EROSION
"Can you believe a world like this?" Zexion's grimace deepens as he flicks through a worn guidebook, frequently checking his gloved fingertips for dirt they might have picked up from the clumped pages. "I've never seen so many things in one place that could kill someone by so much looking at them."
"Might explain the lack of Heartless." Lexaeus' heavy gaze never wavers from the winding road ahead. Zexion checks the window behind him, the view clouded from dust kicked up by the truck's wheels.
"A rather primitive defense system to keep threats out." Zexion slaps the side of his neck suddenly, convinced something was crawling up there even though his palm comes back clean. A second later he realizes it was nothing more than beads of sweat tickling the back of his neck, built up from the region's stuffy humidity. Reading up on various snakes, spiders, and bees, of all creatures to consider lethal, makes even the emptiest of bodies paranoid with every itch. He rubs the perspiration off his glove. How interesting. "No wonder our target reeks so strongly. There's nothing else to compete with his scent."
"Empty out here, too." Lexaeus breaks his stare from the road just long enough to observe the distant shrubbery and plateaus. "It's not so bad."
"Of course you would like it." Zexion leans back in his seat as best as he can, hoping to find an angle with a fraction more comfort. "Or as best as you can pretend to."
"Yes."
Lexaeus looks aside again and gazes out into the distance, their brief conversation apparently completed. Zexion sighs and reaches for the glovebox again, swapping out the field guide for the only other book inside – a novel, by the looks of it, and apparently far less read.
Zexion plops back against the firm seat, nudging open the cover now that their chat is finished for the time being. Lexaeus' verbal agreement has always been enough to convince him. It's reliable, because Lexaeus has never told him no.
It's not every day that Saix offers the luxury of choice in a partner for missions, even when Zexion would have assumed that the choice would be obvious enough that asking seems pointless. A wide, harsh terrain full of creatures that not even the Heartless would bother? Any one of the Organization's members could handle this world's dangers without difficulty, but only one of them wouldn't complain about it.
"They call it the Outback," Zexion says to Lexaeus later on in the kitchens, sneering a little at the pedestrian name printed on the mission paperwork. For a world with so many hazard warnings stuffed within its heavily stapled mission folder, the name is far too unsophisticated. "There's a poacher with a heart and body that may come to our use. I don't suppose you'll join me for a little fetch quest?"
Lexaeus places his mug in the sink without so much as a clatter and straightens his posture like a taunt bowstring, ready for the battlefield. "I will."
"I was hoping you would." Zexion coyly smiles, ducking his head until his bangs brush across his nose.
Of course Lexaeus would agree. The Hero has never turned him down before.
Preparations take only twenty minutes, another benefit to Lexaeus' company for a mission. The maps for their starting point are terribly vague, but one of the five Dusks sent out to scout last week was able to come back with the target's address. The others, Zexion presumes once they cut through the dark corridors and arrive on the target's property, became lost and perished to at least one of the several dangers listed in the world's files.
The house is quite literally in the middle of nowhere. The entire landscape is dusty and rocky, painted with red hues and dry bushes, with the house and its interior matching the outdoors. A rusted truck waits outside, surrounded by a mixture of scrap metal and old tools. Zexion scrunches his nose, feeling dust prick at his lungs as Lexaeus rattles the front door handle.
The door gives with a simple nudge of Lexaeus' massive shoulder, dust scattering from its hinges as they enter the household. The only ones to greet them are the dozens of stuffed animal heads staring down at them from the walls. It seems appropriately tasteless for the kind of man the paperwork describes as their target.
"Empty," Zexion notes with a sigh. He remains near the front door while Lexaeus wanders in further. "The Dusks must have gotten lost and perished trying to get out."
He tilts his head back, trying to separate the trail of darkness from the dusty scents in the air. Without a direct map to guide them, a Nobody could hop anywhere within these wastelands and exhaust himself into nothingness. "Dark corridors won't help us when we don't know the exact route to follow."
