Disclaimer: Organization XIII belongs to Square Enix and Disney, not me.

The Trouble with Colds

Chapter One: I Don't Get No Respect

By definition, Nobodies lack hearts. This is repeated so often in Kingdom Hearts and its fandom counterparts that it is nearly impossible to overlook. Often ignored, however, is the fact that most Nobodies have fully-functional respiratory systems. The narrator says "most" because, in the context of this story, one Nobody's respiratory system fails to be fully-functional, thus condemning him to his bedroom. (He generally prefers the name "Chamber of Naught", but the narrator chooses to overlook this fact.)

Subsequently, the story switched to past tense, panning the reader's mental cameras around a room littered with used tissues and empty bottles of water. The air was thick with tension, though of course it could have been the personal humidifier sitting on the dresser. In the center of the room was a bed covered in luxuriously thick blankets and sheets, all of which were colored black, white, or one of various shades of grey. An inhuman moan escaped from underneath these bed-coverings, as did a hand, groping around the bedstand for yet another tissue.

Quietly, the door of the Chamber of Naught slid open, causing the hand to dart back under the covers. A slightly louder, more reprimanding groan came from the lump on the bed that was once considered a member of Organization XIII.

"Superior, I have something for you," said the hooded figure that now stood in the open doorway. "It should help."

"Mmph."

"Assuming that was a yes, I will proceed."

"Mmph-mm."

Twitching slightly, the figure turned to the bed again. "If you wish to communicate, Superior, please do so more clearly."

A head slowly emerged from the covers, its hair flying out at strange angles. Dark bags lay under its red, running eyes. These eyes were not the eyes of one who wanted to communicate more clearly. They were the eyes of one who wanted to run several large, lightsaber-oid energy beams through whoever dared disturb his sleep.

"Well?" The offending figure tapped his foot impatiently.

"Mm-what ish it?" slurred Xemnas.

"Medicine."

"And you say it will help?" The Superior began to gain more control over his tongue.

Removing his hood, Vexen nodded. "I assure you, it will help."

"Leave it on the nightstand, Vexen. I'll drink when I am ready."

"Understood, Superior."

The Chilly Academic did as he was told, and upon leaving, closed the door slowly so as to keep from disturbing the lump formerly known as Xemnas. Tiptoeing back down the stairs to the main floor of the Castle that Never Was, he let out a sigh of relief. He had managed not only to deliver the Superior his medicine, but to do without running into-

"He-ey Vexy! Finally got out of your cave, I see."

-any of the more...irritating members of the Organization. Swearing under his breath, Vexen halted.

"What's the matter, Vexy? Experimental-insult-to-nature-mutant-feline got your tongue? Say, that's too bad."

Vexen whirled around to face the source of his annoyance, his eye twitching. "Vexy? Vexy?" he snapped. "Is that your idea of a joke?"

"Does it look like I'm laughing?"

"As a matter of fact, it does." Vexen narrowed his eyes, motioning to the other's quivering shoulders.

"Then you didn't need to ask, did you?"

Choosing his words carefully, Vexen advanced on his foe. "Might...I remind you...that...I...am your superior, Number Eight?"

Axel cocked his head in mock-curiosity. "And?"

That was it. That was the last straw. Vexen felt a rant coming on, a tirade of epic proportions. His pupils narrowed and he stretched himself to his full height. "Axel, Number Eight, Flurry of Dancing Flames, insubordinate little twit, whichever you prefer," he added, a sneer creeping across his face, "have you been told of the origins of this organization?"

Leaning against the banister of the stairwell, Axel sighed. "Yep."

"Good. We're making progress. Now, have you been informed of the motives of this organization?"

"To fully complete Kingdom Hearts, regain our own hearts, and thus become truly real," Axel recited, imitating Xemnas's extravagant hand motions for good measure.

"I am not amused, Axel, but I will overlook that for a moment if you answer me my next question: Do you know what the members of this organization need to do for it to achieve this goal?"

"Gain control of the Keybearer."

Vexen grinned maniacally. "Ah, and that is where you are incorrect. You see, before any group, much less our organization, can achieve anything, there must be order. Order stems from rules and guidelines laid down by leaders, or superiors. You see where I'm going with this? Without leadership, this organization will fall into chaos. If this organization falls into chaos, we will never be able to get a hold of the Keybearer. If we never gain control of the Keybearer, we won't be able to complete Kingdom Hearts. Are you listening? 'Cause this is the important part. If we never complete Kingdom Hearts, we will not get our hearts, and without our hearts, WE. WILL. NEVER. EXIST. EVER. Do you understand, you dolt?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Axel waved a hand dismissingly.

The Chilly Academic stared down his nose. "I don't think you were listening."

"Actually, neither do I," Axel replied with a grin.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, sir. If you were not listening, then I may have to repeat myself."

For one second, Axel was caught off-guard. He took a step backward, pupils shrinking, and was forced to catch himself on the balustrade against which he had been leaning so casually moments before. For one long and glorious second, Vexen felt that he had won.

