I think this is something I have to do on my own.”
“You children always think you know what’s best. Fine. But if you do not text me within three hours I will hunt you down.”
He nods. For just a second, Even senses a kinship between them again. “Very well. Thank you, Even. This means a lot to me.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
---
As the timer ticks down… Even frets, and paces. He prepares a kit, should this all go poorly, with fluids and epinephrine and the like. His own anxiety is spiking. But if he were in the same shoes, wouldn't he do everything in his power to save his dear one? Imagine the guilt otherwise?
He can't breathe. Panicking will be no use. You must be calm. Focused. The boy has always been more than he seems. If anyone can do this, it's Ienzo.
He's still not prepared when it happens. When he hears the gummiphone, and sees it's Ienzo, the relief hangs heavily in him. But the voice that speaks isn't his, it's Demyx, jagged and full of razors--"I need help. Even, I need--”
“Demyx? How long have you been conscious?”
“I think Ienzo’s dying and I don’t know how to stop it.”
Dying. The word echoes heavily, and so does the further gut punch-- I knew it. This is his fault, he should've fought Ienzo harder. “I’m coming. Stay on the line. Put it on speakerphone, do you know how to do that? What happened?"
Demyx sobs. "He found me. In my memory. I don’t know how, but he--he said he wasn’t supposed to have that power."
Even grabs his kit, already on the move. He swears. "No. He isn’t. There’s a reason humans don’t control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?" How bad did the boy let it get?
"He’s having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he’s in a lot of pain--” He gasps out another sob. "I'm sorry, Even."
His legs feel barely there as he runs. "I know you didn't ask for this."
"Why is this happening?"
The words feel divorced from him. His fingers fly across the screen--he needs more than mere medicine. "Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart--otherwise, it’s too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and melt. The will to live starts to wear down." He has no doubt that the boy overextended himself. His fingers feel numb as he reaches out to that woman, the one who healed Demyx. If she could fix that, she may be the only one to fix this.
Demyx's breath catches. "Ienzo…"
Admittedly, it's a relief that the boy cares so much for him. “I’ve messaged Aerith. I don’t think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then.” His heart is beating so fast. You don’t have time to panic, you old fool. Get it together. Demyx can do all the suffering for both of us.
Distantly, tinnily, he hears, “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”
“Demyx?” he prompts, another thrill of panic making his vision sheeny.
“He’s not breathing.”
“I need you to start doing compressions. Hard. We can fix broken ribs.” He’s almost there. Why did he let himself get so physically weak?
“Why would you do this?” the boy asks. “Why didn’t you let me drown?”
He’s there. Finally. He throws the door open. He sees Ienzo on Demyx’s bed, more corpse at this point than boy, soaked again in blood from his nose, and Demyx frantically trying to do compressions. He pulls the syringe of epinephrine from his bag, sticks the boy. Demyx is sobbing, a weirdly animal sound. Without machinery or magic, Even has no way of truly assessing Ienzo’s condition. He barely has a pulse. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he says to Demyx as gently as possible. “If you’re tired I can--” But he can tell he’s talking to a wall. The younger man isn’t responding.
Aerith arrives at last. He sees something like horror in her green eyes before a mask settles into place.
“You should go,” Even tells Demyx. The last thing they need is for him to have this mental breakdown right here.
“I’m not leaving him.”
“You are in far too much distress to be a comfort to him.”
“But what if he--”
Even seizes him by the arm and pushes him. He slinks towards the door, trembling all over; Aerith whispers spells, ancient old words. “What happened?” she asks after a moment.
Even explains as quickly as possible.
“I can try to treat the body,” she says, though her teeth. “But if his will is worn down, then--”
“Do you think it is?”
“Oh, it is,” she says. “I use… when I heal, I use people’s own energies, their auras, which is basically the physical version of a will. I can barely feel anything, Even.”
He feels himself go numb. “Is this a fool’s errand, then?”
“Like I said. I’ll try my best. If it would be more of a comfort you could leave too--”
“I will not.”
For a moment, the sharpness of his tone causes her head to snap up; she quickly glances back down. “Can you connect the port line you’ve started to the blood replacement I brought?”
He does what the woman asks, feeling so helpless. “Would it break your concentration, to tell me what’s going on?”
She takes a quick breath. She holds her hands over him, and while it looks like she’s not doing much, Even can see the strain the magic is having. “It’s the internal bleeding that’s the problem,” she mumbles. “Between that, and the nosebleed, he’s lost something like three liters--and he’s a small man. A lot of his organs have failed, and some are bleeding too. Feels like the power must’ve started eating them. Not to mention his heart. It feels like it hasn’t been beating, though I know Demyx was doing good compressions--two of his ribs are broken. He must’ve entered something like sleep to stay alive while he used his powers. Fixing it is going to take time--time I’m not sure he has.” She glances up. “But I’ll try my best.”
“Is there anything I can…” Ienzo’s in more trouble, and he can’t do a single thing except watch.
“Ethers, if you have them. I’m going to need them.”
Numbly, Even nods, and leaves the room. Demyx sits curled next to the door frame, his hands bloody from the compressions, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. “...Boy?” Even asks softly.
He doesn’t respond. Likely he can’t.
He heads back towards his lab, spots Aeleus. At least one thing can be done.
The other man takes in his bedraggled appearance, the spots of blood on his white coat. “Even?” he asks.
“Aeleus, I need you to do something for me--likely several. You need to look after Demyx. He’s in shock. I’m not sure what he might do. I’m afraid Ienzo’s done something foolish in order to save him.” He explains about Demyx’s past, Ienzo’s condition. “I need to be with him, and help that woman how I can. Do not let Demyx in--I don’t care what you have to do to the boy. Nor Ansem, should he approach. Understand?”
Fear breaks his stoic expression. “Of course.”
Even feels himself slipping, adrenaline and panic making him weak and clumsy. He gathers what supplies he has for the healer, and then he returns. “Anything?” he asks her.
“He’s fighting. But he’s so tired,” Aerith explains. “Still unstable. I’m working on it.”
So Even waits. He watches her hands twist and gesture in foreign spells, offers her ethers, water, cloths for the sweat on her face. Mostly he just tries to keep it together, to not allow himself to consider what might happen if Ienzo doesn’t pull through. After what must be hours… she drops her hands, breathing hard. Even begins bracing himself. “Stable,” she says quietly. “The bleeding’s under control. We should probably bring him somewhere he can recover in the long term.”
“...Just pick him up?”
“His body’s rebounding well… that’s not what I’m worried about.”
The door slits open--Even sees Dilan’s face, his own panic mirrored back at him. “What on earth is going on--”
“You moron, we don’t need your meddling right now--”
“Can he carry him?” Aerith asks.
“I’m sure I can,” Dilan says. “But what--”
Even sighs. And explains.
“But why would Ienzo do this?” he asks. “He never--”
“I will not have you fret,” Even snaps. “Let’s get him moved.”
Dilan approaches Ienzo slowly. Despite the transfusion, he still looks deathly pale. As carefully as possible, he lifts him. They settle him back into his own bed; Even dresses him in something clean. He knows the boy is unaware of everything, but still is embarrassed for him anyway. Washes the blood off his face. Tucks him in. Aerith starts another transfusion.
“You said you’re not worried about his body,” he says, suddenly processing what was heard earlier.
She shakes her head. “Now that the damage is largely healed,” she says. “It’s his will to live--healthy body or not, if he’s weakened it, there’s no animating force behind him. It must’ve taken energy to… do what he did. He must’ve essentially lent Demyx his own, to get him out of the memories. There are a… few things I can try, to gauge how bad it is. He’s hanging on now. That’s the important thing.” She looks up. There are bruise-colored circles under her eyes. “Is he a… determined person?”
“...Stubborn to a fault,” Even admits. “How do you think he got in this mess? First he didn’t listen to me about… falling in with that boy, and then he wouldn’t let me monitor him.”
She sighs. “Good. That’s good. It might make all the difference. You should go tell your family.”
It’s the word choice that startles him. “I’m sure Dilan’s doing nothing but making them worry.” But before he can move, there’s a gentle knock.
