So, this is my first chapter fic in years, but I'm getting tired of oneshots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it again. Thanks go out to Placidmage, for encouraging me and saying that the idea didn't suck, and also for being my beta for this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters, and I'm not making any money off this story anyway so please don't sue me...

Chapter One—The 13th Order

"I'll let you, just this once, because I know how responsible you are."

Roxas stood on the curb, looking at the car. It was a black Porsche, the nicest car his family had ever owned. His mother's car. She had put in overtime to be able to make the payments. It was her dream car, everything she had ever wanted in a vehicle.

"Remember, be careful and drive safely."

A wheel detached itself and rolled leisurely towards the curb, stopping at his feet.

"Maybe, if you prove yourself this time, I'll let you borrow it again in the future."

If it burst into flames, Roxas thought, would crying be an appropriate response? Freshmen in college shouldn't cry, he knew, but it seemed like a better option than going back and telling his mother that he had totaled her car the very first time he'd borrowed it. He winced at the thought.

The best part was that it wasn't even his fault. He hadn't just been careful when driving it, he had been careful to the point of paranoia. He had checked obsessively before changing lanes, he had made sure to put on his signals five minutes before he turned, he had never taken his eyes off the road for a second.

But when that red Volvo had sped through the light at the exact moment that Roxas had chosen to cross the intersection, it was all he could do to avoid a head-on collision. Unfortunately, when he swerved to avoid the car he had ended up skidding into a concrete telephone pole instead. He hadn't been going that fast. There was no way the car should have been damaged beyond repair.

Standing on the curb looking at it, however, it occurred to Roxas that it was a miracle he hadn't been damaged beyond repair. The car had been transformed into a twisted, crumpled hunk of metal that more closely resembled a wadded up ball of paper than a luxury car.

The bastard in the Volvo hadn't even stopped.

Well, thought Roxas grimly, at least he was still alive.

He looked again at the car.

For now.

--

"ROXAS!"

Roxas started, jerking his head up from the book he was reading and slamming his skull against the headboard of his bed in the process.

"Geez, Mom," he answered, rubbing his head and wincing, "what is it?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man!" his mother's voice scolded, rather loudly he guessed since it sounded like she was yelling from the bottom of the stairs. He rolled his eyes. Two weeks and she was still pissed off. Not that he blamed her for being upset over the car—he had been pretty upset too, and it hadn't even belonged to him. He was kind of annoyed that she didn't believe him when he said there was nothing he could have done to prevent the accident, though.

"Your brother is leaving in half an hour, so you need to get ready," she continued. Roxas frowned. Where was he supposed to be going, exactly? He had been grounded from stepping outside the house without supervision—a college student, grounded! The indignity of it!—and she had confiscated his driver's license, so it wasn't like he could sneak out and go anywhere on his own, not even in the other car, a rundown Honda. The way she had laid down the law, the only place it looked like he would ever be allowed to go was…

Oh no. That wasn't today, was it?

"Roxas," he heard her mother say warningly. "This is your first day on the job and you cannot be late."

"Yes, Mom," he said automatically, putting his book down and searching frantically for a calendar. He could have sworn that he was supposed to start work tomorrow. Of course, after spending two weeks of his summer vacation cooped up in the house doing virtually nothing the days started to blur together into one long eternity of staring at the wall.

"It wasn't easy to get this job for you, you know," she said darkly, as Roxas finally found his desk calendar and scowled at the day circled in red. "If you get fired you might not find another one this summer."

"Yes, Mom," he said again, sighing. The threat in her words was clear—if he didn't have a decent job he was going to be doing chores for petty cash for the rest of his life.

"If you mess this up, Roxas, I'll be very disappointed in you."

Disappointed? Was that supposed to be a threat? Roxas shook his head despairingly at no one. He wasn't supposed to be scared of a disappointed parent, was he? He'd already heard the most horrible words he could possibly imagine when she'd looked at him the day he wrecked the Porsche and said that he had to pay for the damage from his own pocket.

"You've got twenty minutes, Roxas! Don't forget to thank your brother for driving you!" she yelled, and he thought he heard her steps receding into the kitchen.

