Airports were twisting mazes of hallways, confusing signs, and convuluted architecture, a nightmare to navigate in a rush. Even late at night, when the sky was black, it was filled with people who impeded her path. Xion ducked elbows and darted between clumps of pedestrians. Her eyes scanned the faces and the frames of the people she passed. Never before was she so grateful that ‘Taker was so damn tall. Because he stood head and shoulders over the people in line to buy tickets, which made him easy to spot.
‘Taker!” Xion shouted.
She slowed to allow a small family, dragging rolling bags and screaming babies, to pass. Her impatience showed on the scowl on her face and the roll of her eyes. Xion jogged to the kiosk where he stood in line with bored teenagers and exhausted businessmen.
Two hours ago, less than two hours ago she was sitting at the kitchen table working on her algebra. Then she got the phone call. Some, garbled voice on the other line claiming that ‘Taker was hurt in Cincinnati, a car accident, hospitalization, come out.
So, she went to the University of Cincinatti Medical Hospital to find ‘Taker, only to be turned away at the door to the ER because he wasn’t there. Then she found Kane at the arena. Who told her the funeral home was on fire (it was not) and ‘Taker (who was not answering his cell phone) was flying back to Houston because he’d been told that the god damn funeral home was on fire.
The night had turned into a complete cluster fuck.
“’Taker!” Xion gasped, half-relief and half-out-of-breath. She grabbed at his wrist. Because she needed something to ground herself and she imagined he was in the same boat. “The home isn’t on fire. Someone called me just past nine saying you were in an accident, and obviously you weren’t, and Kane told me that someone told you that the home was on fire!”
She released his wrist, lifting her hand to smooth it over her forehead.
“It’s not,” she finished. Took a steadying breath, jaw setting as her voice rolled with a growl. “And, someone is fucking with us.”
"... Did they have Christmas where you came from?" Dad is trying to figure out where the baseline is before he surprises her with a tree indoors.
Xion placed the plastic bags on the kitchen table. The products of her grocery run included: a carton of eggs, a round of duct tape, cheese, lighter fluid, and some produce. On the way back, Xion had also stopped by Sam’s and gotten herself a hot chocolate with the change from the cash ‘Taker gave her. It was probably illegal for her to take a bike and drive it around town but if she just went downtown to the goods store, it hardly mattered. The sheriff knew her anyway.
“Christmas?” Xion repeated. She shed the eggs of the plastic bags they were wrapped-in and moved them into the fridge. “Isn’t that the weird holiday everyone is putting lights up for?”
In the past week or two the entire valley had been putting up strings of lights on their porches, house eaves, and windows. Lines of a green tinsel edged the shop windows. Even though Death Valley didn’t see a single flake of snow, ever, there were tiny snow men decals everywhere. The goods store even had a whole display case dedicated to ‘Christmas’ theme treats, cookies, snacks, and foods. Including small, dense cakes of fruit and nuts that looked more like bricks than actual food.
The churches in towns had also put up a tiny house with a plastic family and sheep in their front yards. Oddly enough the synagogue hadn’t done the same. Sometimes when she passed people in the street or in the store they exclaimed, “Merry Christmas!” or “Happy Holidays!” There was also a particularly annoying, sad music playing on the speakers in Sam’s dinner when she went in. Some poor sap bemoaning his fate of having a ‘blue Christmas’ without his lover.
(Xion didn’t get it. Was there a red Christmas? A blue Christmas? What about green?)
“I thought it was kind of weird,” she admitted. “Why is there so much fuss about one day? It seems kind of wasted.”
She walked back to the table and pulled out the vegetables from the bags. The plastic crinkled in her hands as she wadded it up.
“One of the old ladies at the dinner invited me to a ‘Hannukah’ celebration though. Apparently, they light things on fire — so Kane might like it.”
He's sitting out on the porch swing, watching the sun dip low as he nurses what's left of a beer. There's still a bit of dirt under his nails from the morning, the lingering scent of sawdust and superheated iron from the afternoon, motor oil from the evening, that clings to his old t-shirt, the denim of his jeans. The Deadman's brow creases in a frown, and he halts the swing's gentle movement by bracing his foot against the railing. The silence is broken by the croak of the ravens; in the distance, one of the vultures lazily circles a spot in the yard. There's a faint scream from something not quite normal, but it's nothing noteworthy, and distant enough that he ignores it. When he finally speaks, he does so without looking in her direction, keeping his eyes locked on that fixed point somewhere on the horizon.