"Then we'll follow him the traditional way." Lexaeus rises from some cabinet drawers and shakes an old set of keys between two wide fingers – rusty like the truck outside and everything else around them. Zexion raises his eyebrows, mulling over the suggestion for a few moments.
"Very well." He turns to leave the house. "You're driving."
"I will."
Zexion hums to himself, allowing a subtle smile to grace his lips. Of course Lexaeus will.
The road is long, uncomfortable, and completely uninteresting. Zexion's already thumbed through the guidebook twice for any information they might not have already received, and it seems the most important lesson is to not come to this world in the first place – particularly if one objects to the chance of meeting some creature that possesses something sharp that may very well include poison. The guidebook stresses that it's not likely, but Zexion won't test a Nobody's luck.
The novel stuffed next to the guidebook is far more appealing, if less scientific for his knowledge-hungry mind. We of the Never-Never rings in an unexpected way in his gut, and the added poem just past the front cover is suspiciously fitting.
"Under the banks where the shadows quiver," Zexion reads aloud. Lexaeus grunts to acknowledge his attention, but says nothing more. Zexion quickly returns the novel to the glovebox and squirms in his seat again. While his mind may be able to tolerate long stretches of waiting for results, his body twitches with restless energy, built up from a mere two hours on the road and counting.
He reaches out to the radio knob, hand pausing just above it as he looks up at Lexaeus. A little radio reconnaissance between worlds has its uses, when such technology is accessible. The Silent Hero notices his movement and glances down briefly to nod in confirmation. Zexion exhales softly and presses the knob, getting little more than static no matter which way he turns the dial.
"It figures." He jabs the knob to shut it off.
"Hopefully we'll find a town soon." Lexaeus looks down again, peering past the steering wheel to view the fuel gauge.
"You realize this is entirely ridiculous." Zexion rubs at his forehead, leather skidding against his skin. "We're practically going into this mission blind. There's no guarantee that–"
His next word comes out as a wheeze when the truck brakes suddenly and skids to a halt. Zexion jerks back against the seat in recoil, immediately shooting a sneer at Lexaeus, because surely there is no reason to stop so hard when there's nothing on the road, and if there were a snake in front of them, they may as well do this world a favor by running the probably-venomous thing over.
Then he senses it, lungs swelling to catch the sweet scent of light coming forth, strong enough to burn away the smell of rust and dirt. Zexion follows where Lexaeus is looking, up towards the highest plateau in the distance, beyond the gradual rise of greenery and trees. Something glimmers towards the top – a waterfall to the untrained eye, but brimming with unusual light on top for those who know better.
And then, the brightest object reveals itself from the sparkling water, followed by a mighty cry that echoes down the chasm. Zexion inhales sharply when the largest bird he's seen soars forth, feathers flicking off water droplets and diving downwards with...
A boy. A boy just as bright as the creature he's riding.
Lexaeus looks towards him when the pair disappears down the valley.
"And with light, darkness always follows." Zexion closes his eyes and breathes heavily. Finally, their target's rotten scent emerges from the dust, and he points a single finger forward. "That way."
Zexion knocks his head against the door for the third time in the middle of nodding off as the road seems unable to decide between being bumpy or curvy. He hisses, sinking teeth into his lower lip until the sting passes, and attempts massaging out the tender spot on the side of his temple.
Few movements go unnoticed by Lexaeus, who already determines what's happened despite his eyes remaining fixed on the road the entire time.
"Rough section," he comments.
"Yes, thank you, I think I've figured that out by now." Zexion drops his head back against the top of the seat, which may as well be made out of the same material as the door, for how it feels. There seems to be a rock in their path every few seconds, rattling the creaking truck. He hears something patting next to him, and he glances out the corner of his eye.
"Lay down here." Lexaeus pats the empty space between them again, the truck's extended seat cushion possibly a fraction softer there. Zexion taps a finger against his cheek in contemplation.
"Won't you be tired soon?"
"I'll wake you if I need to stop." Lexaeus returns his hand to the wheel. Zexion can't fathom how it looks so rigid in his grip when steering over such a jittery road.