Ansem, exhausted and haggard. “My poor boy…”
Even scowls. “I thought I told Aeleus to keep you away from here.”
“Aeleus is preoccupied.”
“He doesn’t need more stress.”
“Even, I’ve missed most of the horrific events in Ienzo’s life. The least I can do is be present now.”
“And he definitely doesn’t need you two squabbling,” Aerith says firmly. “Stay, or go, I don’t care, but what Ienzo needs is peace. If it’s something this deeply metaphysical, he’ll definitely sense the difference.”
Ansem nods and approaches the boy, sitting at his feet.
Very well. Let Even do all the heavy lifting. Like he always does.
He leaves. He can feel he’s shaking. If Ienzo passes on… what then?
What would he possibly have left?
He finds the other three in the sitting room; Demyx wrapped in a blanket, Aeleus gently consoling him; Dilan sits with his head in his hands. “He’s stable,” he explains when the three of them look up. “Aerith is with him now.”
“What exactly happened?” Dilan asks. “Demyx said something about overextending his power.”
“As far as I can tell--and it’s still early--that’s the case.” He clutches the back of a chair. “We’re not meant to truly have access to our elemental power. It’s an essence of the self, a projection in the absence of a heart--weapons are another mystery. By trying to regain it, however lightly, the entropy of a Nobody’s nonexistence began to eat away at his organs. Particularly his heart.”
“...The organ?” Demyx asks. It’s the first Even’s heard him speak since. His voice is odd, hollow. “Or--”
“We’re not sure how his metaphysical heart has been affected. But I have to learn to relinquish control when something’s out of my hands… and it is. Aerith is healing the physical damage. He’s asleep right now. Ansem is with him too.” He meets Demyx’s eyes. “Might I have a word with you?”
The boy’s eyes widen a little in fear, but he follows Even, taking the blanket with him. He leads the boy to his quarters, gestures for him to sit. “Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” Hollow and raw.
“You’re going to need your strength.” There’s not much of anything in his cabinets, just some likely stale biscuits in a tin. He places them on the coffee table in front of the boy, but he doesn’t take any. He has no idea how to help. If Ienzo has saved Demyx’s life, the least he can do is be of use. It’s what the boy would want. He starts taking his vitals. “Slight fever. Blood pressure low. Eat something. It’ll help. We should probably try to get some more caffeine into your system too.” Demyx watches him warily. Something looks different about the boy, something Even can’t place his finger on.
“Did you lie to Aeleus and Dilan?”
“Not technically.” He takes off the stained coat, sits. He’s exhausted. “I need to gather more information about the situation. And considering the extreme… delicacy of the situation, I figured you’d rather have some privacy.”
He shivers and won’t make eye contact. “How is Ienzo really?”
“The picture I have is not clear.” He puts a hand to his splitting head. “As I said, use of his power wrought havoc on his internal organs. There’s a good deal of internal bleeding, as well as kidney failure. But the most concerning of these things was his heart. I’m not sure yet for how long or when, but use of his power stopped it from beating. Not… death, exactly, but a type of sleep very near it. Something impossible to maintain without intervention. So, naturally, once he tried to wake back up, he went into shock.” Even pauses. Now that he’s coming down himself, his perception is improving. The boy is different. His eyes were never that deep shade of green. “Have your eyes always been so green, or am I just getting old?”
Demyx stares at him blankly.
“Can you tell me what you recall from earlier yesterday afternoon? Do you remember anything?”
He sighs. It’s a heavy sound. “That’s putting it mildly,” he says. He explains that they’d been working, that he’d realized the ancient score was his. “I just… started remembering. Everything about my life then started coming back, wave after wave after wave. There was just so much pain. I felt like I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t . And then… well I don’t know how. But he got into my head, literally, and dragged me out of the memory. And then I woke up.”
It’s all starting to click. “...Fascinating,” Even mumbles. “Zexion always could use the memories of others to create illusions. But to actively be able to alter them…” He clucks his tongue. “If he’s closely bonded to you, it makes sense that he was able to do so. Naminé was only able to alter memories of those in and around Sora. His power must have functioned similarly.”
“He should have left me there,” Demyx whispers.
“I believe his friendship with Sora has given him something of a hero complex.” He uncrosses his legs. “Nonetheless, you deserve to live too. I have been too harsh with you. I always have.”
“I wasn’t exactly a good person then.”
The admission surprises him. Demyx always had a sort of cockiness to him in the past. To have him out here so nakedly; is this the memories giving him clarity? Or is it simple change? If Even were not so shocked, he would find it fascinating. “No worse, I’m sure, than I. The complex dynamics of the Organization involved quite a lot of groupthink. It was easy to blame you as the source of our problems. The truth is more nuanced than that.”
“The Organization was all I knew at the time.” He tightens the blanket around his shoulders. “I still wanted to be free. But I didn’t want it enough to make the effort of fighting worth it. So I made do.”
“As one does.” He can’t help but see himself in this story, his wayward attempts at survival doing nothing more than causing himself and Ienzo years of trauma.
“It’s okay.” Demyx sighs. “Dilan and I agreed to start over. Maybe you and me should do the same.”
Even nods. “Second chances involve quite a lot of forgiveness,” he says. “But perhaps we all have more common ground than we think.”
This said, the boy’s eyes settle back into the middle distance. He is different; Even can just feel it. More intense. More serious, and vulnerable. He thought it was the lighting at first, but the boy’s hair has changed, all the remaining blonde gone. Changed like a replica when it gets a heart, though the boy’s body is organic. He holds himself a little straighter.
So he’s done it, then. Completed his reformation. Something similar must be coming towards Even in the coming weeks and months. Something that may be worth studying--at the very least, so he can brace himself, fall apart as little as possible. Not to mention, the richness of what Demyx might know of such old times, times that were hardly written about. Even feels a small thrill despite himself. “I understand you’re still in shock, and naturally are very worried. But will you tell me about your past? I can only imagine what this must all be like for you.”
“Shock is right. I feel numb.” He sounds it.
“Perhaps you should get some rest,” Even suggests.
Demyx shakes his head. “I want to see him.”
How can this traumatized boy offer Ienzo the peace he needs? Not when he himself is so uncertain. “I don’t know if that is necessarily the best for either of you at the moment. Believe me. We will keep an eye on him. Sleep might help you get some clarity.”
“What I’d like to do is take a bath. I’m so cold.”
“Then by all means.”
Demyx leaves without so much as casting a backwards glance in his direction. He hasn’t eaten, Even realizes.
He does not have the strength to care for the two boys and himself at once.
Even sinks into bed. He can feel wetness in his own eyes.
Don’t do this, Ienzo. Don’t give up. Please.
But is he praying for the boy’s sake, or his own?
No; Even does not matter. Ienzo deserves a full and happy life. He still has so much left ahead of him; unlike the rest of them, he can bounce back, can be forgiven for his mistakes (though are they really his own?).
Even can’t sleep. He is numb, tired. He forces himself up. Aerith and Demyx both need feeding. But he finds that Aeleus has already cooked. “The least I can do,” he says softly. “Even… you look positively horrid.”
“I… know why Ienzo did what he did,” he says. “If it were me… if I could save the person most important… I… like to think I would’ve.” I wish I could do it now.
“It makes it no easier,” Aeleus says, with a nod. “You should eat as well.”
“Yes.” Aeleus is a decent enough cook, but the soup tastes like nothing. “Any word?”
“Nothing yet. She hasn’t left that room but to ask for some water.”
“The girl needs food. It’s a lot of magic.” He doesn’t sound like himself. “I’ll get her.”
“Even?”
Wearily, he turns.
“You can be upset about this,” Aeleus says. “I know it must… evoke painful memories.”
Even chuckles. “What doesn’t, these days,” he admits.
Aerith is still crouched by Ienzo. “His body is still alive,” she says when she sees him. “I’m afraid… he’s very deeply asleep.”
“More than on a physical level, I assume,” Even says.
