Stockholm Syndrome

More abusive AkuZeku for your enjoyment.

Summary: "A situation in which a captive comes to trust their captors, no matter how untrustworthy their captor may actually be." An AkuZeku drabble, set some time before "I Wish That You Were Only Mine."

WARNINGS: Same old, same old. Sadist!Axel, Masochist!Zexion. Except that Masochist!Zexion is possibly at his least passive in this fic (particularly near the end...watch those f-bombs, Zeckers!). Abuse, sadism, slash, very bad language, more weirdness, complete and utter pointlessness, and actually a bit of bizarre sardonic humor. Which is the scariest thing about this whole mess.

Notes: I have no idea why, but this story just gives off a vague humorous vibe, at least to me. It's definitely a lot more light-hearted than "I Wish That You Were Only Mine" and "A Relationship Of Equals" (that one is just...) I suppose I just needed to blow off steam after writing those two massive piles of angst, so here comes this more light-hearted (and curse-word-filled) piece of work that I think intended to showcase more of Axel and Zexion's everyday interactions. Not to mention some random philosophical musing that goes nowhere, and...well. You'll see. This is essentially what you call a drabble, I believe, although it's a bit on the long side.

But remember kids, domestic abuse is bad! And Axel's a jerk who deserves a restraining order! And Zexion needs a therapist! Right? Right? Good, glad to see we're clear on that!

At long last, I have conceded defeat. I shall never be able to write a fluffy Zemyx. Not when screwed-up AkuZeku is so much more damn fun to write (and I'm sure, to read). So read on...if you dare.

"Stockholm Syndrome," said Axel, flipping the page of the book spread in his lap.

"What about it?" said Zexion, his reply dull and uninterested. Axel couldn't see Zexion but didn't need to--he could feel the other Nobody's arms draped over his shoulders, as light and insubstantial as Zexion's weight was. And Zexion's hair, light, almost tickling, against the back of his neck.

"Stockholm Syndrome," repeated Axel. He cast a bored look at the yellowing page in his lap before turning it again. "You know what that is?"

A slightly muffled, short and impatient laugh from Zexion. The tickling softness of Zexion's hair moved back and forth--he was shaking his head. "Don't make me laugh."

Axel couldn't help it: "I just did."

Zexion made a noise that may or may not have been "Idiot." Axel ignored the supposed insult and turned the page of his book with one hand, while reaching around his shoulder with the other and sinking it into Zexion's hair. Zexion tensed, but only for a moment, and then relaxed with a sigh, nuzzling the crook of Axel's neck with his face again.

Axel ran his fingers through Zexion's hair. It was soft and very fine, so light it felt like it was barely there. Almost like Axel was running his hands through nothing--but that was, he reflected, what he was basically doing. Zexion was absolutely nothing, and so was Axel. They were the merest of mere shells, empty nobodies who did not even deserve to exist...but by some freak, by some caprice, by desperation alone, they did exist.

Musing about existence was rather depressing, but being with Zexion inevitably inspired such musings in Axel. He had no idea why--maybe it was because he felt that Zexion was even more nothing than Axel was, than most of the other Organization members were. Maybe it was because how thin and pale he was. How little his weight mattered. Axel had carried books he was sure were heavier than Zexion. He had no idea how Zexion managed to be so meager, so insubstanial. Almost like a ghost, not a living, breathing being. As much as a Nobody could be called a living, breathing, being...

"Yes, I do know what Stockholm Syndrome is." Axel jolted, startled--he had been too absorbed in his musings, too absorbed in lightly tugging on the weightless strands of Zexion's hair, that hearing Zexion's voice, sharp with reproach, came as a surprise.

"Hmm, oh, really?" he said. He turned the page of his book again, still pretending to be paying only the most cursory attention to Zexion. But of course he wasn't--he was fully aware of Zexion, of the other Nobody's barely-there weight, of the other Nobody's soft hair against his neck. "Then, Zexion, tell me."

"I do not know how--" began Zexion, none of the reproach having left his voice, but then he switched gears and said, simply, flatly, "A situation in which a captive comes to trust their captors, no matter how untrustworthy their captor may actually be. Your point is...?"