It takes some awkward maneuvering between changing seatbelts and curling his legs up onto the seat without potentially falling onto the floor in the process. Eventually he lays on his side, head substituting Lexaeus' thigh as a well-stuffed pillow, and lets his eyelids droop.
When he wakes, the truck is off and parked at the side of the road under the starry sky. Lexaeus is angled against his seat, his head strained back against the top cushion in a way that threatens to leave a crick in his neck by the morning. One large hand rests over Zexion's shoulder, fingertips barely touching his chest.
Zexion lays back down on his thigh-pillow, lips twitching when his companion lets out a rumbling snore.
"Couldn't have just said no," he says in amusement to the night.
The only downside to chasing their target by scent is that Zexion finds himself sneezing at every inconvenient moment possible. The upside to having Lexaeus as his mission partner, in addition to his strength and absence of persistent whining that some of their fellow colleagues pretend to have, is that he's the only one with the foresight to carry an extra handkerchief in his coat pockets, just in case.
"Thank you," Zexion says after a loud sniff. The humidity has thinned as they journey west, good for the absence of suffocating heat, but now far harsher and drier on his senses. He turns his back to Lexaeus before blowing his nose into the clean fabric, not willing to risk the chance of anyone seeing him anything less than dignified. (Lexaeus wouldn't care, but keeping up appearances is everything for Nobodies like them now. It's all they have.)
Zexion holds the handkerchief out for Lexaeus to take back, only looking up when the Silent Hero doesn't immediately take it. A quick glance ahead has them both dropping to their knees and hiding behind the red rock they've been using as an outlook spot.
Their bright boy from earlier is just down the rocky slope, apparently in some frantic conversation with the local prickly bushes, then runs further along the wetlands until he vanishes behind the cover of shrubbery. Zexion releases the breath he'd been holding once he's certain the boy is far ahead. The overwhelming environment chips away one's focus rather easily, he's noticed.
He looks at Lexaeus, expecting some sort of brief analysis and plan for the next steps – instead, Lexaeus gives him the same look he wears when in the middle of a particularly perplexing puzzle.
"I think..." And it must be nearly unbelievable, for Lexaeus to pause and reconsider what he witnessed. "...that boy was just talking to two mice wearing clothes and hats."
"...Ah." So it wasn't a debate with the bushes, which might be far more plausible considering how maddening this desert seems to be on the mind. "Well. It wouldn't be the first instance of a boy working with talking mice, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't."
Zexion stands and steps away from their rock, only to stop a moment later when the sole of his boot skids on something. He glances down to see the white handkerchief peeking out from underneath the tip of the boot, and the rest is coated in rust-colored soil.
"Oh." Zexion picks up the dirtied cloth between two fingers, frowning at the red dust stained in the center. How much of it was a result of his shoe or his nose is something he doesn't want to ponder. "Do you want it back?"
"Yes." Lexaeus says yes, but Zexion can tell he's attempting to hide his grimace. He hands over the handkerchief regardless, and Lexaeus takes it.
They've been out of range from a hotel or any sort of shelter for ages now, though that doesn't stop them from scooting to the middle of the seat and fucking right in the truck on the side of the road. Shame has no place to burrow in their empty chests now, and for all the diabolic creatures allowed to exist in this desert, Zexion reasons there's no place for shame out here either.
His only request is that Lexaeus not park under a tree, as he won't trade shelter for the chance of one of many venomous snakes to slip from the branches and find cracks in the doors and windows. Lexaeus avoids stopping near any large rocks for similar reasons.
The moon cuts light across the late night sky, giving Zexion plenty of visibility to crawl over Lexaeus' lap and yank at his zippers. His heel kicks aside the novel and knocks it down onto the truck's floor, along with any distracting thoughts of the Never-Never.
How very much like the former Guard to have the foresight of bringing massive bottles of water with them, Zexion realizes when Lexaeus pulls his buttocks apart and presses into him, as there's no way he'll tolerate making a filthy mess of himself and not have some sort of bath ready immediately after, even if it must only be a brief pour from the plastic jugs in the truck bed.