"there's something I want you to see." It's said at once like he's been thinking about it for a while, and like it's a thought he needs out before it slips away. He pushes himself to stand, motions for her to follow. Slides open the back door (still doesn't lock), kicks the dirt off his boots, heads upstairs. He turns left to his old room - not the master bedroom, one much more suited to accommodate the family's current needs, but the corner room that had been his long before. He hesitates just long enough to study the ceiling, sniffs, then pushes up on a board just enough to slip his fingers in and produce a small envelope. He sits on the bed and pats the space beside him. It's almost reverent when he pulls the photograph out, and it seems far too mundane for the treatment it's given. Two adults - a young couple, evidently - with two young boys. Relics of a forgotten time.
"... These are your grandparents."
The picture was old, faded, and white-washed by the years, but whole. In the pinch of Xion’s fingers the thin photo felt fragile. She recognized ‘Taker because he was the curly-haired, red head boy with green eyes. Which meant the other curly-haired, red head boy was Kane. In front of the boys was a woman and a man, both with beaming, broad smiles. They were obviously related to Kane and ‘Taker, in the eyes, in the face, in the smile, in the hair. This picture didn’t need an introduction, Xion knew what it was before ‘Taker spoke.
The woman was beautiful, Iza, with dark auburn hair, complimented by her deep red dress. She didn’t look like the kind of picturesque mom who made cookies but instead like a woman who put her sons first, everything else, second. And the man looked so much like ‘Taker (JT, she’s pretty sure) it almost hurts. Big hands, long legs, an untrimmed beard. They were just people, in a photo. A family photo, like the ones that hung on the wall in the hallways of the Funeral Home. Just people, that’s all they were.
Now Xion looked at the picture and kept in mind that half of its subjects were dead. It wasn’t like ‘Taker ever sat her down and told her the story, but she heard things. Sometimes Xion was too smart for her own good and so without her bidding the mystery of ‘Taker’s past had come together like a bleak jig saw puzzle. The fate of the first funeral home, the rumors of the cause of the fire, and the scattered recollection of the survivors.
The thought that Xion had always had, but would never voice, was that no one really knew what happened that night. Least of all ‘Taker and Kane whose memories strained beneath the weight of grief. More important was what they thought happened. The brothers believed, unanimously, that ‘Taker set the fire that burned their parents, that lovely young couple in the picture, alive. (Nothing in Xion believed that ‘Taker intentionally set that fire but instincts that went beyond words wasn’t evidence).
“I —” Xion began but killed the thought in her throat. Because even though she was very young that didn’t mean grief was foreign to her. If someone offered comfort for Xion after she killed Roxas, she’d have laughed in their face. The pain wasn’t even hers to own much less the platitudes. Band-aids over bullet holes, the saying went.
She couldn’t comment that they looked kind or that Iza was beautiful. Didn’t dare mention that she was sure JT was a great man. All reminders of what ‘Taker had lost. What he believed he had destroyed. Xion had never felt so old and so young in the same moment.
The picture was thin and fragile, but it was so heavy in her hand. A reminder of everything that ‘Taker had lost. And yet, everything Xion stood to gain. Xemnas used to talk about destiny, about her destiny. Did he realize fate would walk her to this valley, sit her down beside this man, and give her grandparents? The horrible weapon of the Organization had a dad and grandparents. ‘Taker had given her those things. She’d never understand why.
She was just grateful.
She held the picture away as she rubbed at her face and the pricks at the corners of her eyes. Xion sniffed, she was crying, why was she crying? For ‘Taker and Kane, or the man and woman she’d never get to meet, or for herself. Or, some kind of miss-mash of thoughts and feelings her brain was incapable of putting into words.
‘Taker slipped the photo out of her hand. She was kind of glad to have it gone. Xion didn’t think she was capable of handling something so precious. (Not when all she was made to do was break and destroy). He hooked his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. Xion closed her eyes. ‘Taker was a lot of things, a lot of things to her -- but most of all he was warm, and he smelled like soap, and he was there, always there.