“Well, yes. The will’s worn down, but still here. It needs to rest, to restore itself. Kind of like… putting itself into power-saver mode. Ergo, Ienzo can’t move.”
“Can the boy recover from it?”
“I… believe so,” she admits. “But I honestly have no idea how long it will take. Weeks? Months? I’ve never seen something like this before.”
“I can care for a sleeping child. I’ve done it before.”
She nods, slowly. “I’ll come back later to check on him.”
“Aeleus has made dinner. I insist you go get some. You look peaked.”
“Thank you… saves me the embarrassment of asking.” She smiles a little.
“I… can’t thank you enough. If it were only me…”
Aerith nods. “It’s my duty. My pleasure.” She leaves.
While he’s at it, he rouses Demyx, too, who is just as surly about eating until Even tells him Aerith’s there. Both children fed… he returns to the scene of the crime.
Ienzo sleeps.
Much like that night all those years ago, he’s breathing much too deeply and evenly, not so much as twitching. It’s not natural sleep in that regard. Keeping the body breathing and the heart beating is all his will can manage. He sits next to the boy. He’s positive Ienzo can’t hear him, unlike a normal coma patient; but he still speaks anyway. Science is reasonable; scientists are human. “He’s alright, you know,” Even says to him. “But I’m afraid I’m going to give you a stern talking-to concerning your self worth, when you wake.” He brushes the boy’s hair out of his eyes. His skin is a little feverish. “Do not… scare me like that again.” He squeezes Ienzo’s hand gently.
Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
Chapter summary: Even and Ansem repair their old friendship, growing closer in an unexpected way. Even's newest research project breaks his stagnation.
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
It takes time.
Time of conversations, of walks, arguments. Time digging through the muck of their pasts. It is still hard to trust one another; it might always be. But they seem to be getting somewhere, and Even will take somewhere after nowhere.
He tells Ansem about those long twelve years under Xemnas's thumb; about the replicas, Roxas, all they did to make worlds fall. About vain attempts at Kingdom Hearts, about the dissolution of his rapports with Zexion, Lexeaus, and especially Xaldin; the horrors of Castle Oblivion; his own death. He recounts it with a sort of distance, and then rolls up one of his sleeves to show Ansem part of the scars.
"How's that for karmic payback?" he asks dryly.
Ansem examines his arm with a stricken expression. Then, deliberately or not at all, he runs his fingertip along it. "Does it still ail you?"
The touch is unsettling; though why? Even is feeling something unfamiliar. Discomfort? Uncertainty?
Something else entirely? He was never good at feelings.
"Not so much," he says. "Though most of the flesh is numb. You may get some pleasure from the fact that I was first to die."
Ansem doesn't comment on this. "And this devastation is… total?"
"All but my face, hands, throat, and feet. I suppose I should be grateful for that--hard to do delicate work if one cannot feel one's fingers." He can feel the blood in his face. "My body does not matter, so long as it does not collapse on me."
"At our age vanity is just that," he agrees. "I am… sorry."
He barks an awkward laugh. "What for?"
"None deserve to die so violently."
"Blame Axel's flair for the dramatic. A simple slice to the jugular would have been sufficient."
There are a few beats of silence. Ansem taps the tips of his fingers together, restlessly. “And the others?”
“How did we die?”
“Is that too… voyeuristic to ask?”
“I don’t believe so.” Even sighs. “Xaldin and Demyx were both felled by Sora, Lexeaus by Riku, Zexion by… Axel’s machinations. I’m afraid it’s all rather violent. But it was necessary, to be whole. Seems to go against the grain.”
“It does,” he agrees.
“Things seem to make less and less sense to me the longer I live.”
Ansem chuckles. “That’s how it seems. Wisdom is merely… negative learning.”
Months, and months, and months--
He and Ansem seem to be developing a warmer rapport. It is easier to be with one another, to be frank. Something like their old friendship peers through the cracks. It gives Even hope, for the first time in a long, long while. Hope that they might yet be saved. Things warm between the rest of them, as well. The talk is not so dreadfully existential. This is helped considerably by the two boys; Ienzo’s dry humor and Demyx’s easygoing nature are encouraging. The idea of all having dinner together is no longer so awkward, but rather something to look forward to.
When possible, Even helps Ienzo with his memorial project for their victims, in its final draft. One spring day, the boy presents it to them, explains at length what it means; the symbolism of flowers, the presentation of their records, the histories of those impacted by what they did. It’s the culmination of an entire year.
Hearing it all, Even is filled with something like pride for the boy, the way he so gracefully has taken responsibility. It is something he himself must learn to do.
Radiant Garden elects a city council, a group of seven individuals to take the brunt of the work from the committee. There’s some worry as to whether they may face legal consequences for what they did, but eventually, and along with the committee’s vouch, they’re allowed to remain as they were, so long as they provide their assistance. As this is what they all want anyway, it’s no issue. Ansem acts as advisor; with this to fill his days, he improves.
They’re allowed to build the garden. Almost everyone spends as much time here as possible, doing what they can. It’s good to work with the body.
Once it’s all done…
For a while he and Ansem stand in front of the wall of names. He places incense in the altar, lights it; many other burnt sticks are already crowding the stone.
I’m sorry.
He doesn’t say it, not out loud. They’re resting in a place beyond words, no thanks to him. His heart is racing, and he can feel the wetness in his eyes. As much progress as they’ve made, the guilt will be there, probably forever. And rightfully so.
Ansem rests a hand on his shoulder. “Peace, Even,” he says gently. “It’s alright.”
Perhaps it’s this implication of forgiveness, but he breaks. It seems all the pain is at the surface now; the loss of his family, the brunt of what he’s done. It hurts to be forgiven. He does not nearly deserve it.
Ansem gently embraces him. To be touched is something of a shock, and for a moment it only intensifies this crying fit. More pathetic yet, he’s clinging to him like a lifeline in this storm.
But once it’s through, once he so slowly collects the pieces of himself, dries his eyes, there’s something like catharsis, an undoing rather than a sealing away.
(And, he notes, Ansem still smells the same.)
“I… must apologize,” he says thickly. “This is most unbecoming.”
“I daresay you could use a cup of tea,” Ansem says, letting go of him.
“Perhaps something stronger.”
---
Even knows time is passing, as much as it may not feel like it. He shouldn’t be surprised when gossip is laid at his feet, brought by Dilan, who heard it from Ansem, who heard it from the city council, who heard it from the committee, who heard it from Demyx. It’s a complicated game of telephone, but as soon as Even hears it, he knows it’s not mere rumor:
Ienzo and Demyx are engaged.
He’s gotten used to the boy by now, but yet he feels something like the anger he had when he first found out they were together. Because god Ienzo is just so young . Much too young to make a decision like this. Almost getting himself killed is one thing, but… getting married? At twenty-one?
“That so,” he says to Dilan.
He smirks. “What can I say. My sources are reliable.”
“You should’ve been a journalist, not an engineer.” He leans against his palm. “Has anyone talked to him about it?”
“Not quite.” He shrugs. “Would it be the worst thing?”
“At this point in their neurological development, they are literally incapable of making consequential decisions. I don’t want them to do something they’ll regret.” His heart is beating hard with dread.
A shrug. “I’d take a divorced Ienzo over a dead or depressed one. Besides. Wasn’t your marriage rather spur-of-the-moment?”
He has a point. Still, Even feels blood rush into his face. “I’ll talk to him.”
He doesn’t have to wait long; the boy comes to him with a thick manuscript, a more portable version of the stories he’s gathered from their victims, and the survivors. It feels… odd, to hold it in his hands. Odd and uncomfortable. He knows the truth of it. Yet to hear their words is… well. Power to the boy for being able to handle it. “I never pictured you as a soft scientist,” Even says instead.
Ienzo exhales. He needs glasses now, the first concrete sign of his humanity catching up to him. “You’re going to be frightfully disappointed in me, but I no longer derive any pleasure or fulfillment from so-called “harder” subjects.”
Even frowns. “Why on earth would I be disappointed?” As though pursuing his passions were a bad thing?
“I do recall a period in my life when you found my perusal of fiction a waste of time, when I could be studying.”
