A/N: Welcome to my self-indulgent "Xerxes Break survives" AU, with the main inspiration behind this fic coming from that alternate scene where everyone lived. Reading the series for the third time now gave me the motivation to give the whole Pandora Heart's cast the happy ending they deserve, but for this fic in particular, I'm going to write more about Xerxes finding himself and further develop his relationships with the other characters (specifically, Sharon and Reim). This also provides more practice with writing them, since I'm kind of unfamiliar with what can be considered in-character and such; if you do think even one character is slightly OOC, please tell me so that I can try to focus on improving them in the future.

Most of the chapters that'll come from here will most likely be connected, but that doesn't mean they have to be read in a particular order. It helps in the future, but for the most part, you can read them as individual one-shots if you like.

Also, you may notice that Xerxes is referred to his first name in here. It's just a preference, really—he's still called "Break" by the others.

[1]

Summary: He wakes up with a startling realization.

In a distance that could almost be mistakenly heard right near the ears, the soft chirping of birds can be heard alongside the trees that rustles against the wind. Murmured voices, hushed whispers, and faint laughter in and outside the room mix together, creating a noise that's almost indistinguishable and suffocating with the slow, increasing volume of emotions. Happiness, disgust, anguish, excitement—they clash together, drawing painfully louder to his ears despite how disconnected he and them were.

It becomes unbearable, quite frankly. Snapping open his eye and meeting the darkness that greets him, Xerxes catches his breath when he leans up from the bed and places a hand over his chest that continues to have a living, beating heart.

Oh, he realizes once it registers, I'm alive. After having taken the attack for Vincent, he was certain that it meant the end for him. He clearly remembers the blood from the fatal wound, the burning pain in each staggering step he took; he vividly recalls pulling forward Oz, Alice, and Gilbert, leading them to the destination where their fate awaited. The image of Sharon and Reim running towards him, catching his dying body as they clung to him is engraved in his memory as he breathed his last and smiled, finally relieved from the past that had chained him up until his very last moment.

He had thought that he was finished. But in some way, somehow, he was here, in-tact and well.

Was this a dream? Had he not used Mad Hatter enough to the brink of death? Surely, he wasn't in the abyss—considering that everything around him feels like it's in place, it would seem those three had made it in the end, which meant...

A dry chuckle escapes out of him. Paling at what could have been his final moments, Xerxes leaves the matter at that. Exhaustion overwhelms him, and he falls back down to his pillow, closing his eye before opening it again. The awful feeling of Glen's sword digging into his flesh still lingers on his shoulder, making it hard to ignore. His body may be in needing of rest, but his mind was being restless and playing tricks on him, preventing him from sleeping peacefully.

Not to mention his bed felt strange. There was another weight besides his own added to it, one that supposedly belongs to somebody else. He shifts to his right and there—

Snoring. Too occupied in his own musings, he had failed to notice Sharon at his side, her slumber not disturbed in the slightest in the midst of his uneasiness. It's a miracle, honestly; he wouldn't get hit by her harisen immediately upon seeing the up-close of his face.

The expectation of her waking up and expressing her worries reminds him of the past instances that happened in a similar fashion, creating a sense of guilt in him; it's as if he's learned nothing from these months. She continues to look after him in spite of the pain it gives to her while he, in return, allows her to stay by his side, indulging in his own selfishness of wanting to protect her. They were too involved in each other's lives—separating from the other's presence was in its own right difficult, especially given how long they've known one another.

It explained a lot as to why they were so close. Still, that didn't mean there were no boundaries or distances placed above their heads.

"This isn't good, my lady," he mumbles, amused at her peaceful dozing; the sight calms him enough to temporarily forget about his own burdens. "You see, rumors of a man and woman sleeping on the same bed will go around if someone was to pass by, and I can't allow myself to taint your name with such a fallacy. So surely, you understand why—" his grip on the bed sheets tightened as he leans up, "—I must do this!"

Casting aside every concern of his weak body, he yanks the blanket she was on, causing her to fall into the soft mattress instead. The impact, however, is enough to stir her up as she grumbles and squints her eyes to look at the cheerful perpetrator. She barely recognizes him, the sunlight blurring her vision, but as soon as she focuses on his familiar red eye, she comes to her senses and pulls herself up.

"Break..." Sharon frowns, wondering if she was hallucinating; she examines him closely. "...Break?"

He waves at her nonchalantly, as if it was just another normal day. "If you keep repeating my name at this rate, you won't ever forget it! The others will get worried if they were to hear my name from your mouth, though."

There's no reaction to the teasing; as if tranced, she keeps her stare on him. Her lips are pressed in a firm line, eyes shining with tears threatening to spill at any second. Split between taking out her annoyance and hugging him joyfully, her body trembles as she takes in a few steady breaths to calm herself from getting overly emotional.