He drops his head against Lexaeus' neck once he's filled inside, smelling dust, dirt, and lingering trails of darkness that stick to their skin and threaten to drag them into its depths at any moment.
"Harder." Zexion jerks his pelvis against the hold Lexaeus purposely has on him. He reaches up blindly and grabs a fistful of ragged hair. "I said, harder."
"Not yet–"
"No." Zexion straightens up, feeling his skin peel off Lexaeus' chest from perspiration, and grabs his chin to stare directly into strong, blue eyes. "Now."
Lexaeus can never resist a kiss, for reasons Zexion has been unable to determine, but the Schemer follows the command with a firm press of their lips together. It only lasts two seconds before his entire body jerks up, mouths separating with a wet smack, Lexaeus' whole body seeming to surge upwards and sink as deeply as he can into Zexion.
Zexion throws his head back, hands clawing at massive shoulders, and lets himself bounce in Lexaeus' lap until the burn rests comfortably in his belly.
The boy and his eagle companion get captured, which serves Nobodies like them all the better. Darkness bubbles all around the world, to the point where trailing their poacher can even be done by the lowliest of Dusks. Zexion's eyes keep drooping, feeling almost intoxicated on the strong scent coating the back of his throat.
It's the presence of power, the factor that made Ienzo eat the hypothetical forbidden fruit and crave more. The closer they follow their target, the sweeter the air becomes.
It gets distracting, but with so much downtime waiting for their poacher to carve his own fate, Lexaeus has no reason to argue when Zexion snaps at him to pull the truck over and undo his clothing, feet skidding over the novel on the floor and tearing out its last few pages.
"Are you alright?" Lexaeus doesn't ask until several minutes after they're done; it's quite polite of him, in the way they can best pretend to be. Zexion peels his cheek away from the center of Lexaeus' bare chest, wincing at the unattractive stickiness of sweaty skin.
"Of course I am." Zexion props up higher on his knees, holding himself upright despite how much his thighs shake. "How could I not be?"
Lexaeus' heavy brow deepens, his mouth parting as though words are on the tip of his tongue. Zexion surges forward for a kiss before Lexaeus can say anything. There's no need to speak when he knows Lexaeus will agree with him.
All their calculated observing from a distance results in nothing. They watch as their poacher falls into a river and perishes down a waterfall with a dozen crocodiles close behind, hungry for his beating heart.
Lexaeus rises from the rocks they've been hiding behind as Zexion shakes his head. With little else to compete, Zexion realizes that the poacher's darkness smelled far more strongly than it truly was.
"Useless." Zexion straightens from their hiding spot, glaring over to where the boy and his mice companions (three now, the new one with a bounce in each step) are fleeing. The truck has only a few jugs of water left, the rest spent on Zexion's attempts to wash away the itchy sensation that the red dirt here rubs on his skin.
"It's not ideal for us to leave here with nothing," Lexaeus says pointedly.
Zexion swallows dryly, sensing a flare of nervous energy coursing up his spine. It's more apparent than ever that their veteran status means little with Number VII glaring down at their reports, searching for the most minuscule of details to highlight about their performance. It should be fine, he tries to tell himself, even when Lexaeus attempts to imply otherwise without explicitly disagreeing, that the ties within the Organization are loosening each day they pretend to exist. Lexaeus crosses his arms, turning away from watching the young boy and standing directly in Zexion's line of sight. Zexion is used to Lexaeus being so physically close, but the positioning seems rather odd. Consuming, even.
"There's always the boy," Zexion notes after several moments. "The light reeking off him, and his golden pet...they may be worth even more. Let's find them."
The sickly energy dissolves in his gut, refreshing his body like a second wind, clearing his brilliant mind as it reassembles their situation to their advantage. Lexaeus nods stiffly, fists curled tight at his sides. Zexion assumes it's nothing, because Lexaeus says nothing otherwise to the new plan.