He sets the book down. “We all know what a fool I was, back then. No.” He smiles. “The only way I’d be disappointed in you was if you were to waste your life faffing about. But you were never lazy.”
He scratches his cheek. “I understand the… trepidation, you might feel,” he says slowly. “And… it is quite harrowing.”
Even drops his eyes. “I can only imagine what the experience has been like, for you.”
“...Gathering these stories?” He hesitates. “Not everyone is… willing to share such dark content of their hearts. I’ve had more than one door slammed in my face.” He wrings his hands. “I’d hoped that my suspicion regarding everyone’s opinion of us was mere paranoia, but some folks do feel a certain… ire. Not that I can blame them.” He clears his throat. “It’s… worth it, to hear their voices. We… need to understand the human impact. I don’t mean the numbers.” He is shy, sheepish. “I have… written something of an abridged memoir, myself.”
Ienzo always loved stories. It must be one of the many ways he’s trying to take care of himself. “It would only make sense. You are one of the victims.” Used, manipulated, stunted, deprived of a normal life.
He flinches. “Victim and perpetrator in one. Seems I am fated to live in dichotomy.” He inhales sharply. “I have already spoken to the others. It might be valuable to give your own version of events. Not necessarily for publication.”
Funny boy. “For the good of my recovery?”
The earnestness almost makes Even laugh. “Well, yes. You had said you were trying to write and reflect, to delineate a new identity. How is this any different? Your perspective could offer some insight to future generations, when they inevitably look back at all this.”
“Record keeping,” Even mutters. “Very well. I… will consider it. Are you alright?”
He flinches, again, and presses a hand to his brow. “I had hoped these new glasses would lessen my headaches, but that appears not to be the case.”
Concern blooms in him. “You’re still getting them? After all this time?” Surely it isn’t healthy.
He smiles, but it looks fake. “Not frequently. You needn’t worry. Take as much time as you’d like with it. I have other copies.”
“I shall, but…” Even looks him over. He is improved compared to those early days--a healthy weight and color--but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still feeling the ramifications of all he did. “ Do let that fiance of yours take a look at you. Apparently he’s quite competent.” He waves his hand dismissively.
Ienzo, hearing the word, flushes; caught.
“Did you actually think you could keep it under wraps?” Even asks. “What with Dilan’s inane gossiping?”
“Not… secret. I don’t see why my personal life should be of interest to anyone.”
“Of course it will be, when we live on top of one another.” He debates biting this bullet. “You are so… very young. So young.”
He scowls. “As nobody will let me forget.”
“I don’t want you to get into something so permanent. You’re barely stable yourself.” When Ienzo says nothing, he adds-- “Even if you were not only twenty-one, you’ve only been with him a year. I realize you are not used to the idea of permanence, but this will be--”
“It was I who asked him.”
He blinks. Not at all what he thought. “I’d’ve--figured--”
He’s rather snappish when he says, “Demyx is very respectful of my boundaries. He would not force me into anything I did not explicitly ask for. Should it end, we will deal with it maturely. But I don’t see that happening.”
Again, his mind’s made up. Concern wells in Even. But he supposes Dilan must be right. The boy should be allowed to make his own choices. His life has already been so tempestuous; this might offer him a shred of stability, artificial or no. “Do you truly want this?” Even asks. “Would it make you happy?”
“Yes,” he says. “And I am already happy. Insofar as I can be, anyway.”
Then that’s that. “I suppose I will always see you as a… child.”
He sighs. “Par for the course when you raise someone.You were always… more my guardian than Ansem. But you must trust I am able to make my own decisions. After all, you--” He blushes.
“I what?”
“It was not me you came back to Radiant Garden for.”
“You know why I had to leave. Ienzo, I did not want to, but who else would’ve--”
“...I know.” He bites his lip. “Still. A note would’ve been appreciated. You needn’t protect me anymore. Especially from Demyx.”
Even sighs. “Old habits die hard. Or so the cliche goes.”
“...Right. Well. I shall leave you to it, then.” He leaves, allowing Even to consider the manuscript in front of him. It takes a few minutes of culling his nerve to open it.
One could not call Ienzo a “concise” writer. His language is flowery, emotional; he plays with the voices of the survivors, curating it carefully. Even wonders if, had the boy been raised differently, he might’ve been a writer after all.
It is harrowing. The heartbreak and torment these people went through--the snippets of it--
Even once she was back, she was never the same.
He just vanished. We thought it might’ve been the wolves, beyond the city limits. But then we heard those stories about the castle and I… I just knew, in the pit of my stomach. I felt so betrayed by the king. Why did he let this happen?
I kissed their cheek, tied the ribbon in their hair. They were so excited to go; their whole class was rooting for them. They never came home.
Even feels nauseous. Still, he continues. He knows he needs to do this, to listen to them. To again feel that human weight.
Perhaps the most upsetting part of it is Ienzo’s, shoehorned at the very back.
I know people must think we’re monsters. It is only right, it is only true . Yet we were also subjected to the darkness we bore, its ache, the way it destroys all that is good. My unraveling was a slow one, one I am still trying to fix. But is anything we do ever enough?
Is it?
---
So Even writes again, abridging his manic, borderline unintelligible journals from the months prior into something halfway readable. It’s hard to find the balance, between feeling and fact, what will make a cohesive narrative. He was never a writer, nor, he thinks, does he want to be. He gives Ienzo some suggested edits and leaves it all at the child’s favorite desk in the library.
Again there’s that stiff sense of catharsis, of a sort of release. His mind is so much more tangled than he ever thought. More complex.
(More human.)
He wonders, with something like a flash, if in fact darkness harnesses the mind like addiction. It truly is a euphoric pull. If only, if only he had working MRI equipment to study the mind. All he has is blood, is feelings. That doesn’t account for much. Not watertight science.
He finds himself rambling about this to Ansem, of all people.
This seems to shake him; for several moments Ansem just stares into the middle distance, something stricken on his face. Then, “Even, you’re a genius.”
“Don’t be absurd--it’s been in my face all along, yet I’ve ignored the signs--”
“We all have. We thought this was about morality--and it is, of course we’re still accountable for our actions. But all this… difficulty becoming human, the way we were undone so quickly… it makes a sort of sense. Why we couldn’t stop even though we knew what we were doing.”
“Which is why I’m positively aching to study our minds,” he says, pacing. “I’ve no functioning machinery. A blood test won’t tell me much of anything anymore, except chemistry, and it’s so variable considering we’re all basically guaranteed to have multiple mental illnesses outside of this supposed “addiction”. There’s simply no way--”
“Oh, I can think of one,” Ansem says.
Even snorts. “Really? Name it.”
“We do know a few people who work with the body. In a way that is not quite literal.” A smile. “Not everything has to be so black and white.”
He blinks. “That is… absolutely correct.”
---
When Even asks Demyx about it, he also gives him that same odd look.
“Well fuck,” he says. “I mean I’m happy to help, but like, I’ve only been doing this for a few months now. Not sure I can… collect data, or whatever.” He spins idly on one of Even’s stools.
“You said you work with people’s energies. What does that tell you?”
He blows a raspberry. “Mostly it’s a… well. It depends. Like a color, or a note. Your personality, basically. But actually feeling inside the brain…” He looks at his hands. “You know… I’ve been desperately trying to repress it, but I’ve been inside someone’s head. I felt their…” He flinches. “Anyway. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”
“That I can help you with. And I can be guinea pig--if necessary.”
He bites his lip. “This will help people?”
“I’m positive.”
“Okay. Sure. I’m in.” He ruffles the hair at the back of his neck. His knee is jiggling. He doesn’t quite want to meet Even’s eyes. “I’ve gotta… do some reading. Some asking around.”
“I’m sure.”
“So guess I’ll go?”
“Of course. Thanks, Demyx. This means a lot to me.” To think there'd be a day when he willingly sought Demyx's help, his expertise.
He flashes a peace sign and stands.
“Wait.”
He tenses. He knows they’ve both been anticipating this. “Yeah?” he asks cautiously.