She couldn’t quite parse out what they ‘deserved’ but that had nothing to do with what they had.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Xion murmured. “I’ve never had grandparents before.”
The pebble skipped across the surface of the pond. Rings of ripples spread across the placid water and lapped at the soft sand shore. Bird song echoed over the garden. The air smelled of sickly sweet pollen that churned her stomach and cloying air. Xion sat on a stone bench by the water, body hunched over her knees. Occasionally, she’d pick-up a small rock by her feet, straighten, and toss it. Like the ripples, pain would radiate across her shoulders and back. Then fade, washing away like all things eventually do.
Xion was on the West side of the castle at Radiant Gardens, out near the apartments and barracks. A few guards, in their dorky uniforms, stood above on the ramparts or passed along the paths. They were familiar with her – as was Dilan – and paid her no mind. The sun was starting to set. The walls hid the dying light such that an early, uneasy twilight settled over the garden. Dark clouds built in the Northern sky, thick with humidity, promising rain later that night.
Xion was sore as hell. Everything hurt in a way that made even the smallest movement regrettable. Walking, sitting, standing, laying-down, breathed, it all sucked. She couldn’t remember the last time she had the shit so thoroughly kicked out of her. (Damn, maybe she had gone soft). Then there was the uneasy exhaustion that followed the pain. That she hadn’t slept, properly, in a day or two, or that her mind felt like it’d been dragged across a cheese grater.
She tossed another rock but without any finesse. Just a full-arm chuck. It went ‘ker-plunk’ in the middle of the pond. Xion slumped and bent back over to rest her forehead on her knees. She groaned into her thighs and worked her hands through her hair. In a couple weeks she would be healed-up and no longer in pain. Her sleep would catch-up and she wouldn’t feel like complete crap. That reassurance did little to not make her feel like complete crap right now.
Oh, and she had killed her adopted father, been assaulted by her uncle, and killed said uncle’s biological father. Couldn’t forget all that. At least she had been able to keep it together around ‘Taker.
“Xion?”
A small glance, just to turn her cheek to the side so she could see, revealed Even standing on the garden path. He had his hair pulled-up and his jacket draped over his arm. The loosened tie told Xion that he had finished his work at the clinic for today. He was probably returning to his apartment for the night, which was just on the other side of this garden. Which is exactly why Xion had stationed herself there.
“I didn’t know you were in Radiant Gardens, child,” Even said. His brow furrowed, as he looked her over. “Is everything alright? Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” she groaned.
“Where?” He asked
“Yes.”
He walked over to her, crossing around so he could see her face. Xion sat-up as he approached, her abs protesting with spasms of pain. Even frowned as his eyes grazed over the bruises on her cheeks. The distinct shape of a large hand imprinted on her throat. Xion had healed her injuries in the car yard but in the hours after the bruises had returned.
The blood had swelled-up back up beneath her skin, undeterred by the layers of magic she used to push it back down. If she moved too quick the wound in her stomach would open and leak blood. She had changed her shirt before leaving the valley but already there was a red and copper stain under her sternum.
A reminder that ‘cures’ were often band-aids over bullet holes. Xion could provide herself emergency aid but for proper healing she needed help.
“Oh, dear,” Even whispered. He reached for her but he paused halfway to her, his hand hovering a few inches from her shoulder. “What happened?”
“I got cocky,” Xion answered, looking down at her hands. “Do you mind lending me a hand?”
“Of course not,” Even said, as if there was any question at all.
Even helped Xion to her feet, his hand hooked around her arm to steady her, and they walked to his apartment together. He lived on the second floor which meant Xion had to traverse two agonizing flights of stairs. (They had to take a break at the landing). In the apartment he sat her down at the dining room table while he put a kettle on the stove to boil water. She slumped back in the chair, propping her legs up on the table. Even pulled a first-aid kit from a cabinet and arranged the contents on the table.
While he worked, Xion filled him in. Even was somewhat aware of Xion’s situation in the valley with Aeleus. She never told him the full details and he never asked but she had mentioned ‘Taker, or Kane a few times over the years. Things just came-up in conversation sometimes and she’d never been concerned about actively hiding things.
