Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its subsidiaries. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.

II.

Salt

He hadn't expected the water to be so salty. It seared into his skin and burned the still-healing blisters all over his hands. When he choked and swore at the pain, the sailors just laughed at him. "Hurts, don't it," one of them said. "Maybe it'll toughen you up."

Sometimes when he thought hard he realized how shitty his life was, to end up here. But he didn't like to think. It got messy. The best thing to do was stay under the radar and keep his nose clean, and do just enough work to avoid being noticed. Maybe somewhere out beyond the sea he could find some place new, some place where the people were friendly and where you didn't have to indenture yourself to avoid starving…

Demyx woke drenched in sweat. His head was foggy and he fought against it, trying to remember what had happened this time. His shirt had been taken off and the bandages clinging to his left side were rusty red with dried blood. He lay back down slowly into bed. He felt like… he'd had a dream… he tried to reach for it before he forgot it entirely. Something about the ocean…

"I hope you're happy with yourself." Ienzo's stern voice forced him to look across the room. Demyx couldn't see his face; he was ripping bandages out of an old sheet. The sheer tearing sound made him uneasy. "What's the point of treating your wounds if you're just going to keep ripping them open?"

Yes, that was right… it was starting to come back. Even those memories from just a few hours ago seemed so indistinct and dreamlike. He'd… he'd left the room to try and find answers, but had only ended up passing out. "I'm sorry. But staying here alone is driving me crazy. I need to know what's going on."

"Have you considered that the people around you know what they're doing? I'm not keeping things from you out of spite, but with your welfare in mind. We'll tell you what we know when you're healed. Not before." Ienzo's sharp tone kept a rigid beat with the ripping cloth.

"Alright. Alright." He exhaled, sending another spasm of pain through his body as well as a wave of frustration.

Ienzo kept working. For a long time that was how it went; Demyx would struggle to breathe without causing himself more pain, and the sound of the fabric would make him a little more anxious.

"Ienzo?"

"What?" He asked tersely.

"I want you to call me Demyx."

The ripping stopped; Demyx sighed with relief. Ienzo paused but didn't turn. He looked tense. "I suppose it's your choice."

"I just don't want to be known as a number. It's bad enough that I have to use the name he gave me." He looked up at the ceiling; the plaster was cracked and there was water damage. He kneaded a handful of blanket with one hand.

Ienzo said nothing and resumed his work.

Demyx closed his eyes. "Are you… mad at me?" He asked, and immediately felt stupid. "I mean, I know I wasn't supposed to leave the room, but—"

"I apologize if I seem tense. I am not angry with you." Rip. Rip. There was no more sheet left. Ienzo hesitated, and then began to roll up the strips. "Are you still in pain?"

"Well, it only hurts when I breathe, move, or am conscious, so you know…" He laughed a little nervously.

"Then I trust I can leave you be for a few minutes? Will you be here when I get back?"

He sighed. "Yes. I'll stay here. I promise."

"Then I must take my leave for the time being." He slammed the door behind him without once making eye contact or even looking in Demyx's direction.

He was slowly drowning in boredom.

Time moved slower than molasses. At least Ienzo had had the propriety to bring him some books to read, but Demyx was never one to sit in a room and read for hours. He couldn't read more than fifty pages without getting antsy. It seemed odd to him that none of the others had visited. They hadn't been the greatest of friends, it was true, but he was so tired of being alone that he would probably talk to an old boot. Sometimes the stiff silence felt like it might suffocate him.

And even when Ienzo came, he never really engaged in conversation, but would say stuff like, "Really?" or "Is that so?" in response to anything Demyx said. Demyx even tried to get him to talk about books, which he knew Ienzo loved unconditionally. He always seemed tense and stressed. In the week or so that passed before he was feeling better, Ienzo seemed to lose weight. His eyes were constantly bloodshot with heavy circles underneath them. Demyx knew it was pointless to ask what was wrong, though he nursed a small seed of resentment for being treated like a child.

After ten slow, torturous days passed, he was more or less healed. He could breathe and sit up without being in agony, even if he would occasionally get a skittering flare if he exerted himself. The bandages were gone now, leaving behind a mess of angry red scars that were both numb and hypersensitive at the same time; so sensitive, in fact, that the coarse cotton of his buttoned shirts was too much, and he had to wear an undershirt. He could walk across the room without feeling faint. Demyx couldn't take it anymore. He didn't think he could be in this room for one more hour without going insane.

"I'm better," he said to Ienzo as he checked his vitals. "You said so yourself yesterday. I'm better so please let me out of here or I swear to god I'm going to lose my mind."

Ienzo stared at him wearily. "I suppose you're right," he said. "It's not fair to you anymore. You are absolutely right." His voice was monotonous.

"Why are you acting so weird?" Demyx asked. "You've been off all week. What's going on?"

Ienzo sighed. He crossed his arms. "You'd best get some shoes on and come with me."