“You and Ienzo…” Even trails off. “Is this what you want as well?”
He looks up. He’s blushing. “It really is. I…” He bites his lip. “Love is weird and terrifying, but we kind of… helped each other become human. Kind of literally for me. Not sure if that’s why things between us are so intense. I can’t imagine it changing.”
“...I see.” He can tell there’s some realization to be gleaned from this; he can also tell that he desperately does not want to know it. “Very well.”
“Guess you can’t get rid of me after all,” he says. He smiles a little. “See ya.”
---
Love.
Why is Even thinking about this?
Feelings are complicated enough without adding romance to it. Familial, platonic love is one thing; anything else is too much.
He was married, once.
He still can’t be sure he truly loved that person the way they all blathered on about. A love, not the love. Is this something he would want? Is he worthy of anyone? It’s surely not necessary. But for the first time Even desires a personal life… whatever that may mean. His work/life balance has never been ideal, in his brief time as a spouse, a parent. This vein of thought alone is indulgent. He should shunt it away, bury it. Besides, to want this type of love would mean there has to be an object of such affection… and there isn’t one.
He decides to ask Ansem about it.
“I’m afraid I can’t be much use,” he says, barely looking up from the papers spread all across his desk. It’s a familiar sight, yet also one Even hasn’t seen in years. He chuckles wryly. “But Even, you are a human being. You have a right to these things, should you so want them.”
“What, and force someone else to put up with me? Perhaps my synapses are misfiring.”
Ansem circles something on the paper in front of him. “These people write law like they were raised in a barn.” Then, “I suppose they were. Anyway, perhaps you should view it as a sign of growth. You always held others at arm’s length--even before you became a Nobody. Now, you’re allowing people into your life, your heart.” He twirls a pen vaguely.
“It certainly does not feel like growth.” He scoffs. He shifts a little in his seat. “Is that something you ever saw for yourself? You’ve never mentioned a spouse, a lover.” This almost seems as if it is getting too personal. “Does it simply not interest you?”
“I… wouldn’t say that.”
Oh?
“I am improving, true. I think it will be some time before I can confidently… pursue such matters.”
“...It sounds almost as if you have a certain individual in mind.” Ansem is fond of writing letters; perhaps some pen pal?
There is just the slightest hesitation, almost unnoticeable. “I do believe Dilan’s gossip mongering is getting to you.”
“...Perhaps.”
---
What does it mean?
Moreover, why does he care?
Every time Even tries to push the question out of his mind, it comes back with a vengeance. He keeps coming back to that interaction. And every time, it gives him a jolt of something like fear. He refuses to think critically about it. More important work at hand.
He’s again spending more time with Demyx; moreso, actually, than with Ienzo. If they’re to work together, it’s par for the course. But Demyx isn’t a scientist. Some things are simply beyond his realm of understanding. The boy is trying to study the texts that Even leaves him, but it all seems to worry him.
“Not sure I’m cut out for this,” he says. “You should really just ask Aerith.”
Even frowns. “Why not?”
“I…” He looks down at his hands, which are trembling. “I’m a total newbie. Who knows if what I find is even right?”
“I thought you’ve done this before?”
He flinches. “Once. And… not under ideal circumstances. I had to… stop someone from having a stroke.” He’s flushing.
“This is not nearly so invasive.”
“I know that, but…” He traces a finger along the page.
Even frowns. “What’s wrong? I don’t believe you’ll hurt anyone. I just want to look for injury, response, that’s all. Which is something you do every day.”
Demyx shakes his head. “It’s not that. I guess I should be honest. Family, and all.”
Even feels a thick wave of anxiety. “...What?”
He drops his eyes. “The person was Ienzo.”
His heart falls to his feet. Even feels his hand at his breastbone. “But the boy’s fine,” Even says.
“Yeah. Now. These… headaches. It was more than just the manifestation of his will, or whatever. It was an accumulation of years of stress. Like the glasses. All the fucked up shit that happened to his body caught up to him. I was just lucky enough to be there when it happened.” His eyes are watering, and he blinks hard. “I just feel really icky when I think about it.”
Even squeezes his shoulder gently, in an attempt to comfort. “I don’t… blame you.” Ienzo is the youngest of all of them. If he has--or had--such problems, what could be wrong with the rest of them? “You’ve gotten yourself looked at, I hope?”
“I… yeah. There would’ve been some trouble with my heart. But Aerith knew what to look for, so she fixed it.” He lays a palm on his chest.
It’s becoming clear. “You’re scared of what you might find in the rest of us?”
“Maybe. It’s weird. I’m not used to my patients… being us.”
Even is also unsettled. Of course he knows that he’s treated his body poorly in the past--too much work, not enough food or sleep--but it’s another thing to embody that knowledge.
“At least it can be fixed,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to fuck up. Any time--but especially if it’s you guys. I… sort of care.” He laughs wryly.
“Well I’m afraid you’ve gotten yourself into a situation where you must be involved with us.”
“It’s easier now than it was back then. Don’t you think?”
“It gets easier every day.”
---
The pit keeps getting deeper. Every time he thinks he understands just how much darkness has destroyed them, it grows yet more cataclysmic. The stress--while they did not necessarily feel it as Nobodies--is having infinite consequences. After some prodding, he is able to convince them all to give him a sample of their DNA, to further study their epigenomes. It’s engrossing work--work that might help future generations avoid their perilous mistakes. The sample size is still incredibly small, and incredibly skewed. No women, for example, and most of them are middle-aged (or, begrudgingly, older). He wonders if the townsfolk would be willing to participate, but as soon as the thought forms he’s aware of the paranoia.
“I can bring it up to the city council,” Ansem says one evening, in his quarters. “And put out some feelers. They claim to be so interested in the people’s emotional state. And we are desperate for some kind of mental health treatment. This might help beget that.”
Even feels exhausted. He still has so much to do. He has to admit it’s nice to be driven again, to have a goal to work towards. It certainly has lifted him out of that dark, dangerous place. “Oh, I certainly hope so.”
Ansem puts down his pen, stretches his wrist. “I must say modesty becomes you.”
Even scoffs. “Funny.”
“I mean it. You’ve changed more than you think. I’ve so rarely seen you approach things with grace and tenderness.”
“Flowery words.” He picks at the ends of his hair, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I spent so long working so selfishly. I said it was for the greater good, but really it was for the greater good of… Even.” He winces. “To know I can actually help, or at the very least leave behind a study that might help future generations… is a comfort.” He leans his elbows onto the table. “I’m exhausted.”
“You look it. You should try to get some rest.”
“...Perhaps. I’ll get up when I can find the ambition.”
He picks the pen back up. “No reason you can’t sit with a friend.”
“...You would consider me one?”
Ansem raises an eyebrow. “As if I would let you sit here blathering on otherwise?”
Even rolls his eyes.
“I do enjoy your company. Rather more than I used to. I am starting to… let go of the bitterness. It does nothing except make me harder and less tolerable. You are all trying so hard to better yourselves… I’d best follow suit.”
There’s a few moments of silence, but it’s comfortable. Even finds himself, again, thinking of their previous conversation. He’s almost tempted to ask. Should he? And why is such a thought putting a tightness in his throat? “...So what do you think of this wedding?” he asks instead.
Ansem fully sets aside his work, and leans back in the chair. “I did not think it would happen so soon. But they work well together, as a pair. Why wait, as it were. Demyx is an earnest young man, and he’s also changed so much. He really would do anything for Ienzo. And I think after so much neglect, Ienzo deserves as much love as he can find.”
“...It’s so… funny, I suppose. For the longest time all of us rotting in that castle could not tolerate each other, and here we are… quite literally family.”
“Better than being alone.”
“...It is. It took me a long while to realize I could not live that way. Too long. People need… people.” His lip curls.
Ansem laughs. “Quite.” He takes Even’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Besides, some deserve a fresh start.”
Even blinks. He should move his hand, but finds himself almost immovable. He recalls that night many years before, when he was bedridden with that flu. The way the touch seemed like it was always there. It sounds almost as if you have a certain individual in mind.
Even. You dunce.