Even listened quietly as Xion told him about the trap Paul set, how she had walked into it, and the subsequent beating she endured. Then, how she returned ‘Taker and Kane to the funeral home. About the argument she and ‘Taker had after he woke-up, the bitter goodbye. As necessary Even asked questions to clarify details but he refrained from comment.
“I don’t regret it,” Xion whispered, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. “But I still feel like I really screwed-up. ‘Taker looked terrified when he saw me.”
“It certainly sounds like a complex situation,” Even commented. “Lets start with the stab wound.”
Xion, with some assistance, pealed her shirt off and over her head. Even clicked his tongue as he looked her over. Bruises malted her ribs and the skin below her sternum was a twisted mass of torn flesh. He had her rock forward so he could look at her back and his severe expression told Xion that side didn’t look much better. And, he hadn’t even seen her leg yet.
“And you were electrocuted?” Even asked.
He traced his fingers over the hard vertebrae of her spine. Across that old, twisted and gnarled scar Saïx had carved into her until he found the branching pattern of lightning burnt across her skin. Even worked a small, cooling spell, which eased the discomfort and pain. Just something to take the edge off.
“Yep,” Xion said.
“This type of magic,” he murmured, trailing off. “You should be dead.”
Xion only shrugged. “You built me tough.”
“There’s that, Xion,” Even said, returning to her front. “And then there’s this.”
“I wasn’t going to die on my own sword,” Xion growled, “that’d just be embarrassing.”
Even had to duck his head and look away to hide his smile. “You’re going to need stitches.”
“Well, lets get it over with,” Xion said.
He had her lie down on the kitchen table. They could’ve moved down to the infirmary but this scene of impromptu medical care had played out many times before in Even’s apartment. At this point, they were both used to it and neither questioned it any longer. No one understood her physiology better than him. When Xion needed help figuring-out what was going on with her body, she went to Even. No other doctor would do.
Even’s work was methodical. He sanitized and threaded a thin, hooked needle, then numbed the area of the wound with a spell. He disinfected the wound by irrigating it with the hot water he had boiled and antiseptic. With her pain tolerance and the numbing, the pierce of the needle felt only like a pinch. Xion closed her eyes and breathed, slow, lowering her pulse. Stitch-by-stitch he pulled Xion back together.
“The scar Roxas gave me had just begun to fade,” Xion said.
“I thought the same,” Even murmured. “It’s a… meaningful place to attack. I’d almost call it pointed.”
“He wasn’t himself,” Xion said. “It’s not his fault.”
“I know,” Even said, and she imagined he understood more than most would.
When Xion walked into that forest she couldn’t have imagined what waited for her. Oh, she had ideas, arguing and bickering with Paul was one thing. Fighting ‘Taker and Kane was one thing. The hallucinations, illusions, and brainwashing, were another. ‘Taker had leveraged everything he could to put her down. Even if that meant scratching at her oldest wounds and opening closed scars.
Xion hadn’t realized how powerful the urn, and by extension Paul, really was.
“I just feel,” she said. Xion closed her eyes and ran her tongue over her chapped lips. “Stupid.”
Even tied off the thread and cut it. He wiped a damp, but warm cloth down her stomach to clean-up the dried blood. Even taped her hip, indicating that she needed to turn over. Xion did so, twisting onto her side and then to her stomach. He began the same process on the back to close the exit wound. Disinfecting the site, irrigating the wound, threading the needle.
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not an idiot,” Xion grunted, into her arms.
“You’re not an idiot, Xion,” Even said obediently.
Xion pouted, chewing on her bottom lip and wrinkling her nose. “That didn’t help. I still feel stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid, Xion,” Even chastised. “Foolish, and young, maybe, but not stupid.”
“Is there a difference?” She asked. She finally turned her face so she could eye him over her shoulder.
“Yes,” Even said. “You are very smart, Xion. I believe that intelligence is why you have made it so far. However, you are not even ten years old. Wisdom, which comes from making mistakes and the experiences of life, is different from intelligence.”
“So, the older you are the wiser you are?” She guessed.