Roxas didn't bother answering. He picked up the uniform his brother had fetched for him, and stared for a moment at the blinding checkered pants. The pattern was almost mesmerizing, in a masochistic sort of way. It was like it was impossible to tear your eyes away until they started bleeding.

He shook his head and started changing. At least when he was wearing it he didn't have to look at it.

As he ran down the stairs twenty minutes later, he consoled himself with the fact that however torturous his new job was, it couldn't possibly be as bad as mowing lawns until he was fifty.

Right?

--

The 13th Order was one of the best restaurants in town. It wasn't very big, and it never drew a particularly large crowd, but it was the first place that citizens thought of when they planned for a large dinner or a formal occasion. The food was delicious, if expensive, and after the invasion of fast food shops and chain restaurants, it seemed like the one establishment left that still had charm and atmosphere.

There was certainly nowhere else like it.

Situated on the outskirts of town in a large, rambling building that might have been an old house in its past life, The 13th Order sat atop a small hill that afforded it the best view in town. At sunset diners were never disappointed with the rich display of colors that decorated the clouds. After dark, the city glittered like a second night sky.

Reservations needed to be booked months in advance.

Getting a job there was even harder.

Roxas stared up at the elegant sign, at a loss. His brother had dropped him off, pointed out the backdoor to the kitchen, and then left to start work. Roxas had never worked in a restaurant before. He had no idea who he was supposed to talk to, or where he was supposed to go. He felt stupid just standing there in his uniform, though, so he decided that actually going into the kitchen would probably be better than just standing at the door looking confused. It was only mid-afternoon, so there weren't many customers, but he didn't want to take a chance on whether or not his checkered pants were capable of hypnotizing wildlife as well as people. The last thing he wanted on his first day of work was to be mauled by a squirrel or something.

Cautiously, he pushed open the door. No one dropped anything or threw knives at him, so he took this as a signal to continue, and stepped inside.

Despite the restaurant's unconventional façade, the kitchen looked sleek and modern. Shining metal counters, giant steaming pots, racks of spices and ingredients, and pots and pans, some full of food and some empty, greeted his curious eyes. He could distinctly hear the sound of chopping, as well as the sizzle of a grill. He could see a few people standing around the counters in front of cutting boards and wondered if one of them was his boss and if he should interrupt them or not.

"Hey there, shortie!"

Roxas jumped a little and turned around to look at the person who had snuck up on him. Almost immediately, he regretted it. The guy looked like he had either fallen face first into a pit of spikes or had one too many accidents in the kitchen. The lithe little man was covered in scars, including one long gash down the side of his face that seemed to draw the onlooker's attention directly to his eye patch. He was grinning at Roxas in what the blond surmised was supposed to be a friendly way, but because of the scars it just came off as a mildly terrifying leer.

"You're the new kid, right?" said the apparition.

"U-uh, I—" Roxas stuttered, still unsure if the thing was even human.

"Alright, new kid," the guy said, ignoring Roxas' less than kind reaction, "let's getcha to the boss-man."

Still a little stunned, Roxas didn't even resist as the man dragged him away by the arm.

As he was whisked away, he tried to get a better look at the kitchen. He saw two sets of long gleaming counters, around which were standing two rather large, well-muscled men. Nearby the counters there were stacks of cutting boards and racks of knives. Around a corner he thought he caught a glimpse of stoves, a grill, and fire, but it was out of sight before he could really see anything else.

"Meeting by the office!" called the scarred man to the cooks as they went by. "Drop the knives first, Xaldin, thanks. Where the hell is Saїx? Lex, can you go find him? He should be here for this. And grab the pyro and the vegetable queen on the way back, yeah?"

The last things Roxas noticed before his captor shoved him through the door to what was apparently the office, was a large room filled with dirty pots, and a doorway that opened onto a rickety old staircase leading down into darkness.

"Hey, Mr. Manager," said the scarred man with a grin, shutting the office door behind them. "I brought the new kid. The others'll be here in a minute."

"Thank you, Xigbar," the sole occupant of the room replied stiffly. "We will introduce him to them momentarily."