Too slowly, he withdraws. “I should… get some sleep. We’ve both had long days.”
Ansem looks vaguely startled. “Yes. Well. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He limps back to his quarters, feeling vaguely nauseous, like he’s been punched. His heart rate is erratic. This is something very like panic, but at the same time, not quite. His mind races. It aches.
Isn't this what you've desired?
With Ansem?
He feels like he can't breathe.
Are these feelings real, or his?
What does he want ?
That simple touch--a squeeze of the hand--is almost enough to unravel him. Much less--
He can not mentally compute it.
Even has to come out with it. To verbalize the thought in whole. To love Ansem?
And yet. Who else could it possibly be?
Is he in love?
He certainly isn't alone.
But isn't love instantly knowable?
Either way, Ansem likely has feelings for him. What does this mean? Is this what he wants?
After so long without anything, love and lust are incalculable. Unobtainable.
What does Even want?
Is he worthy?
He can't breathe.
---
"Even?"
He's pretending to sleep when he hears the voice. "Is something the matter?"
"...I would like a word." Ansem's voice is gruff, scratchy.
"Now?"
"Are you really asleep?"
A fair point. He puts on his robe. Finds Ansem in the doorway. (His heart stutters--a warning sign.) "What do you need?"
"...I'd like to talk."
He gets dressed. Follows Ansem down the hall in this silky blue night. His heart races, flooding him with cortisol.
(And something like hope.)
They walk for a few minutes. "So what exactly couldn’t wait until morning?" Even asks.
Ansem hesitates. "My words fail me. I… can… feel something."
"Congratulations."
He touches Even's shoulder. "I thought you may feel something as well."
His heart about shatters. "Ansem. You deserve more than me. A person who is whole, untainted, better than some wretch--"
Ansem touches his cheek, and his world about stops. "You are so much more than that."
In this dark hallway, Ansem leans up and, so gently, kisses him on the mouth.
It’s bizarre; how the body remembers what to do. It has to be close to fifteen years since he’s kissed someone, but yet something about this is so familiar. His smell, the subtle scratch of his beard. Like it’s all happened before. Something like panic replaces the hard-won pleasure, and he breaks away. He finds himself tensing, breaking away all too soon.
“Are you alright?” Ansem asks.
“I’m not so sure. I just… why?”
“Haven’t we spent long enough being miserable and alone?”
“I… suppose.” He’s infinitely grateful for the semidarkness. He can feel himself unravelling.
“Do you want this?”
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.” Ansem takes Even’s hands.
“We took this sort of thing from people. Do we really deserve it?”
“And what is the alternative?” Ansem asks softly. “Locking yourself away? Grinding down your own emotions? None of that will meaningfully help you atone.”
He can hear himself breathing tremulously. “Alright.”
“Alright, what?”
Even can feel his words failing as well. “I will… try. But it’s been… I feel so--” A stuttering wreck.
“We’re not young. We’ve no need to rush headfirst into things.”
“I need to… process all this.” He pulls away his hands. “I can find you later.”
“Of course.” Ansem chances kissing him once more. It’s quick, chaste, and yet is all too much. All of this touch is. Even can feel himself getting choked up. “Good night, Even.”
He listens to his footsteps retreating into the darkness. Despite the warmth of the early fall evening, he’s shivering. It’s not normal, to react this way; he knows this much. Below the anxiety, he feels something very like relief. Closure. He’s known Ansem longer than he’s known anyone. It’s only suitable they find one another now.
Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.
Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3
Read it on FF.net/on AO3
---
“How is he? Has he yet stabilized?” He recognizes the deep voice almost instantly. Lexeaus. Ah. So I lived.
He can’t open his eyes, can’t, in fact, move at all. But the moment he’s conscious pain invades, his innards feeling vaguely liquified.
A second voice, hoarse, almost inaudible--”No. Not yet.”
“You needn’t speak, Ienzo. I know it’s still painful.”
Ienzo?
“I’m fine,” the second voice mumbles. He doesn’t sound fine; he sounds very ill, or worse. “You should--” A cough, one not full of phlegm but inflammation.
“You’ve been taking good care of me. I’m back on my feet. You, on the other hand, need to rest. And to avoid talking for a little while.”
“Okay.”
A warm hand grasps his wrist, taking his pulse. A pen scribbles numbers. He must've been given painkillers; he sleeps.
This time he's able to open his eyes.
He recognizes the space instantly; it's his old med bay, in Radiant Garden. Why on earth is he here, not in his sterile, pristine facilities at the castle?
Lexeaus had called Zexion Ienzo.
Oh dear.
Was it possible? Had they--regained hearts somehow? Had they found the answers in Kingdom Hearts? And how was he still so injured if it's been that long?
He hears the door creak and slits open his eyes.
He sees the boy--the young man--rummaging in his cabinets. He looks much the same as he ever did, though, he notes, the boy (Ienzo?) Is dressed in white, apprentice garb. The boy turns and Vexen quickly shuts his eyes again.
The boy clears his throat. "I'm not sure if you can hear me," he says, haltingly. His voice is much clearer, and certainly the same timbre as Zexion's, but it carries something soft and alive in it Vexen's never heard. "Even… it's me, Ienzo. I'm sure the old names are a shock to hear."
Old?
"We're human again. We found out… once a person’s Heartless and Nobody have been vanquished, they reform in the place they were split, whole. But with our Nobody's injuries. Which is why you're so hurt. I… I've no idea what truly happened to you, but you're rather unstable. You and Dilan both. But I'm tending to you."
Human?
"If you could speak… open your eyes… twitch your fingers… the EEG machines are broken and I've no magic. I'm not even sure you're in there."
Human and powerless.
"I--" He exhales thickly, and Even (the name fits again like a glove) realizes he's upset. Twelve years of emotion battering him, he presumes, child to adult in one instant. The concern wells up in him, consumes him; the pain sears him, and he's no idea whether or not it's physical.
---
Again, Even wakes. He can feel motion returning to him bit by bit, and he can close his fingers into weak fists. The physical pain is less potent now, but instead one thing floods him, sickly and constant.
Guilt. Rivers of shame, streams of remorse. Guilt for the way he stopped caring about Ienzo, guilt for all he did to the people of their experiments, agony about Ansem. Darkness can only excuse so much.
"Hi, Even."
Ienzo's back. Even can't bear to speak to him, though he's sure he can. He feigns unconsciousness, slitting his eyes open for glances of the young man.
Ienzo looks pale, thin, the boyishness gone from his face, but the change makes him look unhealthy. His hands, when they feel Even's pulse, are clammy, oddly warm without gloves. Even can't remember the last time he's actually seen them. He's aching to look the boy in the eyes. He chances it, once, while Ienzo fusses with the bandages on his chest; gone are Zexion's steely, empty blue eyes. The humanity is back, soft, opening.
He can tell from a glance that Ienzo is in agony.
More horrifying yet, he can just see below Ienzo's collar when he leans over--thick bruises surround his windpipe, along with an angry red scar.
He'd had difficulty speaking.
Who dared do this to him?
Unconsciously, the boy pulls his collar up. Even forces his eyes shut. "I'm afraid there's a lot to catch you up on," Ienzo says in that same frighteningly gentle tone. He explains about Xehanort, about the time travel, about the vessels, the hearts the Nobodies are regrowing, the Organization's real goal, the Keyblade War from the old times. "I… I could really use your help, Even. I know I was so dreadfully cold to you. I… I am sorry. You were always kind to me when I was small. You were there when Master Ansem was not--" His voice catches. "Excuse me, I am feeling unwell."
Even hears him sit and chances another look. Ienzo sits with his head in his hands, rocking slowly, trying not to cry.
No, boy, cry. It's alright.
"I… forgot how much this hurts," he says, with a dark laugh. "I am… so unsure of who I am… you'd doubtless find it fascinating. Can you imagine the psychological journals, Even? What happens when you try to give a twenty-year-old man an eight-year-old's heart?" A sob. "I'm so sorry. I… am trying to pull myself together. They need me. But I could never let them see me like this."
Cry it out, little one.