The only shoes he had were his boots from the Organization, and even those seemed oddly loose in the calves and feet. Can you lose weight in your feet? he wondered. Still, it was a peculiar thought. What had happened to the cloaks? The only clothing he had now had been provided anonymously—simple, plain pieces with worn patches in the knees and elbows.

Demyx followed Ienzo out of the room and down the hallway. Even with the sconces, it was so dark. Different situation, different castle, but we're still in a clusterfuck, Demyx thought.

It took a long time. He might have been stronger than he was after waking up, but still he quickly tired and a steady burn soon started in his legs. He said nothing and tried to keep his breathing level in case Ienzo changed his mind and took him back. He missed his old body's vitality. He might have died, and he might have a heart now, but still it sucked that he could barely walk without getting tired.

"You can rest, if you need, Nine," Ienzo said as they rounded yet another corner. "I know it's far and you're still weak."

"How big is this place?" Demyx asked instead.

"It's not quite as large as the Organization's, but it is a bit of an architectural folly. There's no easy way to get from one place to the other. I… had almost forgotten." A dreamy look came into Ienzo's eyes.

"So you've been here before?" Demyx asked.

"Well, yes, of course. The first eight members of the Organization all lived in Radiant Garden prior to our transformation some twelve years ago. And most of us lived right here, in Ansem the Wise's castle. I grew up here." He spoke matter-of-factly and without much sentiment. "My parents died when I was quite young. Ansem saw the potential in me and took me in."

"I'm sorry." He'd known that the first six members of the Organization had been scientists, but most of the details he'd heard were hazy or vague. Still, Ienzo seemed much too young; he couldn't be more than a year older than him.

"It's quite all right. I scarcely remember them anymore," he said. "Even is more of a father to me, I suppose."

Demyx wondered where all this was coming from, after so many days of silence. He was tempted to ask. "Even raised you?"

"In a way. Ansem the Wise was a scientist, but he was also a childless politician. He had no time or means to take care of a child, and I was only eight when I was taken in. Even had already been a parent. It seemed a natural arrangement."

"Vex—Even is a father?" Demyx asked. He tried to fit together his idea of Vexen with the concept of parenthood, and he couldn't.

"Was," Ienzo said softly. "His son died many years ago. A sickness that could not be cured with magic. He turned to Ansem for that reason. And after he died… well... I suppose we became one another's surrogates." He shrugged.

Demyx anagrammed quickly. "And Ansem the Wise… is Xemnas's Somebody?"

Ienzo smiled, but it was dry and ironic. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that."

Ienzo told him everything.

Demyx was reeling. He could barely get his head around the story—it seemed fake—but the part of his mind that was hardwired to figure things out began to fill in the blanks. "So… I was right?" He asked weakly. "I was right about us having hearts." He laughed. "It was a joke then, to me. I thought…" Part of him felt deeply unclean, and he hugged himself absently. The idea of being a vessel for someone… his body taken, violated…He shut down the thought before it ran its course.

Ienzo sighed. "It seemed so foolish. But now we know so much more."

"So what does that mean for us? For me? Are we all just trying to move on, or… where is Xemnas… Xehanort?"

Ienzo shook his head. "That's what we're trying to figure out. Or at least the committee is."

The committee… that name sounded familiar… Demyx groaned. "You're kidding me."

Ienzo shrugged. "You have to admit that this is the best option for more information."

"The Restoration Committee works with Sora. Who, might I add, killed most of us?" His voice rose. "They helped orchestrate our deaths."

Ienzo touched Demyx's arm. "Please. Try to remain calm. You're healed, but I don't want you to stress. Look at it this way. Had your Nobody survived, you wouldn't be here today. You wouldn't be human."

"But I would have been," Demyx said. "Eventually, with time, if this bullshit is true and we were growing hearts. I would have had my memories. I would have known my damn name."

"I know it seems strange, but I promise you that this is for the best. The committee holds no ill will against us now that we're on their side. We've been pardoned." Ienzo eased Demyx down against the wall.

"For what? What did we do that was so bad?" He demanded. "Maybe there's a lot of shit I don't know about the Organization, but what did we do?"

Ienzo said nothing about that. "You really have remembered nothing of your previous human life? After all this time?" He asked instead.

"No," Demyx said. His heart was still racing. "I get… dreams… vague snippets of things… but… everything else is blank."

"I see," he said.

"You said we shouldn't worry. But… shouldn't I be whole?" He asked. "Isn't that what this is all about? Now I'm even worse off than before."

"It seems so odd…" Ienzo said, more to himself than anything. "Why is the damage so extensive? Why you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Demyx asked.

Ienzo shook his head. "We need to keep moving. We're going to go see Even."

"Look left."

The room was frigid and bright white, just like he remembered the castle used to be; he shivered. It didn't help that he was currently shirtless and his body was pressed against a cold metal table. A bright penlight seared his retina. He tried to do what Even said.