"Nothing much," hummed Axel, staring up at the ceiling. He dug his fingers into Zexion's ghost hair, tugging hard on the strands. "I was just thinking--"

Zexion interrupted, his voice cold and harsh--but light, oh so light, so light and soft and barely there. "If you believe that Stockholm Syndrome applies to our situation--"

It was Axel's turn to interrupt. "Of course. Look, Zexion--I've been doing some thinking. About me and you. About why...why the hell you're still sticking around."

Zexion tensed--Axel felt it, felt how Zexion's thin arms tightened, and he heard Zexion's sudden sharp intake of breath. Axel waited for Zexion to speak, but when nothing came, he continued.

"Like, why don't you just give up on me already? I've never given you any reason to stay, none, none at all--zero, zip, zilch, nada. If you were sane you'd have ditched me a long time ago."

A low, derisive snort from the still-tense Zexion. Axel waited, again, for more, but Zexion seemed content to let Axel continue. Which was a surprising first, but that suited Axel just fine.

"But I know now. It's Stockholm Syndrome, isn't it? You trust me because you have no other choice. I--hell, I didn't kidnap you but I did take over you, didn't I? And that's why you're still with me, because you've grown to trust me. Despite yourself. Because you've known nothing but me. Is that right?"

Axel waited for seemingly an eternity. When Zexion spoke, his voice was a low mumble, so low that Axel could barely hear--but he could feel it, a tense vibration against the back of his neck.

"You fool."

Axel's response was instinctive--he tightened his grip on Zexion's hair and pulled, hard. Pulled as hard as he possibly could on the thin, weightless strands, so hard he was startled that the hair didn't just pull off in his hand, like so many ghostly threads.

It was telling of their relationship--of all the years--that Zexion's only reply was an annoyed hiss. He would have shouted, he would have protested, he would have even spat in Axel's face for that. Before, before everything went to shit. Before Stockholm Syndrome settled in, full-force.

"What the hell do you mean? It's true, isn't it?" His tone changed, from angry, to cajoling. "It's true. You're only with me because you're fucked up in the head. That must explain it--why you still tolerate everything, even if you logically shouldn't. You--"

"Logic is the keyword, VIII," said Zexion, his voice dull, flat, and emotionless--but with the faintest, the faintest of faintest, of tense edges. "As is trust. I am a Nobody, VIII, and so are you. Logically I can feel nothing. Logically I trust nothing. I trust nothing but logic. I do not trust you."

This was a non-reply and it made little sense. Still, Axel sensed it was the best he was going to get out of Zexion, so he ran a hand through Zexion's hair one more time (this time gingerly, carefully, mindful of what he had just done), and then turned back to the book on his lap.

"You little bitch," he sighed, as he turned the page. Zexion's hair, on, the back of his neck, shifted, ever-so-slightly, ever-so-ticklingly. "One of these days I'm gonna get you to admit the truth."

There was no reply, save the gentle, regular, puffs of Zexion's breath on the back of Axel's neck. Axel flipped the page of the book again, disinterestedly.

"My, my, I'm a bit surprised." Zexion's voice came dry and sardonic. "I mean...you, of all people. Reading?"

"Aw, shut up," said Axel, though he wasn't very offended. He turned the book so that Zexion, leaning over Axel's shoulder, could have a better look at the cover. "It's a very interesting book."

"...'Semicondutor Packaging: A Multidisciplinary Approach'," recited Zexion, none of the dryness leaving his voice. "Ah, of course. How idiotic of me. It's obvious that you would be fascinated by such an entertaining opus. Look, it even has pictures." One thin, black-gloved finger reached out and prodded a complicated diagram at the very bottom of the page Axel had been "reading".

"Yeah, yeah," said Axel, rudely turning the page. "I don't make fun of your reading material, so quit making fun of mine."

"Hmm," said Zexion, though his voice was no less derisive than it had been before. "You're reading it rather quickly, aren't you?"

"Well, who knows?" said Axel, allowing an impish smirk to cross his face as he turned the page again. "Maybe I'm just a devilishly fast reader and you never noticed it before."