“Supposedly,” Even muttered, his voice soft. “But you can still be very old and very foolish. That’s why it’s important to learn from your mistakes. It is only when you learn from the past do you gain wisdom.”
“You can’t learn from the past,” Xion noted, repeating familiar words, “If you don’t confront it.”
“Yes, exactly,” Even agreed. “Perhaps, what you did was foolish –”
“’Taker thought so,” Xion interjects. “He probably thought I should have run.”
Even was quiet again. He gave her a small word of warning before he irrigated the wound. She hissed as the antiseptic seeped into the exposed injury. Her back tensed, muscles pulling away instinctively. Even rested his hand on her shoulder, steadying and grounding her, as the pain passed. He tied another piece of string to the needle.
“What do you think?” Even finally asked as he dipped the needle into her skin. “Do you agree with him?”
Xion thought for a moment.
If she had run she wouldn’t be on Even’s kitchen table, getting stitched-up – again. If she had run she wouldn’t have been hurt. If she had run Paul wouldn’t be dead and Kane wouldn’t hate her. If she had run ‘Taker would still be able to look in the eye. If she had run she would still be in the valley. If she had run nothing in her life would have changed.
Except, that wasn’t true at all.
If she had run, then ‘Taker and Kane would still be with Paul. The Funeral Home wasn’t right without the brothers. The halls were too big and empty, the kitchen too quiet, the corners too dark. Everything was in the right place but it all felt off. That was why the hallucination had been so convincing. For weeks Xion had walked the hollow halls of the wrong Funeral Home. When she went into that kitchen, which was so obviously fake but was filled with the voices and presence of her family it had felt right.
Not because of Ael’s cheekbones or the food on the table, or the chipped tiles by the front door. It felt right because ‘Taker and Kane had been there. For the first time in weeks things had been as they should have been.
And if Xion had run that hallucination would have only stayed a dream. Because Paul would never stop. He would set another trap, somewhere, sometime. It wouldn’t have been so obvious. There’d be less warning. The spring would be a little more ruthless. The victim may not have been her: it could be Ael or Mox. Someone who couldn’t take a sword to the gut and electricity to the brain. Someone who wouldn’t bounce back in a week or two.
Someone who the brothers would have easily killed.
And if Xion had run then ‘Taker and Kane would still be with Paul. That deranged lunatic would still be holding the urn. At the thought of it, her nails dragged lines into the back of her hand. Because she knew what it was like for her limbs to not be her own and her thoughts to belong to someone else. Once, years ago, she had set a trap for someone she loved and in that case, he died. In a way the whispers of her own heart, from that old mentor she hadn’t seen in nine years, had been right: there was no redemption in running from the past.
Xemnas had been so powerful he convinced Xion to do what she did to Roxas. The urn was so powerful that it convinced ‘Taker to do what he did to her. Kane would never forgive her for killing Paul but Xion would never forgive herself if she hadn’t.
“I’m glad I fought,” Xion said. “I don’t regret it at all.”
“I was afraid you would say that,” Even grumbled. The back wound was smaller so he needed less stitches and he had already cut off the thread. “I’ve never met this Undertaker but he’s taken on the monumental task of worrying about you. Either he’s a saint or he’s insane but in both cases, he must love you very much.” Even paused. “And I wonder if he’s going gray early like me”
“That must be why he’s so upset,” Xion said. Even helped her sit-up. She tugged her shirt back down over her stomach. “But he knows I can take care of myself! Despite everything that happened, we all survived. Why can’t he at least acknowledge that?”
“Your intelligence tells you that,” Even said. He sanitized the needle with a flash of fire magic and put it back in the case. “Wisdom would let you know that fear is not so rational. Some things are worse than death, Xion. Watching your child die is a nightmare I’d wish on no one.”
Xion’s lips pursed into crooked line.
“He hurt you, Xion,” Even said. “Knowing you, you’ll brush it off and say, ‘oh, it wasn’t so bad’ or ‘I’ll heal quickly.’ Which is true and very rational. You can also reason it was not his fault. That doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t heal the stitches or the bruises. It doesn’t diminish what you’ve gone through. Your mind is rational but our hearts, unfortunately,are not.”
“It hardly matters,” Xion said, scrunching her hands in her lap.