"And right again," Even commanded. They had been going at this for some time. At first it seemed like some sort of concussion test, to see if his eyes could follow, but now Demyx was just getting irritated.

The light clicked off, finally. Demyx's eyes watered from the intrusion. He slipped his undershirt back on tried to rub the warmth back into his arms.

Even's lab was a disaster area—not at all how he remembered it. In the Organization it had been so orderly and well-stocked, but here the glass cabinets that were against all of the walls were smashed, there were only some scattered brown glass bottles, and exposed pipe jutted from the ceiling. It must drive him crazy.

"What do you think?" Ienzo asked even, looking up from the moldering book he'd been perusing.

"I'm not sure," Even said. "We know so little, but I think your initial diagnosis is on the right path."

"Guys, I'm right here," Demyx said.

Even looked at him. There was no warmth in the expression, only befuddlement, like he was a puzzle that couldn't be solved. There had been no love lost between them, but still it seemed unfair to Demyx that after all this time that their interaction was nothing more than routine. "It's hard to say for sure. But we have reason to believe that someone—or something—interfered with your reformation."

He blinked. His eyes were still stinging after the flashlight, and little purple dots swarmed across his vision. "What does that mean?" He saw Ienzo and Even exchange a look.

"You're not…" Ienzo hesitated. It was so unusual for him to stumble over his words that Demyx's anxiety spiked. "You're not whole. We have reason to believe…"

"We believe that your heart has been fractured," Even finished.

"I don't understand," Demyx said. A tremor had crept into his voice. "What does that… I don't…"

"We're not certain," Ienzo said after a moment. "There is so little concrete, scientific information about the heart. We know that it's a necessary component for a sentient being to exist. We know how darkness and light affect it, and that it can, in fact, break without the body falling to darkness. But other than that, we know nothing."

Even took the book Ienzo had been poring through and flipped through the pages. "The heart contains memories, yes, but it only contains emotions and connections with others. It's the will that makes logical sense of these things through its physical existence in the mind—it fills in facts. So if the heart is fractured… it would make sense for your memories not to be fully realized. They remain in your heart, but you cannot physiologically recall them. But the real mystery remains… how did this happen?" He shoved the book at Demyx and paced over to the window.

The page had a crude diagram of the three components of being—a silhouette of a body, a heart in the center of the chest, and a dotted line drawn around the silhouette to signify the will.

"But if your heart was fractured, you shouldn't be able to remember anything. You'd be a complete and total amnesiac. You still quite clearly have some semblance of self. How is the memory loss so distinct, with such a clear cutoff?" Even spoke slowly, as if he wasn't aware that both of them were in the room. He turned. "And why are you the only one with this much damage?" He demanded.

"You think I know?" Demyx asked. "Like, seriously? I just woke up like this." There was a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thought he might be sick. "What will happen to me, then?"

"It's hard to be sure," Ienzo said with some difficulty. "We had thought that eventually you would finish your reformation and become whole. But it seems like that won't be happening. Right now we should try not to cause any further damage."

"You can't fix it?" Demyx asked. He looked down.

"I'm afraid not," Ienzo said. "And even if there were some way, I'd be too afraid to mettle, in case something were to go wrong."

"Will it… heal itself?"

"We don't know," Even said. He actually had the balls to try and be sympathetic. "I wish the answer were yes."

"Oh," Demyx said. "I see." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "And… what happens if it gets worse? What would make it get worse?"

Ienzo shook his head. "Should your heart totally shatter, you would be reduced to a comatose state. It's possible that you could become a Nobody again, but shattering doesn't draw out darkness in the same way. Restoration to a human state would be unlikely. Hearts only restore themselves if they've been lost."

"I'll be as good as dead," Demyx said. He felt faint. "And what are the odds of this happening?"

"In your position, thankfully slim," Ienzo said.

"Or so we believe," Even said. Ienzo shot him a look. "There's no need to lie to the boy, Ienzo. The truth of the matter is that your heart may still try to heal itself. Your being will try to restore its natural order. Your memories may begin to return… and the energy and trauma that reawakens in you could threaten to shatter it."

"Trauma?" This was just getting worse and worse. He could barely listen anymore; he felt dizzy. But it was like looking at a train wreck—he had to find out more.

"Well, surely considering you became a Nobody your heart and will are quite strong," Ienzo said. He patted Demyx's knee, and Demyx flinched. "It's a stronger will that keeps one from falling into despair and, subsequently, the darkness. There must be moments from your past where you needed to strengthen your will in order to survive. Moments of crisis…"

"Oh," he squeaked. It was getting hard to breathe. He had to get out of here; but he wasn't sure he was strong enough to run. "So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just… just… live like this? With the fact that any moment I could remember something and fall over and never wake up?" His fingers had gone numb.

"Demyx," Ienzo said. "The possibility of this happening is all very slim."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "You keep saying you don't know much about the heart. How can you be sure that I'll be okay?" A tight pain gathered in his chest.

"We can't," Even said.