"Is there a problem, Number Eleven?"
"Indeed. That's why I called you here."
"But so late at night?" I still remember the way the moon cast its light through the window to spill on the floor, a mockery of Kingdom Hearts. Graceless, almost, was the flood of prepubescent glory.
"I simply wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any disruptions." The Lord of Castle Oblivion said. "It would be unfortunate. After all, I have your trust?"
I hesitated, then forced an agreeable, "Indeed."
"Good. I need you to default your men to me."
The bitter sap in the air churned as I said, "Pardon me, but I don't think I heard you correctly."
"You did. Number Four, Number Five, and yourself. I'm requesting your services at my whim." He narrowed his eyes. "Please don't make me…request further."
"Number Eleven, I—"
"Zexion," the man nearly drawled, as if tired of the conversation already, "you may be the Leader of the Underground, but you are still under my command."
My silver tongue went to work. "Indeed, but I can't help but worry about the productivity of having them answer to two superiors. I am, indeed, to take your orders," I nearly choked in those words, "and relay those orders to them. But from me, Marluxia. So as not to confuse."
"So you wish to keep your scientist and your marionette." He hummed wistfully for a moment, as if in thought. Then, after a sigh, he said, "You're loyal to me, aren't you Six?"
Too automatic, "Yes."
"Show me."
With knees like rusted metal plates, I bent to him.
He simply laughed. "Oh, Zexion, you do entertain." A feral smirk. "Now, really. Show me." A finger beckoned. And I, with what little threads I had left to hold me to my grace, followed. I only remember, as vines wound through my hair, hoping I would be able to look him in the eyes again.
Zexion sat straight up in bed, shoulders rigid. Nightmares had never come so easily before. Nightmares for the master of illusions himself were rare, but he supposed the one person who could do it to him was taking up residence in the room next door.
There was no moonlight to walk by that night, but Zexion knew the contours of the house well enough to go forth in the dark, opaquely white hands clutching doorframes as he passed.
"You couldn't sleep, either?"
Zexion turned his head sharply, jolted by the voice. Flicking on the lightswitch revealed Marluxia at the kitchen table, a cup of something hot and steaming between his palms. "No," he lied smoothly. "I needed a drink of water." He went to the sink, though it hadn't been his original path, trying not to be disturbed. "Was the couch too uncomfortable for you?" Oh, high and mighty Lord who insists upon sleeping in a bed of rose petals and lavender-silks?
Marluxia's mouth just curved into a small smile. Poor thing never knew when to quit. Didn't he know that his lies and schemes were transparent to him? "What nightmare did you have?"
Hunched over the sink, Zexion frowned. "Was I screaming?"
"No. I just want to know."
The illusionist whirled around, child-like face tensed in what could only be considered a mix of annoyance and apathy. "Then tell me, Marluxia: what nightmare did you have?"
"I dreamt of my first evening in the Organization. You?"
"I dreamt of that conversation we had…one of the many."
Vague as it was, Marluxia understood. He made a small noise, unable to maintain eye contact for a moment, feeling as though Zexion's gaze was attempting to violate in retaliation for what he had done in the past. "I am sorry," he finally said. "For everything."
"I have a hard time believing that you can be sorry for anything you've done," he spat back. "Heart or no, Marluxia, you are one of the most self-centered, egotistical, vain men I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You certainly are a 'Lord.'"
"I am sorry." Marluxia pushed back from the kitchen table to stand. "I am. That's why I have to find him. Do you believe for even one second that I'm seeking him out because I want to be with him again?" His lips formed a derisive smile, almost a sneer. Because who in their right mind would ever want to be with him, especially after all that had happened. After all the things he had done…
"Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes…" Twin hands crept over Vexen's shoulder. The man stared listlessly into the wall as they found their resting place, crisscrossing his chest. Such gentle, caressing fingers, like those of a lover; and yet Vexen knew how cruel they could turn without even a hesitation.
A mouth, fingered with blood-soaked cream, whispered, "…finish the song, Vexen."
Motionless, the scientist sat. High cheekbones caught most of the light passing over his face, the sole source radiating from a desk lamp. One of the hands reached over to flick it off. It was that moment in which both figures were plunged into darkness that Marluxia made his move, his true nature dragged to the surface, cupping Vexen's chin in a grip that could break bones and ream flesh.