Unfortunately, it was still a second, and Axel regained his composure as soon as he had lost it. Vexen glared down at him, his face contorted with indescribable emotion. Or, rather, Vexen glared down at him, his face contorted with an attempt at indescribable emotion so as to show Axel how he would look, had he possessed a heart, and therefore, real emotions. Either way, to the untrained eye, Chilly Academic looked as if he wanted to teach the Flurry of Dancing Flames the true meaning of pain. He turned swiftly on his heel and strode back to the safety of his basement laboratory, slamming the door behind him.

---

Meanwhile, on one of the upper floors, Saix leafed through a thick, hard-bound textbook about child psychology. If they were to gain the Keybearer's trust, Xemnas believed, the Organization would need to know how his and his friends' minds operated. Dog-earing his current page, he set the book on the short, spindly table that supported both his reading lamp and his enormous mug of coffee. He glanced out the darkened window absent-mindedly and wondered where, or rather, why Zexion had ever gotten a hold of such an obscure text. He also contemplated the puzzling remark the Cloaked Schemer made as he had pressed the book into the Diviner's hands: "Take it. You, of all members, will need it."

After a pause, he shrugged and returned to his espresso.

---

In the Laboratory Where Nothing Gets Done (as Axel and Larxene had so affectionately dubbed it) Vexen sat, hunched over his notes. He muttered angrily to himself, occasionally crumpling said notes and, with a growl, tossing them into the wastebasket. Several hours and full wastebaskets later, he sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Is my mental anguish truly thatamusing to you?"

Zexion nervously averted his eyes, preferring to stare into the paperback novel he had brought along simply as a diversionary tactic. It worked, sending Vexen's glare creeping to Lexaeus, who had taken up residence on a sturdy countertop. The Silent Hero's hulking frame, silhouetted by the glow of the dangerous chemicals kept on the back shelves of the lab ("Just in case," Vexen had said.), shrugged, and he scratched the back of his head guiltily.

"It depends on your definition of 'amusing'. For example, Zexion and I are very easily amused, especially when it comes to you and your over-reactions to the insubordination of the younger members."

Vexen forced down a sudden urge to strangle the larger man, replying icily, "I appreciate your honesty, Lexaeus."

Zexion looked up from his book long enough to drag a foreboding finger across his throat, clearly stating: And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your big mouth shut, lest Vexen have to deal with the inconvenience of dumping two large, nobody-shaped blocks of ice out with his scrap paper.

Lexaeus got the message.
---

Every afternoon, around four o'clock, Xigbar headed downstairs to the kitchen to get a snack. Nearly every afternoon, around four-ten, he was thrown out of the kitchen by a very disgruntled Zexion wielding a steak knife. During his detailed studies of the rest of the Organization, Axel had noted this, but he passed it off as a bit of useless information.

Today, however, he realized just how useful it would be. Zexion was still in the laboratory; he would never find out. This plan was perfect, flawless.

"Hey, Xig!" Axel grabbed onto the doorframe of the Breakroom of Nil and leaned into the hallway.

Xigbar halted mid-step and spun to face him. "Axel! How's it going?"

"Fine, just fine. Listen, Xigbar, could you do me a huge favor?"

Xigbar raised an eyebrow. "You gotta tell me what it is before I can say yes."

"Aww, don't you trust me?" His voice was thick with false innocence.

"To be honest, man, I don't trust you one bit."

"Good man." Axel snickered. "Fine, I give. I'll tell you what the favor is."

"You'd better."

"When you go down for your snack raid, and I know that's what you're doing, could you pick me up a bag of chips?"

"Done, little dude. But you owe me."

"Yeah, yeah." Axel dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Less talking, more raiding, Xiggy."

---

Zexion's head snapped up from the book. He sniffed the air experimentally, looking from right to left and finally up to the ceiling. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the novel into his pocket and stood up with nearly enough force to knock his aluminum folding chair over backwards. He stormed out of the lab without saying a word.

The Cloaked Schemer broke into a run, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking against the impeccably-clean and freshly-waxed floors of the Castle that Never Was. The air rushing past his face ruffled his hair, tangling it even further than usual. His coat, unzipped from the floor nearly to the waist, flapped as he ran up winding staircases, around corners, through a door or two (nearly crashing headlong into Saix, who had left his chair only to refill his massive coffee mug), and finally down a long hallway. One lone door stood at the end of said hallway: the door to the Kitchen of Empty Dishes. Zexion sped toward it with fury rivaled only by a woman scorned.

Throwing open the door with a loud slam, Zexion spotted his prey. Xigbar had his back to him, but Zexion could tell that he had already violated the unspoken Law of the Kitchen: One was not to steal food, unless one was prepared for a fate worse than death.

Xigbar turned, and Zexion could now see that he held three bags of potato chips and a two-liter bottle of soda. He smiled slowly and waved, disappearing into a portal of dark energy.

Why, thought Zexion spitefully, does Xigbar have to be the one who can teleport? Why?

Xemnas had found out about this incredibly convenient method of transportation a few weeks ago, and it was just beginning to catch on with the rest of the Organization. Possibly because of his power, Xigbar had been the first one to truly master it. Zexion, however, had difficulty using the portals from the start. He soon discovered that it was the sort of thing that one learned from practice, as opposed to study.

With a long sigh, Zexion realized that it was time to prepare dinner. His revenge on the Freeshooter would have to wait until later.

---