Even hooked his finger under her chin and tipped her head back. Xion blinked as she looked-up at him. His hand moved up so he gripped either side of her cheeks with his hand. Cool magic flowed through his palm, into her aching jaw and the bruises along her cheekbones.
“It matters,” Even said. “Now, let me see your leg.”
Even retracted his hand before Xion could nip him with a gnash of her teeth. She stuck her tongue out at him but he grabbed her by the ankle and tossed her back so she’d lay down again. It took some wiggling, and she had to kick off her boots, but Xion was able to work her jeans down off her legs. The burn pained her when the rough fabric of her pants scraped the wound. Such that she gritted her teeth and hissed. Even had her roll back onto her stomach.
“Is this a boot print?” He asked.
“Yeah, Kane stepped on me,” Xion said.
“The brother, yes,” Even muttered to himself. “He has a very large shoe size.”
“He’s as big as Ael,” Xion pointed-out.
“And he stepped on you, with fire?” Even asked.
“He’s also a real dick.”
Even didn’t respond but she heard the hard exhale of stiffed laughter.
The skin and area around the burn was still hot to the touch, like the fire was still hiding in her muscles. If Even started at the burn, trying to draw the heat out, the pain would be excruciating. Instead, he placed his hand on her ankle. The ice spell nipped at her heel and toes, working a shiver all the way to her finger tips. Still, the fire sought the cold and the heat drained from her limb. Xion sighed in relief as the pain, which had been almost unbearable for the past twelve hours, finally eased.
Even applied a salve to the burn and bandaged it for her. He gave her a spare pair of sleep pants of his, which were too long and had to be cuffed, but were loose and wouldn’t exacerbate her injuries. Over the next half-hour he worked on her bruises and minor cuts, relieving pain, encouraging healing, and checking for fractures. Eventually, long after dark and the rain had begun to splatter across the windows, he declared her done.
Xion sat on the couch while Even prepared dinner. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sipped on a herbal tea he had made her. A book on Radiant Garden history laid in her lap. She flipped through it and only read the sections that looked interesting. Even talked about his day at the clinic and some of the afflictions he saw in his patients, as well as how he treated them.
Even had established the clinic not long after his final return to the Radiant Gardens. He threw his entire self into it, treating the sickness and injury of the people for dirt cheap. Even didn’t do ‘science’ anymore. He kept on top of the academic journals and he kept notes on his own work but that was it.
Even Ansem the Wise was hard pressed to make him offer even advice on a scientific project. It was as though, in the ten years he spent in the Organization and in the Replica Program, something had broken his trust. Never again could Even trust himself to be a scientist, to explore, to be curious. Because the last time he had, his curiosity had overcome his reason.
It worried Xion because it meant that some things could be broken and never fixed.
What if she never trusted ‘Taker to hug her again? What if ‘Taker never trusted himself? What if ‘Taker never trusted her? (After all, she was the one who sunk her knife into his chest). How could she ever shake the images from her head: of Aeleus attacking her and ‘Taker gripping that sword thrust through her chest.
And then there was Kane.
Xion couldn’t even begin to process what had happened with Kane. On a level she understood. On another, she knew that the tragedy could have been almost completely adverted if he had just not listened to Paul. If at some point, before his boot seared her thigh like a steak, he had hesitated then the course of the fight would have changed dramatically. Killing his father wasn’t supposed to be retribution. Xion imagined that to Kane, it would feel that way.
Xion and Even ate dinner in almost silence over the table. The past couple days had caught up to her and she was growing tired. It just felt good to sit down and eat a full meal. Even had cooked chicken and vegetables with a side of rice. It was plain and boring but it was very good. It was food, a reminder that she was still alive. A reminder that even in the shittiest situations there was always food.
After they finished eating Even took the plates into the kitchen. Xion stayed at the table and watched as he began to scrub the pots, pan, and plates. Then, she got up and walked to his side. She took the wet plate he handed her. She swiped a towel over its face. She put it in the rack.
“Even, I was thinking,” Xion said.
“Hmm,” he hummed.
“Do you know what redemption is?” she asked. “Like, what it means?”