"Or maybe you're just an idiot." Zexion's voice was low, and entrancing, and his tongue, tracing a path along the curve of Axel's ear, was soft and warm and wet--but just as light and insubstantial as the rest of him. The smirk slowly morphed into a genuine smile, and Axel removed one hand from the edge of the book to circle around his shoulder and rest, with the utmost delicacy, on the top of Zexion's head. He ran his fingers, slowly and gently, through the hair, feeling its lack of substance even through his gloves.

"So, Zexion, what brings you here?" said Axel, snapping shut the book with a decisively loud pop. He felt Zexion give a little jolt, startled by how loud the noise was, and Axel did his best to resist the urge to laugh.

"What the hell do you mean?" mumbled Zexion. His hands, Axel noticed, were fiddling now with the zipper of Axel's coat. Axel removed his other hand from the book and clenched Zexion's wrist, tightly, putting a stop to the hand's mindless teasing. He held on and didn't let go, although he was certain he was bruising Zexion's wrist, even through the leather of the coat.

Somehow, that thought just made Axel feel diabolically satisfied.

"You know what I mean," said Axel, above Zexion's hissed sputterings of pain. So the boy didn't mind when Axel pulled on his hair but hated it when Axel was squeezing his wrist? Fair enough. "Why'd you come in here for the first place? You usually never come unless I summon you. So. What's on your mind?"

"Oh, the usual," said Zexion with a mad little laugh. And the kid still insisted he was sane. "The knowledge of the emptiness, the nothingness that is eating me--and you, I know you--inside, the hope, as much as you and I can feel hope, that we will be complete again someday, the--"

Axel interrupted. "That's not what I meant," he said, sharply. The hand around Zexion's wrist tightened. Zexion unleashed a startled gasp.

"That stuff goes without saying," continued Axel when he encountered no verbal resistance, just Zexion convulsing and squirming and trying to shake off Axel's relentless, painful grip, but to no avail. "No, what I want to know is...what're you thinking about you and I? The two of us. There's something bothering you, isn't there?"

"That would be an emotion that I cannot--gaah!"

Perhaps Axel was being a little rude, constantly interrupting Zexion as he was. But still, a visceral part of him couldn't help but think Zexion very much deserved the slap he had just received.

"Zexion, as much as I know you love this tangent--" Axel gave Zexion's wrist a tight squeeze "--would it kill you to give it up, just this once? Come on, now. What's bothering you?"

Zexion laughed again, a dry sardonic chuckle that was muffled somewhat, since Zexion was burying his face into Axel's shoulder. "Why are you so insistent that something's bothering me?"

"Of course something is," said Axel impatiently. He didn't have time for Zexion's idiotic little games, and he let Zexion know this by pulling on Zexion's hair, with the hand that wasn't currently holding the other Nobody's wrist in a vice grip. "Like I said before, you came here of your own volition. Which is...kind of unusual, coming from you, especially. Care to tell me what's up?"

A long silence on Zexion's part. Axel almost hit Zexion again just to get the answer out of him, but thankfully he didn't need to resort to such drastic measures, as Zexion spoke again, his words barely audible, muffled as they were by the leather of Axel's coat.

"Nothing, really. I just wanted..."

Zexion paused, a bit too long for Axel's liking. Axel tried to turn to get a better look at Zexion's face, but all he saw was the slate-blue mess of the younger boy's hair. He reached out and patted Zexion's head, once, twice. And waited.

At long last Zexion was considerate enough to grace Axel with a reply. "I just wanted..." Another long pause. "I just wanted...you, I guess."

"Me? Little old me?" The next instant, before Zexion could have a chance to comprehend what was going on, Axel had seized both of Zexion's wrists and flipped the smaller Nobody over on to the bed. Zexion landed on his back with a muffled whump sound, but didn't have a chance to recover before Axel had straddled him and pinned him to the bed.

"Axel--" began Zexion, a faint warning note in his voice. Although Axel couldn't fathom what Zexion of all people could be threatening to do. Hitting Axel on the head with his book? Ha ha, fat chance, not when Zexion was currently pinned and helpless on the bed. Axel gave Zexion his best wide, roguish smirk.