For a time, Ienzo does just that, a sound that makes Even's heart (heart) ache, triggering another vein of remorse.
I should have protected you.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. Even shuts his eyes again. He feels Ienzo take his hand. "This is most unbecoming, isn't it? I bet you'd say I'm making a disgrace of myself. I have to… check on some things. Get some rest."
For a long while Even lies reeling. His physical pain lessens into a throb, while his heart seems to grow heavier and heavier with regret, the I should'ves and that's my faults. Ienzo and Ansem take center stage, his abuse and dishonesty towards them pounding in time with his heart.
Ienzo comes and goes every few hours. Even is too much of a coward to talk to him.
"It's… bizarre," the boy says. "Your body… is healed. Why aren't you awake?" Even hears a click, sees bright light; he wills himself to flinch as little as possible as the boy forces his eyes open. "Even, if you're pretending, it's alright. We can work through this."
Don't move. Don't move.
"If only we had a replica for you… or one in general…"
Why do they need one?
"I miss my old friend. Come back soon."
He's gone again, and Even aches for him. The loneliness is nearly as potent as the guilt.
He can't lie like this forever. He needs to make a decision, needs to talk to the boy, needs to begin to figure out where to go from here--
"You're so full of shit."
It's the voice that startles him. Braig. Of course the man is back too. He opens his eyes. Unlike Ienzo, he's in the Organization coat still.
The true vessels.
The fool.
Even stares at him. "Is there a reason you're here?" His voice is hoarse from disuse, but clearer than he thought. "Perhaps to put an old man out of his misery?"
Braig smirks. "You wish," he says. "I've been watching these tender scenes play out between the two of you. Who thought Ienzo would be such a softie? To think, he was wanted."
"By Xehanort, I presume?" He spits.
"Who else?" Xigbar shrugs. “He's good. So quickly. A heart and instantly everything changes. But there's no point getting rid of him. Xemnas is sentimental. Who would’ve thought?"
So callous. Even scowls.
"How's humanity feel?" he asks, with a smirk. "You look like death. Bet you feel like it too."
"Is there a reason you're here?" he repeats.
"Let's just say I have a proposition for you." He scowls a little. "We could use you. He could use you."
A spark, an idea. "Why should I? What do you have to offer me?"
"We're closer than ever to Kingdom Hearts. If that doesn't intrigue you, I don't know what will." Xigbar comes closer, his footsteps almost silent. "Would you rather stay here? Crappy place, overworked and underappreciated… reminders of the past everywhere. Doesn't it just hurt. "
He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
"If you can barely look at Ienzo…" He clucks his tongue. "Why don't you think about it? I got the impression you never liked humanity anyway."
"Nor you," Even says softly. "This life just doesn't suit creatures like us."
Xigbar smirks and disappears into a dark corridor.
---
An idea comes to him slowly, fettered by guilt and headaches, and Ienzo's surprisingly loose tongue. Zexion was verbose but careful; Ienzo talks almost constantly, with little ability to stop himself.
"I'm… almost at my wit's end," the boy admits. "I'm inundated by what we did… I knew it, factually, but Zexion made my memories so cold. To feel it…" He rumples the curtain at the window. Even's glad he doesn't look at him; it means he can watch him. "How could we? I… I don't understand how we made the leap. Was it all the influence of Xehanort, or darkness? Why did they let me--do this?"
The weight of it might just choke him. They'd started this darkness, made it spread faster than it would've naturally; they upended a balance just to see what would happen, with little care who or what was lost.
I took an oath.
Even's a bloody hypocrite.
"I've been trying to help them," Ienzo says. "Sora, the restoration committee. They've been so terribly gracious about it. It truly is the least I can do. I've given them everything that I had, but you classified and encrypted so much. They have a right to know what really happened. Maybe if they know… their outside perspective can help us put a stop to it. I… wish you were here, Even. There's so much you never told me, things that could be of use. We… need a light. I don't understand a whit of your research, the small bits I've managed to decrypt. I wonder if this reformation process has given me some form of brain damage." A wry laugh. "These emotions do make me feel… much clumsier. Doesn't help I've been using you as a captive audience. But the others… truly cannot understand what it is I'm going through. I wish I were able to find it fascinating. Mostly it is hampering my ability to be of use."
He's silent a long time. When he speaks again, it's much more quietly, to himself. But Even's always had good hearing.
"If I can break the code… find Roxas… it could change everything. But the bodies… I need to know what Even knew."
He hears Ienzo leave. Slowly, Even sits up. He feels weak from being so still for so long, but otherwise functional.
It all makes sense. Everything.
Yes. This would be how he can atone.
---
Xigbar returns soon after. Even's already sitting waiting for him. "I'll go," he says tiredly. "Seems to be the only way to further my research. I've no need for such... paltry emotions."
Xigbar's grin is killer.
---
The transformative process is just as painful the second time. Again the emptiness. He feels his mind wander, tempted again by darkness, by the ability to set bonds aside, but he reigns himself in each time. Thinking of Ienzo, his devastation, of his betrayal of Ansem's trust. He doesn't feel quite hurt anymore, but it weighs heavily on his conscience. No matter.
He can fix this. He will fix this. No matter the cost.
He acquiesces to the New Organization’s demands, because they, too, need replicas. All the more excuse to perfect what he knows, to leave the most flawless in stock for Roxas and for Xion--though he can barely remember the latter. All he has of it-- her --are his own reports. But if she were with Roxas long enough, she’ll be important. More convenient yet, Xemnas wants her, her easy mimicry of power.
There are too many familiar faces in this New Organization--Organization Rehash, Larxene calls it, and Vexen can’t help but agree. Xigbar, Saïx, Xemnas, the four neophytes.
Saïx is initially welcoming to him, and visits him again.
“To what do I owe the pleasure,” Vexen says evenly.
“I wonder if you feel it too,” the man says.
“Feel what, nostalgia? That’s all this Organization is.”
“You gave up your new life. That says a lot about you. Was this truly about research?”
Vexen turns, sorting the lies he could tell.
Saïx knots his hands. “I gave mine up too.”
Vexen rolls his eyes, turning back to the new replicas, still forming in their chambers. “Yes. And?”
“I wish to… put an end to this nonsense. I sense you may feel the same.”
Vexen looks at him, his gold eyes (so like Vexen’s own, now--he tries not to think about it more than necessary) somewhat unreadable. Is this a trick? Are they trying to lure him out?
Saïx leans in a little, drops his voice. “Let me help you,” he says softly. “Together, we can put an end to this Organization.”
Vexen feels the gut punch; caught. Yet, he reads earnestness in Saïx’s tone.
“You were once my teacher,” he continues. “I know what you’re capable of, and vice versa. I think--if we’re careful and clever--we can give the other side what they need.”
“How am I to know you won’t merely turn me in to Xehanort?”
“It matters not to him whether you fill out the ranks so long as he gets his bodies. Not since you and Demyx have been… ah… retired. He’s spread himself too thin, shattering his heart so. He wouldn’t notice a thing.”
Vexen inhales.
“I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want this to be my legacy. I’m sure you feel the same. We must end this suffering.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
Saïx smiles. “Simple,” he says. “We do what he asks--and have a third party ferry a replica over to Radiant Garden. One whose movements are hardly ever noticed--because that’s the way he likes it.”
Vexen has an idea where this is going. “...Do I even want to know who you have in mind?”
The smile becomes even larger.
---
Demyx agrees to meet him in Radiant Garden. To be so close to Ienzo but unable to contact him is a sensation that sits oddly in his breast. Vexen explains it as simply as possible, but Demyx’s reaction is relatively theatrical.
“What? ” He’s making much too much noise--Vexen clamps a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet, you dunce,” he hisses.
Demyx swats his hand away. “But dude, why would you pick me?”
“I cannot let the chosen catch wind of this, understand?”
Immediately he gets defensive. “Oh, I see, it’s because I got benched.”
This is more frustrating than he could have hoped. His tone is much shorter, and louder, than he intended. “I got “benched” too.”
“What! Hey, quiet.” Now it’s Demyx’s turn to try to silence him.