Oh dear. Xerxes purposefully avoids her gaze, trying to find a way out this solution—nothing comes up. If Sharon starts crying, he's not sure what to do, given his position. Crack a joke? Reassure her that he was fine? None of them looked plausible this time around, placing him in a sticky situation. This wasn't what I planned.

After sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity, she slowly grasps his hand. It catches him by surprise, but Xerxes nonetheless permits it, wondering what was on her mind.

She furrows her eyebrows, inspects it thoroughly, turns his hand over and over. Just when it appears like she's done, she repeats the process, anxiousness rising with every movement becoming more clumsy. The actions are worrying, to say the least, that he asks what's she doing once it became clear she wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

"Is there something about my hand that's so interesting to you?"

Sharon halts, glances at him. Then, she shakes her head with evident embarrassment in her voice. "I'm...just confirming."

"'Confirming'?" He hums in interest. "Confirming what, may I ask?"

She lets go, and the warmth from her hand goes away.

"That you're..." A short pause. "...real. I was making sure that you're real."

He blinks—that wasn't quite the answer he had expected. "Oh," is all he can think to say.

Sharon, seemingly aware of how strange that sounded, clears her throat and explains. "It's been twenty days. You've been asleep for almost three weeks, and everyone believed that you wouldn't..." Her throat becomes dry. Rather than continuing, she settles on starting a new topic instead. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Hungry?" He hadn't paid attention to it, but Xerxes did find himself wanting to have something to eat. It was no wonder why he felt even weaker than usual—with his chain's damaging effect on him and the lack of food, he was utterly useless in his current condition.

So, he nods. Sharon stands up from his bedside and hurriedly walks to the door much to his disliking.

"I'll have someone prepare you a light meal then! Once you're done eating, we can..."

Hesitation keeps her from finishing the sentence twice now. Regardless, Xerxes understands what she's hinting at and as always grins back to reassure her.

"Of course. Both of us have a lot of catching up to do, don't you think?"

Despite the fact that he would much rather have cake and tea to enjoy, he doesn't complain about the soup given to him. It's high quality, served delightfully by the amazing cooks of the Rainsworth mansion, and he definitely wouldn't mind eating it from time to time had sweets not become a daily part of his life.

Xerxes quite likes the soup. There was no problem with it—but there was a problem with his lady feeding him.

How could this happen? He can't look at her—it's too embarrassing. He had believed that it was always him doing these things for her, but to have the roles reversed? He was having a difficult experience adjusting to it.

Their previous, small argument added further salt to the wound; he was ready to eat it himself until she had suddenly moved the soup away from him, asking what he was doing. The confusion was ever so apparent on his face that he asked her what she was doing, only to hear that she was obviously going to feed him.

"You're weak, Break. If you struggled pulling those bed sheets from underneath me, you'll struggle lifting up a spoon too."

Exasperation (and shame) filled inside him. "Sharon, it's fine—"

She refused to listen. "It's not fine. We've talked about this a hundred times now yet you persist on doing everything alone! Even when your hand is shaking, you stubbornly act as if you're capable of handling it! Will you ever give up?"

"I assure you that I'm entirely well enough to do feed myself. See? I'm not shaking at all! A spoon won't hurt m—"

All words of his protest died with his insistence on proving otherwise the very moment the eating utensil escaped from his hold and clattered on to the plate. In silence, the both of them stared at the fallen piece of silver before Sharon finally picked it up.

Regardless of whether or not it was intended to be heard, Xerxes had heard her mutter under it her breath as she leaned over: "Mister One-Man-Show."

He can't help but question the ordeal's cruelty regarding him. With each sip, he hopes that the next one will be its last.

For a while, it's quiet between them—uncomfortably so. The soft tink of the spoon against the bowl of soup is what breaks it.

"Does it hurt?"

"Hm?"

"Your... Your shoulder. Is it okay?"

Xerxes opens his mouth, considering to tell her that it doesn't. But a part of him decides no, I have to, and without brooding too much, he does just that.

"There's some pain," he admits, grimacing at its reminder. The ghost of the sword stabs deeper into him, but he refrains himself from hissing aloud. "It might go away in a few days, but it won't be a problem."

"Really?" Fear slips into her voice; the bowl threatens to tip over. "Break, if you have another problem, you need to—"

"I will." Xerxes offers a half-smile. "If it gets in my way, I'll be sure to tell you."

She isn't very convinced, and he doesn't blame her—he often says things he don't mean. "...You promise?"

He swears and makes an oath. Sharon ultimately sighs, accepting defeat.

"I trust you," she mumbles. "Don't think I'll forgive you if you don't keep it."

"I wouldn't dare."

Xerxes expects her to pick up the spoon up and return back to feeding him, but it stays where it is. She still has things to say, ask—it never comes out. At odds with her better judgement, she was stopping herself from moving on to a subject uncomfortable to them both.