"You really are suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, you poor, deluded little boy!" He laughed, wildly, and rather impolitely. Zexion's pale face flushed bright red, but anything he said was lost as an incoherent sputter, so Axel continued. "No--don't you dare even try to deny it. Come on! I'm the guy who you hate. Didn't you used to spit in my face and swear at me all the damn time? What happened to that you?"

"Don't twist my words around, you motherfucker--" began Zexion, but again, Axel interrupted.

"See! Just like that! Why don't you do that more often these days?" He grinned down at Zexion--Zexion exactly like how Axel enjoyed him. Flushed, pinned, helpless, trapped...and forced to listen to the truth. "Have you given up? Or...have you begun to trust your captor, Zexion?"

"That is nonsense, Axel," growled Zexion. "You're being a fool."

Axel's only response to this was to smirk widely down at the helpless Zexion, before leaning down and stealing a kiss. He pressed his lips against Zexion's for only a brief moment--barely long enough to give Zexion a chance to realize what was happening to him, and certainly not long enough for Zexion to return the kiss--before pulling away again. Because he felt like it, he flicked Zexion playfully on the nose, earning a low snarl of reproach from Zexion.

"What's the matter, Zexion? You want more?" said Axel, moving his hand to Zexion's coat zipper. He gave the zipper a casual flick, before reaching out and stroking Zexion's cheek, once, twice, feeling the softness of the pale skin even through his leather gloves. "You said you wanted 'me'. Well, here I am, Zex. Have a piece of me."

He pressed down, hard, on Zexion's cheek. Zexion unleashed a tiny whimper of pain, but never removed his eyes from Axel, never relented in his intense, dark-eyed scrutiny of Axel, his controller, his captor. What was in those eyes--? Anger, definitely. Indignity, impatience, irritation.

Fear. Self-loathing. Conflict.

Desire.

"And you say you can't feel a thing..." murmured Axel, so low he wasn't even sure he had spoken. He laughed and stroked Zexion's cheek one final time, before pulling away and resuming his upright position on the bed. The dull semiconductor book lay open beside him--he gave it a shove, and it clattered on the floor.

"Axel!" Ah, classic Zexion--he couldn't stand to see any book, no matter how wondrously dull, abused. That had never changed, even after all these years, even after Stockholm Syndrome.

Axel cut off whatever indignant tirade Zexion was going to embark on by grabbing Zexion by the front of the coat and pulling him into a kiss. Again he gave Zexion no chance to respond--he just dove in brutally, his tongue stabbing at the back of Zexion's throat, before pulling out and giving Zexion a playful wink, which Zexion returned with a glare.

"Is that enough of 'me'?" said Axel.

"No, you son of a bitch," growled Zexion. By now he had taken a seat on the bed again, and was fixing Axel with a fierce glare. Axel scratched his head and plopped down ungracefully beside Zexion. He moved his hand to cover Zexion's--Zexion jerked, startled, but did nothing to pull away.

"What's that mean? You said you wanted 'me', didn't you?" said Axel, feeling a bit annoyed. He tightened his grip on Zexion's hand, causing Zexion to convulse and make a cursory attempt at pulling away, but this just caused Axel to tighten his grip. He turned to face Zexion but Zexion had turned stubbornly away, so Axel could see nothing but Zexion's shock of slate-colored hair. He sighed, reached up, and ran a hand through that hair again.

"Well, maybe," said Zexion, his tone reluctant, grudging. "But not...not in that way." He turned around ever-so-slightly and fixed Axel with a fierce glare, that actually startled Axel--such was the intensity of the anger smoldering in his eyes.

"Then what?" sighed Axel, shaking his head. "Man, Zex, you're just such a--"

"And you're an idiot," snarled Zexion, actually jabbing at Axel's face with a quivering finger. Axel jerked back, too startled to do anything in response. "You're an idiot, insisting that the only reason I'm with you is because I'm fucked up in the head. Well, fuck Stockholm Syndrome, Axel--has it ever occurred to you that I choose be with you because I want to? Of my own volition?"