The man stood from the high-backed chair he had occupied, and Roxas got his first look at his new boss: a tall, dignified looking man with long, silver hair and a regal air.

"Welcome," he said, "To The 13th Order."

--

"I have gathered you all here together today," said the manager, "to introduce you to our new employee."

Axel leaned against a counter and yawned, wondering if it were possible for Xemnas to talk any slower than he already did, or if the universe would implode from boredom if he even tried. He almost wished his boss would try it, if only because it would save him from hearing the rest of his speech.

"Due to necessity he will be starting today with on-the-job training," continued the owner and manager of The 13th Order. "I expect all of you to answer his questions and be as helpful as possible."

Tuning Xemnas out, Axel leaned over to look around the prep cooks at the fresh meat—err, new kid. He looked a little young to be working, about sixteen, but looks could be deceiving. He had a kind of sullen expression that looked almost comical under the floppy chef's hat everyone in the kitchen was required to wear. A few wisps of golden blond hair had escaped from the hat to fall into clear, blue eyes that, if Axel were the melodramatic type, he would say he had never seen the like of before on this earth. Of course, it would be a lie—he'd met at least two other people with eyes exactly the same color, and they both worked in the restaurant. But in his opinion, the new kid pulled it off a whole lot better, even if he did look like he was about to bite someone's head off.

He also looked ridiculously cute in an apron.

"…will recall, the last two cooks who filled this position were somewhat discontent," Xemnas was saying. "After a few… incidents…" he took the time to glare pointedly at Axel, who just snickered, "they found it more appealing to leave. I do hope that the incidents in question do not repeat themselves." Xemnas threw Axel another warning look, just to be clear. Axel grinned.

Xemnas sighed.

"Dismissed," he said.

"Finally," Axel murmured. He needed to get back to his job before something caught on fire—accidentally this time.

Walking back to the grill, he paused only to shake his head in general pity when he overheard the manager saying to the new kid "this is Marluxia, he'll be your immediate superior."

Poor kid. Axel had a feeling he was going to have to go over later that night and cheer him up.

The redhead grinned. Suddenly, the night's work looked like it would be a whole lot more fun.

--

Salad.

Roxas stared at the laminated book sitting on the counter in front of him.

Salad. He was supposed to make salad. He'd figured that much out when they told him he had been hired as the Salad Runner. Unfortunately, the weird, pink-haired guy—Marluxia, he thought the boss had named him—hadn't really told him anything else.

"My job is to prepare the ingredients for your little salads," he had said with a sneer, "not to babysit."

After that, he had taken Roxas to the section of the kitchen that was apparently supposed to be his work station, tossed a book at him, and left.

Roxas looked around. He was alone, further supporting the theory that this section of the kitchen belonged to him. It was built like a hallway, two metal walls of coolers and refrigerators with a section in the middle for a metal counter and what looked like long, thin window with no glass at about eye-level. In one corner of the window there sat a bulky black box that was plugged into the wall.

It was a cook's line, he realized, peering through the window. On the other side were trays, a soda fountain, pots of coffee, and other things that waiters might need. The waiters must use that part of the kitchen, he thought. They would give him orders for the salads he was supposed to make, and when they were finished he would put them in the window for them.

Pleased with himself for having figured this out by himself, he looked around again. The coolers lining his station held all sorts of things that could make salad. Various kinds of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheeses, croutons, and even some fruits were stored inside. One end of his little hallway led to the rest of the kitchen, a crossroads of sorts in which one turn would take him to the waiter's realm and another to the area where the prep cooks worked. Directly across from his salad line, however, was a room that he couldn't see into because of the large cloud of steam that was pouring out of it.

The room they washed dishes in, probably, Roxas thought, turning to investigate the other side. He couldn't see around the corner, but on the wall opposite him there were a few heavy, forbidding looking metal doors. Refrigerators, he thought, nodding. It was probably where they kept the extra food for when he ran out of his salad ingredients.

Finally, he looked down at the book. It was a black, laminated, spiral-bound piece of work that simply said "The 13th Order" on the cover. Turning the pages, however, Roxas realized that it held recipes, precise instructions, and even pictures of the salads he was supposed to be making. There were a lot of them, but most of them looked simple enough, and with the instructions they would be easy to make.

