I'm trying to bribe people into Vexen/Saix. Yes, it's complete crack, but it'd be interesting and fun to work it out, wouldn't it, now? While I'm at it, I'm going to shamelessly pimp the fanfic Cats in Boxes (which is... a collaboration between me'n Luc Court, so it's at least half-awesome!); it's up on LJ at this-is-my-stop. so you should totally check it out for Vexen and Saix interaction way better than this. If that doesn't sell you, nothing will. :P
Anyway. tl;dr, right? This was written as a picture prompt for someone; I hope it's still okay as a story. :D
Commensalism
Vexen, Saix, and an understanding.
This is, by mute agreement, the one place in the castle they have (however strangely, and by a means neither of them have exactly understood the mechanics of) declared to be their mutual haven. They aren't really sure when or why they began to spend hours in the observatory together, but perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it's one of the rooms in the castle that have been left neglected. None of the scientists or the new members of the Organization are inclined to move from their quarters, and there is no use for astrology in a world that contains only a single celestial body in its sky worth examining; as a result, the rift in the ceiling where a telescope might have projected from is left unoccupied, never used for its intended purpose.
Still, it is not completely useless: empty, the telescope slot provides a gap for the light of Kingdom Hearts to illuminate the room with, covering the walls in a wash of gold.
Saix stays because he finds it soothing. Aesthetics aside, it happens to be somewhat isolated, which suits him well. It is no challenge for any of the Nobodies to reach this height, not when entire worlds are nothing more than the slimness of a corridor into Darkness away from their reach. It is, however, dull, at least by the standards of most of the Organization, and that means he can rely on remaining undisturbed.
Except, apparently, for Vexen.
He doesn't know how long the scientist has been coming up to the observatory, but he suspects that lingering in the abandoned astronomy tower is a habit IV has cultivated for some time, at least as long as he has. They've simply never run into each other before now. The hours they keep are as disparate as night and day; there is no true measure of time in the City That Never Was, of course, no sun in the sky they can mark the hours with, but they can at least give chronology a token nod by setting up clocks around the castle.
It's how the diviner first knows that the academic is operating outside his usual schedule: the clocks read two o'clock in the afternoon when Vexen comes up the stairs of the tower, audibly pausing at the sight of VII wiping his claymore free of grime, sitting cross-legged and expressionless in a pool of Kingdom Hearts' light. As he works, Saix patiently waits for the senior Nobody to turn and leave-- Vexen's preference for privacy is notorious, and whatever reason he may have for coming up to the tower is likely not one he prefers to share with someone as distant as the berserker.
To his surprise, Vexen stays, although he says nothing.
Even more surprisingly, they both return the next day. And the day after that. In fact, for an entire week, they find each other in the room at the oddest hours. Even when Saix shifts the time he normally occupies the tower space, as an experiment, he finds Vexen there before him, frozen in the middle of tipping a teapot over and blinking at him in bewilderment.
To summon a Dusk for a second teacup is but the work of a moment, even for IV, and the taste of brewed leaves and sugar lingers on the diviner's tongue long after he's left the room.
Conversation, after that, becomes inevitable: mostly it's Vexen who speaks, rambling commentaries and thoughts that come to his mind, it seems, utterly unprovoked. Saix responds in monotone grunts, seeing no point in encouraging the academic. To that end he keeps up the pretense of cleaning some piece of equipment or another, both for the soothing effect the repetitive motion has on him and the chance to keep his hands occupied.
He also needs the physical contact to keep himself, at times, from enacting violence on the other Nobody, because Vexen's rantings have a tendency to become circular arguments fairly quickly, brain-numbing arguments with himself that serve no visible purpose. It's generally a sign, however, that he is in a good mood: Saix realizes that the academic only complains about current affairs when he's been aggravated at some point during the day, directing verbal abuse to whichever individual or color or dusk has managed to offend his senses today. On particularly bad afternoons, IV bemoans the general lack of any respect for scientific inquiry in the Organization.
The subject of today's rant, though, is nothing worse than IX's offhanded suggestion that Vexen direct his efforts towards determining the flavor of a rainbow.
Saix offers no comment, naturally, but he listens anyway, and the academic seems to find that therapeutic enough. They both know that he may grumble at the top of his voice all he likes, but nothing of what he says will ever leave this room. The diviner knows how to keep secrets, if nothing else; he may bow to Xemnas as his Superior, but it is not a relationship that means he runs to him with every tidbit of gossip that comes his way.
Vexen, it seems, can sense the implicit honor Saix operates on, because he never asks the diviner for verbal confirmation that he will maintain his silence.
The odd companionship continues for months: Vexen's bickering becomes as much a part of Saix's routine as patrolling the city or going on missions. It becomes familiar. They may never grow to speak to one another with the ease of friends, but there are times when they do no more than sit together, the academic complaintless for once. It's something the diviner is learning not to mind, how they sit in near-companionable silence; at some point, though he's not sure when, he's given up pretending he's here because of the lightsource.
It's almost a disappointment, then, when Vexen has to leave for Oblivion, but Saix is nothing if not practical, and he knows this is for the betterment of all of them. He doesn't bid the academic goodbye; Saix supposes he'll see IV soon enough, so there's no point in making a fuss about it. There's nothing to tie them together, anyway: just cups of tea and the voicing of petty grudges. The academic will fulfill whatever role is expected of him at the other castle, and then he will return. That is all there is to the matter.
Later, Saix thinks about the taste of irony, and about whether or not he would have done anything differently if he'd known.