They both look around and see nothing, though admittedly this is meaningless. Vexen turns away, trying to think.
“Okay, man, look. Real talk? Backstabbing those guys would be stupid.”
Vexen rolls his eyes. As if this life is truly worth anything.
“If they find out, we’re yesterday’s toast. I mean, what’s in it for me?”
Vexen wonders if this angle is the right one. “Forgiveness.”
He seems genuinely surprised. “Huh? For what?”
“Men like us--in the pursuit of science, we sometimes make terrible mistakes. Lose sight of our mission to help people. But now I can help someone with my research. Now, I can atone.”
The boy’s been listening with interest, a calculating gleam in his eyes. But what he says next is only further disappointment. “I’m not a scientist.” He turns to leave, with a dismissive wave.
Something very like panic overtakes him--if the chosen heard of this--”Wait, wait, wait!” He grabs Demyx’s shoulder. The younger man shrugs him off with ease.
“C’mon, dude. I’m useless, I’m chicken, we’re not friends. I can count the amount of times we’ve hung out on one hand--less than one hand. I didn’t even know you in the old life!”
Enough of this. For a moment, Vexen wishes he had more patience with Demyx in the past, if only to make this encounter easier. “Fine, fine. But listen.” He pulls the boy close. “This is Saïx’s doing.”
Demyx’s eyes widen almost comically. “Huh? No way.”
Good. He has his interest. “It’s true. The whole thing was his idea.”
“Huh… no fucking way…”
“He wants to atone too. But, he is one of the chosen, so his hands are tied. Hence my actions on his behalf, hence my need for you to act on my behalf should all go awry.” He’s listening intently, Vexen notes. He could use Xehanort’s callousness towards Demyx to his advantage. “As you said, we are far from friends. No one would ever suspect you.”
“So I’m not doing any fighting?”
“Correct. And more importantly, no benchwarming.”
He smiles, and Vexen knows he’s won. “Yeah baby! Sign me up! Yes! Demyx time.”
Vexen sighs heavily. This certainly would be interesting.
---
He’s more than a little alarmed when he catches wind that the “chosen” are seeking Ansem. Apparently, the man’s been spotted in Twilight Town. Xehanort’s Heartless intends on intercepting him. The man is too dangerous.
Vexen doesn’t hesitate. He’s abandoned Ansem once; never again.
He’s been mostly ambivalent to his status as a Nobody, but it does grant him a certain strength he didn’t have before. He’s able to stop Xehanort’s Heartless, to let Ansem escape. It comes to him, in a flash--the chosen hardly ever watch him, now that they’ve gotten their bodies--perhaps he could let Ansem know, to get the word back to Ienzo and the others. Perhaps he and Demyx could rendezvous, with the replica. Ienzo would need his help. Doubtless the reunion would be… dramatic, but he knows the boy is capable of completing the task at hand.
It’s time to shore up. Time to stop being a coward. Time to apologize.
But he is glad that, as a Nobody, he cannot feel much.
Ansem looks as though he’s aged much, much more than twelve years, despite the fact that he could not age in the realm of darkness; it seems as though there are many more years between them than merely five. He’s with some teenagers, those friends of Roxas, those assisting, albeit in a very tertiary manner.
Even struggles to find the words, to assuage them all he means no ill will. “My dear Master,” he says slowly. “You are safe.” It’s a lame, tone-deaf beginning. Because they are anything but.
“Who’s there?” one of the teenagers yells.
In a shockingly even-keeled voice, Ansem asks, “Even, is that you?” A beat. His expression barely changes, all coldness and indifference--not that Vexen anticipated anything more. “So, those Nobodies were your doing.”
Vexen lets the Dusks appear. Then, very deliberately, he bows. “I have been waiting for this,” he admits. “Gave up a normal life in order to plant myself in the Organization. And when I heard Xehanort had gone looking for you, I realized it was my chance to find you as well.” And keep you safe. “For you see, I, too, wish to atone.”
Ansem’s expression is closely guarded, but he very nearly smiles. “Is that so?” he asks slowly.
“How could I not? To be human for those days again… made it all so real.”
The teenager who’d yelled gave him a once over. “You’re one of them, aren’t you,” he spits. “Sora told us about you.”
Vexen ignores him. “I wish to help. I… realize you have no reason to trust me.” He chances taking a few steps forward. “I also realize any apology I offer could never possibly be enough.”
Ansem is silent for several moments. “Am I not at fault, as well?” he asks.
“You…” He wants nothing more for these teenagers to disappear. “You still didn’t deserve the fate you received.”
His eyes are empty--so empty. He turns to the children. “Thank you for all your help, but this man will not harm me. Come, Even. Apparently we have much to discuss.”
Vexen wills the Dusks to disappear. They walk for a long time in silence, the two of them, in this perpetual sort of twilight.
“We cannot return to the mansion. It’s being watched for now,” Ansem says. “Keep your voice low.”
“We seek to take down the new Organization,” he says. It’s beyond odd to be this close to him.
“We?”
“Myself. The man you knew as Isa.”
Ansem smirks. “And how do you propose to do this?”
“In these intervening years… I did perfect the replica program. More or less.” He doesn’t feel pride any longer. “We have a… third party willing to deliver one directly to Radiant Garden, for Roxas’s heart. To Ienzo.”
Ansem’s calm exterior slips, for just a moment. “How… is my boy?”
“I did not see him for very long,” Vexen says. “He is… well. Whole again.”
“You hesitate.”
“Of course I do.” He takes a breath. “He’s received his humanity after years of numbness. The adjustment… I fear it’s not been easy. But I have faith. His brilliance has only grown with him.” He sighs. “With this replica, and our ally, I wish that you, Master, will go to him.” Ansem says nothing; his face is stony. “I realize the feelings you have are complicated. But he needs someone to help him, and I must keep my cover.”
“...Yes. Quite.” He nods. “However could I face that poor boy?”
“With the warmth and grace you’ve always had,” Vexen says softly. “Once this is all over… humbly, I would like to return as well.” If he survives the process. “That is, if you’ll have me. I wish to do nothing more than to ease the pain I’ve caused. I should like to regain your trust.”
Ansem nods once. “This is a good start.”
---
It pains him, to not be present for all this, but his own feelings and notions are irrelevant. He dresses the replica in a coat to protect it, wraps it up further in a blue blanket--almost like an infant.
Demyx arrives--on time, for the first instance that Vexen’s ever witnessed. “So, here we go, right?” He’s smiling.
“...Quite.” He touches Demyx’s shoulder. “I must… thank you for doing this.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s not right for Xehanort to use us for his own stuff, you know? It kinda bites.”
Vexen chuckles. “Indeed. I’m afraid I must ask one more thing of you.”
He rolls his eyes, but his tone is affable when he says. “For pete’s sake, what now?”
“You and I must lie low, once this is through. We must wait and hope for Xehanort’s defeat.”
Demyx glances down at the replica, in its swaddling. “...And then what?”
“Whatever you like, I suppose.”
He bites his lip. “Yeah… that might be nice.” He hefts the replica over one shoulder. “This thing is hollow, huh?”
“Not for long. You know where to go?”
“Yeah, get the old man. I hear you.”
Vexen sighs. “Good luck, Demyx.”
For just a moment, before he disappears into darkness, Demyx smiles, and it’s the most genuine expression Vexen’s ever seen him wear. “You, too.”
---
He can’t be certain that Ienzo receives the replica, can’t chance checking. He goes to an anonymous world, hides in the wilderness. He waits, and to a degree he prays. Weeks pass. He wonders if he should chance contact, should see how things have gone--between Ienzo and Ansem, and along with Dilan and Aeleus, there shouldn’t be any issues with the procedure.
Then he feels an ache in his heart--the heart he doesn’t quite have. The piece of Xehanort. Without hesitating, he returns to Radiant Garden, knowing that he will not have the ability to travel for long.
Because it’s withering, and dying; he can feel the sickly pain, the feverishness, inexplicable agony in his whole body. It must’ve worked. They must’ve beat Xehanort.