Roxas almost smiled. With the help of the book, maybe he didn't need Marluxia after all.

He read the book, cover to cover, trying to make sure he at least knew what the different dishes were called, before setting it aside and checking his watch.

It had been twenty minutes.

Roxas looked around again. Still no one there. It was like he'd been abandoned in a no-man's-land of lettuce.

He had familiarized himself with his surroundings. He had read through the recipe book.

What the hell was he supposed to be doing?

"Waiting for orders from the mother ship?"

"Gah!" Roxas gasped, jumping at the voice.

What was with these people and appearing out of nowhere? Either Roxas was being exceptionally oblivious today as well as insanely high-strung, or all the cooks at The 13th Order had taken lessons in stealth. He tried to calm himself down, turning to face… the brightest, greenest eyes he had ever seen.

Roxas blinked. Whoever this guy was, he stood out from the rest of the crowd. Aside from having eyes so green they had to have been radioactive, Roxas could tell even under the hat that his hair was the color of ketchup. Under his eyes there were two black, tear-shaped splotches that could have been tattoos or could have been grease marks. He was dressed differently from the others, too. While the rest of the cooks were wearing essentially the same thing Roxas was—a white chef's coat, an apron tied around the waist, and black and white pants that had to be some kind of optical illusion—the redhead had somehow managed to find the same clothes in all black. Black shirt, black pants, black shoes. The only exception was the apron, which he wasn't wearing at all, and the hat, which was exactly the same as Roxas' own floppy white abomination.

Suddenly, Roxas realized he was staring.

"Waiting for what?" he asked, hoping the guy hadn't noticed.

The redhead grinned.

"Orders," he said, gesturing at the black box sitting in the window. "Y'know, tickets from the waiters. They plug their orders into the computer, the ticket box regurgitates them to us, and we make the food. We put the food in the window and the waiters pick it up. Usually."

"Oh." He had been wondering what that thing was for.

"You're not going to get any, though," the redhead added. "Dinner doesn't start for another two hours. I'm one of the cooks, by the way. Name's Axel."

"I'm Roxas," said Roxas. He hesitated. "If dinner doesn't start for two hours," he said, "what do I do until then?"

Axel blinked.

"They really didn't tell you much, did they, kid?" he laughed. Roxas frowned at being called 'kid' but didn't say anything. "This restaurant is run kinda funny. We open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eight to ten, eleven to three, and five thirty to ten thirty. For the poor hungry idiots who missed lunch and just can't wait until dinner, though, there's a salad bar set up."

"Oh," Roxas nodded. "And I'm supposed to keep the salad bar stocked?" That made sense, actually. He had wondered why his job title had been a salad runner.

"Yep. Then at dinner you make the salad orders." Axel paused. "Actually," he said, "I think you're making desserts for us tonight, too. The last dessert kid got fired because he kept eating all the ice-cream."

"I'm working two jobs at once?"

Axel shrugged.

"It's not that bad," he said. "The second job's a piece of cake." He laughed. Roxas winced. That was terrible. "You'll do fine," Axel said. "I can already tell you're going to last longer than the last two guys."

"What happened to them?" Roxas asked curiously. All he knew was what the manager had said about incidents. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"Well," replied Axel, thinking, "the last kid cracked and walked out on the job. I think his last words were 'screw this, lamers.' The guy before that was moved to prep cooking." He glanced towards the end of the salad line. "I have to go," he said, waving cheerfully. "Duty calls."

When he reached the end of the line, however, he paused.

"Oh, and in case anybody tells you differently," he added, smirking, "I didn't mean to set his hair on fire—it was a complete accident."

Roxas gaped as the guy disappeared around the corner.

What had he gotten himself into?

Author's Note: Next Chapter, meet the night shift at The 13th Order and see how well Roxas adjusts to his new job. The main focus of this story will probably be Axel/Roxas, but for fans of the other charcters, don't worry! They haven't been introduced yet, but I have plans for Riku/Sora and a few other pairings as well.

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