"Finish the song."
"…they all fall down."
Zexion was reasonably stunned. He had never heard the assassin apologize before. Remorse was not supposed to be something that man felt, and yet it seemed strangely genuine. Maybe this second chance had changed them more than he thought.
"I just want to find him," Marluxia continued. "Because if I don't, I'll never forgive myself. I need him to know that what I did…it was the only thing I could do to show him how much I…I was obsessed with him." How could a Nobody explain how this process worked? Hate and derision were the only elements left when attraction failed to explain love. A Nobody didn't love, couldn't love, but they could try to emulate it as best as they could in the only ways they knew how. At the base level, love without emotion meant spending time together and it meant physical relations. Without emotions, 'love' had been stripped down to sex. Lots and lots of sex.
"He isn't going to want you back, you know. I saw what you did. I saw with my own eyes. Boiling water to—"
"Look, Zexion," Marluxia wrapped his fist around the cup in his hands, staring deep into its steaming contents. "When we were hollow, monsters rose in us. We were composed of demons and flaws. You were no better. Don't think I didn't hear what you did, Zexion—Ienzo—you manipulative little whore. You slept with just about anyone and everyone you wanted something from, heart or no heart. And Elaeus and Lexaeus knew. And he said nothing. Even with your Master Ansem for a laboratory, Ienzo? Really?"
The illusionist really hadn't expected that turn. Of all the dirty, underhanded things to do, reminding him of that was simply a kind of sick cruelty that only Marluxia could manage. "Don't you dare pretend as though you knew what I had to do. Don't pretend as though I stooped to your level."
"But you have," Marluxia nearly laughed. "You treated Lexaeus no better than I treated Vexen. You used him, manipulated him, controlled him, brainwashed him. He followed you of his own whim, but only after your games with his head. And even after that, he was disposable to you, a mechanism to help you reach books that were too high up, or a body to get up out of bed to turn the lightswitch off, because goodness knows you'd be too warm and tucked in to do it yourself."
Zexion's cheeks heated up, the reddening made plain as ever by the fact that the rest of him had drained of color. He didn't want to listen to Marluxia's snappish accusations, and, quite honestly, he wouldn't have if they had been just accusations. But they were something more than just that; they were quite true. But only to a degree, Zexion reasoned to himself—he wasn't entirely to blame. After all, they had just been Nobodies. Of course Lexaeus had been useful and loyal and perfect. And of course Zexion had chosen him and manipulated him to be just that. But there was a difference between what Marluxia accused him of and the reality of things, when everything was put in perspective. They had been shells, and yet Zexion had needed Lexaeus. He may not have needed him in a way a lover might, but he had still needed him. And he needed him now, which was a justifiable fact that meant there was something more to their time as Nobodies than simply acting as the used and the user.
"Do not try to make yourself stand taller by wringing blame from the rest of us," Zexion retorted, dangerous. "There was a clear difference between Lexaeus and I and what you did to Vexen. Unlike you two, we had a symbiotic relationship. I never took pleasure in hurting him."
Abruptly, Marluxia changed the subject. "What would you say to him if you saw him again? Would you apologize? Would you pretend it never happened?"
Zexion never answered the question. He simply stared. "…are you offering me something?"
Both of them had known it would come down to this moment. Ever since Marluxia had seen Zexion from across the street that Tuesday morning. Ever since Zexion had seen the scythe shard. It had just been a matter of time before it came down to it, and both had been dreading it a little in their own ways.
"If I gave you the chance to come world-jumping with me, would you do it, Zexion? It will be dangerous and it will be a long journey. But if there is luck, we may somehow find some of what is left of our order. And if you are really lucky," he pulled the shard from his chest to dangle it in front of his eyes, looking past it and up at Zexion. "If you are really lucky, you might find him."
Every tie that Zexion had ever had to this world he resided in (if there ever had been any) were immediately broken, as if a large pair of scissors had snapped them all at once, no time for deliberation or second thoughts. "Yes. I would go with you."
"Then go back to bed. You'll need the rest—tomorrow morning, we leave."