He has an inkling as to why. The whole situation, what happened—it was too soon and insensitive to bring up the tragedy when they were just recovering from it. He understands, however, that it's also best for them to discuss the events rather than avoiding and prolonging it.

Enough days have passed. It's necessary, Xerxes believes. He's going to prompt her to try and ease off the stress on her shoulders, but before he can—he hears her slapping herself.

Alarm rises in him. He instinctually reaches over, meeting nothing but the empty air. "Sharon?"

"I'm okay," she replies quickly, reappearing within his distance. His nerves relax upon brushing against a lock of her hair. "I'm...preparing myself, that's all. Ignore me."

His lady takes in a huge breath, then exhales; she does this a few more times as he waits patiently. Before long, with a newfound will and face of determination, she manages to find the confidence to speak again, impressing Xerxes with how calm and composed her voice sounded. Her steps to becoming the proper Rainsworth woman are getting closer and closer, reminding him that the Sharon next to him was not a child anymore but a growing woman.

"When...Reim and I arrived," Sharon begins, cheeks stinging, "you looked like a ghost. It really felt like you were going to disappear forever, leaving us behind." She clenches the bowl, keeping the silver from rattling as much against it. "I could feel your body growing colder. It—it was scary. You were dying in our arms, and there was nothing we could have done."

He falls quiet, listening to her. Xerxes couldn't imagine what had went through their heads. Truthfully, he had been grateful towards his blindness, or he would have seen the expressions on their faces: hurting, crying, wishing. It would have made things harder on him to accept his fate as it was otherwise. In another way, it can be said that he's quite selfishly glad to his damned misfortune from seeing such a painful sight. To leave them and see their faces one last time, full of grief and despair?

Xerxes wouldn't have forgiven himself.

"...Hearing you say that you didn't want to die was so cruel," Sharon confesses bitterly. "You always talked about how you were always ready to die, how you only needed to fulfill that one goal of yours, even if it meant sacrificing yourself. You never allowed anything else to cloud your way, keeping it as your number one priority, that when you found another reason to live, I was relieved."

She lets out a choked laugh. "I felt happy, Break. Is... I-isn't that horrible of me? You were dying, yet hearing those words had gave me hope. It was the most sincerest thing I heard you say. That's why after you stopped breathing at that moment, it hurt so, so much..."

Ah. He's finding it difficult to speak—serious talks like these were hard, and he never was the best at confronting his own feelings. Lowering his head, he awkwardly croaks out, "Sorry," before cringing when he sees that even Sharon finds the response strange.

"W-what are you apologizing for? Saying that so suddenly... You're such a handful sometimes." Shaking her head gently, she grabs his hand again, smiling at him even with warm tears running down her cheeks. "I should be the one saying that! I'm sorry, Break. I'm really sorry for thinking that."

Xerxes can tell that she's crying—her cracking voice and shaking hand points to it. Unsure of what to do, he hesitantly chooses to squeeze their locked hands in an effort to comfort her. "You shouldn't be apologizing either—there's nothing to be sorry for. I'm...glad that you thought of me to that extent," he decides, feelings ringing true. He had failed to notice how much attention she paid to him without even a gesture of acknowledgment yet she continued to watch his back and care for him. "With the number of problems I cause, you still choose to involve yourself with old, troublesome me."

"So you do agree you're like that?" Another laugh leaves her; this time, it's a little more uplifting. "It's a miracle that you're here. If we were a second late, I don't think you could have ever made it."

Xerxes hums. "But it's good that we made in the end, right?" A small smile forms on his face. "Thanks for saving my life."

Sharon manages to give one back, noticeably less tense than before, despite her slight shaking. "And thank you for hanging on. I'm not sure if I can ever forgive myself for thinking so terribly, but..." She looks down fondly at his hand. "...I'm truly happy that you're alive."

The words "I am too" lies on the tip of his tongue, but they don't come out, forcing him to settle for something else less direct. "I'm afraid I can't exit the stage by myself yet. I have a duty I need to do, after all."

She looks at him curiously, sniffling. "And that is...?"

"Why—" Xerxes leans forward to wipe her eyes, "—to live to my fullest, of course! There's still so much to do. With you, Reim..." His smile reaches his eye. "And everyone else, as well. We have that tea party to do, don't we? I'm not leaving anywhere without eating something sweet first."

"Break..." Sharon's taken back at first, but then she narrows her gaze at him and sighs, moving away from his touch and picking up the spoon. "Just admit that you want to see everyone again. Quit sugarcoating everything."

As expected, she saw through him; he only laughs in response, feeling lighter than ever. She feeds him the lukewarm soup, watching him switch attitudes and grow increasingly disconcerted with amusement, but inside, she silently thanks him.