The late sun is brutal against his face as they hike up the canyon, following the flaring trail that their boy and eagle leave behind. Following the scent of light is so much more risky for beings like them, and it burns inside Zexion's lungs whenever he tries to find their new targets' positions. Lexaeus eventually grabs onto his arm, guiding him up the rocky ledges and onto the wide cliffs overlooking the painterly canyon.
It would be breathtaking, if it were possible for Nobodies like them. Zexion pretends to appreciate what he can of the scenery, as he certainly has no plans to ever come back to this place. The Heartless are easily mistaken and manipulated, but their avoidance of this world proves they are more aware of their situation than normally expected.
The boy and the bird are safe within the hidden crooks of the cliffsides, their mice friends probably not far behind. Zexion brushes his bangs back and holds out a trembling hand. The space between his ribs ache, sore from the harsh air, sore from bumping chests against Lexaeus each day they've been here.
"Do you see it, Lexaeus?" He twists his outstretched hand into a fist. Lexaeus gives no response, which is suitable. Zexion is sure that his companion is on the same track of mind. With the last threat of darkness gone from this world, the boy's light has become blinding.
"Why wait for our Number XIII and the Keyblade Hero?" he continues after a few silent moments. "This one could be nurtured wonderfully within our grasp."
It would be just like a little prodigy, young enough to be molded by those around him, nurtured and challenged by his fellow colleagues into becoming someone even greater. Zexion's fingers stretch out again, wispy trails of black smoke beginning to curl around each knuckle.
"Let us see how he handles the darkness, shall we?"
Full of bright hopes, his thoughts recite, taken from the torn novel pages that he'd finally picked off the truck floor that morning, all unconscious of the great shadow that was even then hovering over us.
The blood-orange sun dims suddenly, but not from the dark power bubbling over his fingertips as he would have expected. Lexaeus has stepped in his way, mere inches away from Zexion's hand, blocking the line of sight up to where the bright boy and his winged creature rest unaware. The Schemer frowns, head tilting as though it'll help him see around the massive body before him. Purple fumes continue to steam off his hand and nip at his fingertips – a reminder that darkness could rip him apart at any moment. Zexion assumes the twisted feeling in his gut must be a result of that, and not from his companion hindering his progress, because any other reason would be impossible.
"What is this?" The corners of Zexion's mouth strain downward. "I realize there is plenty of room out here, but you're in my way."
Lexaeus stares down at his boots for several moments before speaking for the first time since they began hiking up the canyon, his voice low and rumbling.
"I don't want you to have any regrets."
Zexion feels his jaw drop when the words finally register in his mind, body reacting in what would be shock and offense if the rest of him were able to follow. The dark tendrils around his fingers fade away, disappearing with the low wind.
"Re...regrets?" Zexion places his hand over his chest and barks out a near-hysterical laugh, the sound echoing between the towering rocks. "Listen to yourself, Lexaeus! I would expect someone like Number IX to pretend to have such a bleeding heart. Please, do explain how testing a mere boy will keep me up for nights to come."
The Hero cranes his neck towards where the boy and bird are nestled hundreds of feet above. Silence settles heavily between them; Zexion's heel scrapes slightly at the earth just to break how quiet it is, and pretends that the gesture comes off as merely displaying impatience.
"It may not happen now," Lexaeus finally states, turning to him once more. "But it can for Ienzo."
The snide smile drops from Zexion's lips. How easy it is to forget what they were before, abandoning names in a way that makes it almost startling to hear them again. What about Ienzo, really? Lexaeus surely remembers the little prodigy as one so willing to sacrifice so much more than a single life for the sake of progress.
Zexion swallows dryly, feeling the dusty air scratch at his throat. Lexaeus' shadow stretches out enough to envelop the Schemer entirely, dark and solid in its place.
"Lexaeus..." He resists the urge to cough, the hand on his chest curling into a fist. "Move."
Lexaeus stays rooted in his spot, staring down at his comrade with an impassive expression, the sun dipping lower and hiding behind his massive shoulders.
Out in the canyon before them, a bird's victorious cry echoes across the chasms and rings in Zexion's ears.
