Title: What Is Needed
Rating: PG/K+
Pairings, if any: Marluxia/Naminé and Repliku/Naminé
Summary: Naminé already knows the end to their tragic story.
Word Count: 2036
Warnings:Spoilers for CoM
A/N: Thanks so much to Ren for betaing this for me, for one. For other, ha, trying something new again. I love writing Naminé and Repliku, and even Marluxia being a bastard so this was both a pain and fun to write.
ALSO. Symbolism! It was fun to work it in, so uh, play the 'let's find the symbolism lol' gamecookies if you can find them all. :)
Marluxia and the Replica visited her nearly every day. Nise came to her at night, usually, sneaking into her room and coming to kneel wherever she sat, his arms on her thighs as he looked up at her. The warmth in the Replica's smile made a little piece of her not-heart ache a little bit more because she didn't deserve the kind of devotion that he showed her so willingly. The utter adoration and loyalty that he didn't bother to mask when it was just those two around killed her just a little bit more inside.
Marluxia came to her in the mornings, either waking her up with a gentle slide of fingers brushing back her bangs or letting her wake up to a single rose placed on the pillow beside her head. The flowers weren't normal flowers, however. At first, she had tried to put them in a vase of water, but no matter what she did the flower would lose petals throughout the day and wilt away, vanishing into dust by dusk- when Nise came to her. She wasn't quite sure why he did it; she'd never asked and she probably never would because it was Marluxia. She wasn't sure if she would like the answer or not.
Marluxia also brought her what she needed to make (break) Sora and things she didn't know she wanted, while the Replica brought her what she would have wanted if she had a heart, if she were real. Maybe, even, if he were wooing her as the princes in the fairytale books did. They did it with jewelry, with extravagant presents of money, of promises of power; Nise did it with the fairytale books, with little things from other worlds, with sweets, with the soft, innocent, adoring touch of his hand and the way he protected her.
And one day Nise brought her a book of enchanted creatures. She spent the whole day and night curled up in her bed with him, tucked securely against his side, the solid warmth of his arm around her shoulders. He had no bed of his own (all because he was the poor little fake boy and didn't need a bed) and quietly the spoke of fire-breathing dragons, of faeries, of elves, of creatures she couldn't even imagine because she was locked up in her tower above the world.
That morning, Marluxia didn't come but the next night she found a rose tucked in as a bookmark in the book on the white marble table. Next to it, was a small, square glass cage with a mesh top and inside a bright green moth, exactly like the one on the page of the enchanted creatures where the rose was. Gently, as if she was afraid that her touch would shatter the glass (because she shatters Sora's life bit by bit with each touch) she drew her fingers over it and wondered if she could hold it. Marluxia brought her the things she didn't know she wanted.
When the Replica came in that night, he touched the glass cage and watched green wings beat for a moment. Naminé was sitting at the table, crayon sliding over paper as she drew, blending blues and greens and yellows with her fingertips to try and replicate (oh, oh, wrong wording, her mind hissed) the color of the moth's wings. Warm hands rested on her nearly bare shoulders as Nise came up behind her, watching her draw until the picture was finished. Thumbs sliding over soft, pale skin, he watched her set the sketchbook on the table, her own hands coming up to rest over his as she sighed quietly.
They finished the book that night, with the Replica lying on her bed and Naminé tucked at his side again, her hand on his chest and head on his shoulder as she read. When it was done there was no amount of convincing and pleading that would make him stay longer as he quietly held her hands and told her he'd been there too long anyway. He had something to do, he soothed, stroking his fingers through her blonde hair, smoothing it back from her face to tuck it behind her ears. Resting her own fingers on the hard leather of his outfit, she stood up on the tips of her toes and kissed him gently, shivering when one of his arms slid around her shoulder to hold her there and the other rested at the small of her back.
He pulled away a moment later pressing a single kiss to her forehead and hugging her tightly. When she asked where he had to go, he only smiled that bitter little half-smile that she was sure she had given him along with those awful memories, and said he would watch Riku to find out how to beat him. Curling her arms around herself, she resisted the urge to just tell him the truth. You're not him, she wanted to say. Your memories, they're not your own and it's all my fault—
-- and instead, she touched his arm gently as he turned and left and she was curled up on her bed, knowing all the blankets in the world couldn't ease the chill away from her.
The second night after that, the Replica kissed her again and she realized that in his eyes was a little less innocence and a little more desire. Not understanding it (she had no heart to give him, only pain), she simply kissed him back and pressed close, breathing in the smell of leather and the tang of Darkness.