He went on, not giving Axel any room to answer. "You don't understand it. That's fine. I don't understand it. As I've said many times before I shouldn't even feel a single damn thing about you. But--well, fuck logic, too. Logic cannot explain why I continue to want to be with you, even though logically I know I should have broken up with you a long time ago. I know that, Axel. But I'm still sleeping in your bed, aren't I? Even after all the shit you've put me under, you goddamn motherfucking--"

That was when Axel finally got fed up and slapped Zexion, hard, twice across the face.

He had hit Zexion coldly, deliberately, like he always did--Axel never hit out of rage, only out of the intent to punish. Well, he didn't know if there was a difference between that and blind rage, but who could fault him, emotionless being that he was? It was purely typical, on Axel's side. This was how he always hit Zexion.

But much to Axel's surprise, Zexion did not immediately throw himself at Axel's feet and bow and scrape and apologize, nor did he get angry. In fact, he laughed--that was right, threw his head back and let out a long, loud, harsh and wild burst of laughter, despite the fact that his lip was bleeding. Axel could only stand there, head swimming in surprise, his hand having fallen back to his side, now stinging somewhat from the force he'd used.

"Uh...Zexion?" he said, very slowly, very carefully.

"Ha ha ha--heh...ha ha ha..." The last peals of Zexion's harsh, horrible laughter died away, and he lowered his head, his slate-colored hair cascading around his face, hiding it from scrutiny. He looked back up soon enough, though, and he was...he was smiling, a cold, starkly ironic smirk. Axel met Zexion's smirk with a perfectly blank stare back.

"You idiot," said Zexion, the last hint of his laugh ringing in his voice. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"Huh? What?" Much to Axel's shame, he couldn't utter anything more coherent than this. He was still too shocked by Zexion's frankly bizarre behavior to do anything vaguely intelligent.

"That," smirked Zexion, wiping at the blood on his lip. "That's all I wanted from you, Axel you fool. All along...when I said I wanted you, I really meant..."

He paused, but then stood up and wrapped his arms around Axel's torso. Axel jolted, surprised at the feeling of Zexion's thin, insubstantial arms encircling him, but relaxed and returned the gesture, placing a hand on Zexion's back. Zexion buried his face into Axel's coat for a long, long time, and Axel responded by running one hand through the ghostly strands of Zexion's hair, while placing another hand firmly on Zexion's slender back. He was aware that Zexion was shaking but didn't know if it was from distress or silent laughter.

After what felt like eternity, Zexion finally looked back up. The smirk had not left his face, but now it had acquired a more bitter, hard-edged quality. He said:

"I really meant...that I wanted you to punish me."

Silence. All Axel could do was stand there, holding tightly on to Zexion, his breath caught in his throat, any words that he might have said unable to come out. But only for a moment. He recovered, soon enough. When he did, he found it all too easy to allow an insidious smirk to slowly spread across his face, and it was even easier to reach out and sink his hand into Zexion's soft, substance-less hair, and tug hard on the delicate strands, hauling Zexion up by a tight grip on his hair so that the two Nobodies were eye-to-eye.

"Well, well, Zexion," said Axel, tightening his grip on Zexion's hair and smirking when Zexion unleashed a sharp hiss of pain, "why didn't you just tell me that?"

If Zexion was going to reply, Axel would never know, because with that he smothered Zexion into yet another deep, passionate, bruising, and entirely one-sided kiss. Before Zexion could begin to respond to the kiss Axel had pulled away, and winked nefariously at Zexion before shoving the smaller boy down hard on the bed. Zexion gasped, winded by the suddenness of the gesture, but before he could begin to figure out what was going on Axel had climbed on top of him.

"Stockholm Syndrome or not, I guess it really doesn't matter, does it?" said Axel, and he gave Zexion his best grin yet before seizing Zexion's coat zipper between his thumb and forefinger, and jerking it down.

The End

No, I will never write an actual smutty scene, so you'll have to do with me chopping off right before one. I wonder how long I can continue to employ this tactic...?

If you actually enjoyed this mess of weirdness, pointlessness, bad language, and dull semiconductor books (believe it or not, that book is an actual book sitting on my office bookshelf. Hey, can I help what my parents read?), then a review or two would be very much appreciated.