The boy and his majestic winged creature become thoughts of the past by the time they enter the truck and return the way they came. They've lost track of the brave little mice friends too, another failure to detail on the report that Saix will no doubt insist they fill out meticulously to explain why such upstanding members of the Organization had to spare three days for one simple mission for one simple target. There's no real need to travel by vehicle anymore when all that's keeping them from the Castle is a simple tear through the dark corridors.
Zexion knows why they continue to drive. He lets his head rest against the door, the road still too bumpy to sleep when he's pretending to be exhausted. They haven't spoken since being at the canyon, and Lexaeus' stony silence has never been so apparent to him before.
His eyes droop downward, focusing on the torn novel pages resting on the seat. His gaze struggles to follow a sentence, and each time he tries to read, his eyes keep catching one line only: the great Shadow, closing in on us, flung wide those gates of Death once more...
He crushes the pages in his fist before he can continue reading, smashing the paper into a ball and throwing it onto the truck floor. Lexaeus doesn't look toward him, even when Zexion huffs and shifts back in his seat to rest his head.
Zexion doesn't realize he actually has been nodding off until the truck stops suddenly, the force jerking his head forth and grinding his teeth together. He jolts upright, eyes wide and bewildered, seeing Lexaeus open his own door and toss the keys behind him onto the seat. The Hero walks around the front of the truck to get to Zexion's side and yanks open his door.
They stare at each other, desert dust creeping into Zexion's eyes and making them water at the corners. He shakes his head, digging his fingertips over his eyelids until the irritation passes, then continues staring at the massive man before him. For a man who often says little, Lexaeus always makes it evident when he has something to say.
Lexaeus finally parts his lips and heaves a slow breath.
"Not every warrior gets to decide on whether a child lives or not."
Zexion's eyebrows raise high. Perhaps old memories first made him think that a lecture was incoming, something resembling Even's insistence on snatching test tubes out of Ienzo's hands and reminding him on proper technique of handling dangerous elements for at least the third time that day.
(And then Aeleus would reach for the tubes on the highest shelves when Even turned away, handing them back with an unusual delicacy for a soldier. Occasionally Aeleus would throw in some moral quip for Ienzo to follow, if only to keep the fellow Apprentices content until they accepted him as their own. And it worked.)
Zexion drops his gaze, any faked frustration in his chest crumbling down like a sand dune.
"I don't recall Aeleus being in that kind of situation."
"Aeleus made sure it wouldn't happen once Ienzo arrived."
Zexion draws in a trembling breath, feeling dirt collect in his lungs. Of course only years later does it make sense, after witnessing from the Garden balconies countless attempts of breaking in by the similarly-young Lea and Isa, only to be thrown from the gates each time, harmless save for sore backsides hitting the walkway tiles. Surely, Ienzo declared to Aeleus in the secluded halls on multiple occasions, the Guards may as well spare themselves the trouble and simply get rid of the boys permanently.
Aeleus always gave silence as his response to those suggestions.
Zexion looks aimlessly at the dangling coat chains over Lexaeus' chest. Separating their past selves blurs together for him for a rare moment. "Could I have been the child whose fate you couldn't choose?"
"It could have happened." Lexaeus takes a step back, deliberately freeing space for Zexion to step out of the truck. "After you came, all I could think of..."
Zexion closes his eyes, knowing exactly what Lexaeus intends to say. What if this were not some random, faceless child, but Ienzo in his place?
He slides one leg off the seat and steps onto the auburn earth below them. The other leg slowly follows until he's standing up just as solidly as Lexaeus. His hands rise and lay flat over the Hero's chest, and although there's no warm heartbeat to feel beneath his palms, Zexion can pretend one exists anyway, just for a second.
"You...are remarkably good at making someone feel human."
"We're not there yet." Lexaeus' hands also rise, covering Zexion's entirely.
"True, technically not, I suppose." Zexion closes the small distance between them, resting his forehead on the backs of Lexaeus' hands in a silent vow. "Take us back."
"Yes."
Dark waves curl around them and drop them into the depths toward the empty Castle, to their own Never-Never they pretend to call home.