That night Marluxia came as she was sketching the moth, pulling her up by her arm and pushing a rose into her hand, taking advantage of her shock and surprise to kiss her once, twice and then pull away. There was a wicked, dangerous smirk curling his lips as he watched her stand there, thorns pricking her hands with how hard she clenched the rose. He was growing tired of sharing her, he informed her. And besides, the poor little replica wouldn't be around for much longer.
When Naminé went white as a sheet at that, he laughed and tried to kiss her again, only to have the edge of a blade pressed to his neck, hard enough to draw a drop of blood. Smiling wider, the edges jagged, he simply bowed and withdrew, waiting until the Replica's blade was lowered to attack, one smooth strike of his scythe sending a spatter of blood arcing across the ground. Naminé drew in a breath so sharp it made Nise's head jerk up, his eyes bright with anger, pain and worry- all emotions she knew she could never feel. Marluxia vanished a moment later leaving Naminé to hurry over and press slender white hands to the wound, blood stark against pale skin.
He was fine, he assured, his one hand completely covering both of her own as they tried to staunch the bleeding. Upon further looking, she realized it really wasn't that bad; it was a wicked slice, but only enough to cut skin and draw blood and nothing fatal. Bandaging it up, she quickly rinsed off the blood and then returned to where the boy was on her bed, eyes dark and lips twisted in a scowl that wasn't directed at her. She said nothing, only curled her knees under her on her bed and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing shakily. He'd protect her for forever, he informed her quietly, kissing her forehead and stroking his fingers through her hair gently. Forever and ever wasn't going to happen, she thought, turning her face and hiding it in his shoulder. It wasn't.
When she woke up in the morning, there was no rose in her hand, but there was a intricate glass lantern with a dozen fireflies in it, shielded from the sun by vines and flowers. Beside it was the book, open to the page of fireflies that had guided a girl out of a deadly forest in one of the fairytales.
The cycle continued for the longest time, up until one morning when Nise shifted in bed and got up, tucking her in securely. A few hours later, Naminé woke up to leather-clad hands gently laying a rose in the palm of her hand. Marluxia was smiling down at her, but the look in his eyes was mocking. He leaned down and pressed his ears to her lips, and told her the Replica was going to die soon. He was angry with the poor little fake boy, which was almost understandable because he was nothing if not horribly possessive.
When Marluxia tried to kill her and the Replica saved her, all she could do for the longest moment was swallow her fear and watch her beautiful broken knight.
Marluxia gave her the last rose a morning later, and Nise walked in not long after, eyes bright, to inform her that XI was deaddeaddead. A quick kiss on the lips, another on her forehead and then he was holding her tight. She could hear his heart beating oh so quickly with excitement, happiness and a whole other slew of emotions that she couldn't ever hope to feel so he'd have to do it for her. Exhaling shakily she shivered at the feel of his hands sliding up and down her back, large and warm and right (oh-so-wrong) and when he tilted her head up to kiss her again, all she could do was kiss back and slide her own hands around his neck.
That is that and she spent the night with her head pillowed in his lap, his fingers stroking through her hair and watching the dimly glowing lights of the fireflies until she fell asleep. The Replica told her nothing of his plans, only promised that he would get them away; Marluxia's death was just one step up the stairs of freedom.
So for days after, she sketched and colored memories and wishes and broken little dreams, taking breaks to check on the moth and the fireflies. A little sick to her stomach, she touched the glass cage of the fireflies, noting that one was dead. Gingerly she took it out and dropped it out the window, terribly, terribly afraid it was an omen of some kind because things could never stay good around the castle.
Axel woke her up the next morning after she had stayed up waiting waiting waiting for the Replica to come to her, unable to draw or do anything other than try to sleep as she listened hard for the heavy sound of his boots on marble. Instead, the soft clicking of footsteps woke her up with a jolt; she expected to see Nisemono and instead was greeted by the sight of Axel. Jerking up in the bed she fought the sick roll of her stomach and curled her legs under her, fingers clenched in the sheets. Wordlessly, VIII handed her two things, a box of crayons and one of Replica's gloves, curling her fingers around it before touching the top of her head and leaving, the soft sound of a shaky sob coming from behind him.
The glove clenched tightly in her hand, she went over to the table where the moth and fireflies were, knowing without having to check that they were all dead, and their corpses on the bottom of the glass cage. Picking them both up, she walked over to the window and threw them out as far as she could, knowing they would hit Nothing. So that was it, then. She'd just have to fight for Sora in her own way, then.
Drawing out her crayons, she started sketching out a black leather outfit, bright eyes, angular features and a wicked smile, hoping that this memory would last her longer than the original-the real boy.
Any and all thoughts on this are loved, pleeeease? I'm always hesitant writing Repliku and Marluxia so any thoughts on them would be lovely.
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