Standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: This particular collection was actually supposed to be around thirteen hundredworders all squashed together into a long oneshot, but then the Xemnas one kind of fleshed itself out and became thrice as long, so. -.-;; Oh well. I love Organization XIII, and I've been wanting to do some genfic about them for a while, so no harm done. At the very least I'll be able to get rid of all the strange ideas floating around in my brain that are holding up the fluffles I need for Trouble Me.
Time to bounce Roxas off his co-workers. Gahahaha.
In
So Many Words
i.
Midnight
Backlit by the not-quite moon, the Superior casts a long shadow—opaque, like tar, and nearly hard around the edges. It spills across the floor from the soles of his boots, half-twisting away… but it's sewn on so tight it can do no such thing.
Roxas watches it. If he watches long enough, he sees the lines that trace the borders of the half-picture, sketching a catechism he's sure he would know by heart if he had one. Echoes of the Superior's voice in his memory—Do not cross. Remember your place.
"Xemnas, a question."
Roxas steps over the line. Ankle-deep in the Superior's shadow, he watches the shades of black pool around his own shoes with quiet eyes. He shouldn't be asking questions (strike one), shouldn't be addressing the Superior by name (strike two), for this is not catechism. This has never been catechism. Catechism says that what he should be is obedient and silent and—inevitably, now that there can be no going back—afraid, but he doesn't think he's nearly wise enough for that.
The shadow shifts as the Superior inclines his head; the boy standing at arms' length does the same, looks at him square (strike three).
Three strikes. One tiny shard of courage more, to ask.
"What are you trying to find?" He does not say 'we.' It would be too impolite, too presumptuous—and he knows he's been far too much of both already, in the asking.
Silence follows. Roxas' question is backlit silver and cold by the not-quite-moon.
Xemnas answers questions with more questions. His words cast a long shadow…
"What do you think?"
…and yet there is no anger in his eyes. Only traces of curiosity that, strangely enough, mirror Roxas' own. Only the thinnest threads of amusement—and one can twist those, so they look a little bit like sadness.