Even didn’t answer for a moment. That was one thing about him, he always took his time to reply to things. He once told her that he used to answer people quickly. That he’d assume he had the right answer so he always opened his mouth and never hesitated to say something. Now, he was no longer so confident.
“I suppose it comes from the weird ‘redeem,’” Even said. “To redeem something is compensate for its faults, or to offer payment. Perhaps, in a way, it means to settle a debt.”
“Like, if you hurt someone,” Xion said, “You can redeem yourself by helping them.”
“I suppose,” Even said. He handed her the second plate. “But the only problem is that we can never measure someone’s pain. How can we know when we have settled the debt?”
“I don’t think we can,” Xion said. “After all, only they can know that.”
“Yes,” Even said. He pulled the plug in the sink and watched the water drain, hands braced on the edge of the counter. Thin, pale strands of his hair escaped his ponytail and frames his face. His entire body hunched forward, a tension stringing him from head-to-toe. “That is my dilemma, that perhaps, some debts cannot be settled.”
“Well, shit,” Xion said as she put the last plate away.
“I don’t think that’s true in your case,” Even said, glancing at her. He dried his hands on the towel and placed his hand on her shoulder. “We think of redemption as fixing what has been broken in the past. I also think it’s about how we move forward into the future. I don’t know if the clinic redeems me. I don’t know if I will ever repay what I have stolen, from you, from Aeleus, or anyone else I’ve hurt – but I’ve learned that forgiveness is not something earned. It is given. Xion, you have given me something I do not deserve but I am grateful for it nonetheless.
“However,” he continued. “I think it is gift so very unique to you. You’re a creative, smart young girl, Xion, even if the way is not clear now… I promise you, you will find it. If your father loves you half as much as I think he does – you’ll overcome this.”
Xion sniffed, blinking her eyes to stop the prick of tears.
When she was very young, and very small, and still in the Organization, a very odd thought had come to her. It’s not right. It wasn’t right how Xemnas forced her and Roxas to hunt the heartless. It wasn’t right how he ordered the nobodies around. It wasn’t right how the others treated her, as different, unwanted, strange. It wasn’t right that she was asked to die for some boy she had never met.
Years later that idealistic bit of Xion remained. Something that no war, no violence, and no pain, could beat out of her.
It’s not right.
It wasn’t right what Paul had done to ‘Taker and Kane. From the burning of the funeral home, to locking Kane in a basement all his life, to treating ‘Taker like a slave, and lingering in their lives for years, ruining what little happiness they stole.
It not right.
It’s not right that ‘Taker, who was to his bones a good man, had gone through what he had. It wasn’t right that Kane, who was funny and goofy, had been casted in the role of a monster. It wasn’t right that her father, who, for all his bravado and posturing had a heart as tender as the lilies she laid on his casket, regretted his actions more than the man who made him do it. It wasn’t right that Kane would mourn a man who didn’t love him.
It’s not right.
She could see the cracks. All the ways that their family had fractured from this event. She didn’t delude herself that it would go back together exactly the way they were. It didn’t have to because that wasn’t redemption. No, redemption was building something new. They had started from scratch last time. They could start from scratch again.
Xion rubbed at her eyes and then threw her arms around Even’s neck. He looped an arm around her shoulders as her sniffles turned into soft crying. Even whispered affirmations and encouragement in her ear. One day, when Xion was a little wiser, she would realize what this meant to Even. For the weapon he created for war to cry in his arms like this.
When Xion had calmed and her crying had turned into just a headache, she murmured, “Thanks, Even.”
“Of course,” Even said, softly as he let her go. “Now, where are you sleeping tonight?”
Even walked Xion to her room on the other side of the castle. It was a small, old bedroom near the library that she had claimed early on in her first stay at Radiant Gardens She bid Even goodnight, and slipped inside, alone The bedroom was as she had left it: with the books on the shelves, the medical posters on the wall, and the bed with the quilt spread. Xion shucked her boots, pealed back the covers, and crawled beneath the blankets.
She had expected to remain awake, sweltering in the expectations and fear. Worried about ‘Taker and Kane, afraid of the future, and uncertain of what came next. Instead, it was as though her mind accepted everything as it was and let the exhaustion win. That night, Xion slept and she slept well.
