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A Story by Besieged Infection

WARNING: Blood and gore in this chapter, but not told in detail. This is still a romance fic. And please keep in mind that I PROMISE FLUFF IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! Enjoy!

Standard Disclaimer Applies

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Chapter 11: October of 2010

…

The Exception Laws XI

Hybrids are not to take part in sports activities or clubs that are not issued as required by the government.

…

The ninth of October dawned foggy and dull, weather-wise. It had been about two weeks since the news of the bombing hit mainstream, and the news channels were going into overdrive in a futile attempt to report everything. Images of the car were easily accessible on the internet, with its interior riddled with screws and bits of glass- shrapnel placed within the explosive- and the seats charred almost beyond recognition. The tires, though, remained untouched beneath the vehicle, as did the surrounding pavement. It was a perfectly controlled explosion, if there ever was one.

"Conferences with the public have been suggested, however the possibility of these press-meetings occurring within the next three weeks are low as it is suggested that every individual who purchases a ticket must be screened for illegal activities," the woman on television stated, no doubt hiding her excitement. Delivering such news would most likely bolster to her career. The alarming shade of pink that was her outfit- a three-piece suite- simply screamed 'waiting for a promotion.' Demyx, from his place on the couch, alone except for a few throw pillows, awaited the no-doubt sugar-coated ultimatum. He was not disappointed. "The only solid information the authorities have of the event is that Hybrids will not be permitted to attend; a decision that has received no opposition from the public." Said public was most likely a poll taken by rich, government-based, human families.

The blond's fingers slipped to the remote by his side as he restrained a chuckle. Mashing his thumb into the bright red button, the boy grinned as the television flickered off. Then the phone, off to his right, rang. Within two rings he answered. "Mizuchi residence; Demyx speaking."

"An unofficial statement has been released to certain board members," Zexion voice soothed on the other side of the line, voice impossibly calm and even in its gentle execution despite how his words betrayed at least one traitor to the country's ideals; not all was right with the Exceptions Board. "The authorities are on the lookout for small, politically-active groups of four. According to our sources the Chairman is taking the fact that he wasn't in the car a sign that we are a group of untrained idiots."

"Sounds like you planned this pretty well," Demyx solemnly mused. "Things are going to get interesting, aren't they?" He could almost hear the Nekojin smirk on the other end of the line.

"Of course."

There was a small trace of a grin before the blond spoke. "Any chance you could stop by today? Or maybe I could drop by your house?"

Laughter; soft and sweet. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good enough for me!"

"Well, I have to get going."

"Okay, then." The blond nodded, though he knew the younger boy couldn't see him. "Go change the world."

"I will."

"Love you."

"I love you, too."

…

The next day, Zexion wasn't at school, and when Demyx got home he came face-to-face with none other than his father. He sat at the kitchen table, working his way through a small bowl of double chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream.

Demyx blinked. "You're home early."

The man laughed. "Yes. Yes I am," he remarked. Luxord them motioned to the other seat on the counter and another spoon resting beside the bowl.

"Where's Mom?"

"Physical therapy." There was a short lull in the conversation, in while Demyx appraised the ice cream.

"Something good happen today?" the boy requested, motioning with one hand toward the ice cream before picking up the lonely spoon. "Or are you just trying to sweeten me up?"

His father paused. It was uncharacteristic. His father loved to talk, though it probably had something do with the sound of his voice, with the accent and all. He was unusually childish in his deliveries, but something was off about this. "A little of both," he muttered softly. Something about the rules had changed, and his father knew it. "I've gotten my final assignment from Marluxia."

"Final...?" Then it hit him. "It has something to do with me, doesn't it?"

"Yes." An envelope was placed before me, as well as a ticket stub. "Delivery from Dr. Lucrecia. There's a ticket to the Chairman's upcoming conference. Your directions are in the envelope."

Without warning, the man stood, grabbed his spoon, dropped in in the sink, and muttered, "I'm going to pick up your mother."

Silence followed, in which the boy tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. Shortly after finishing, he stuffed in back in. He frowned, mentally bemoaning his luck. Snatching his camera from his pocket, Demyx moved to take a photo of the ticket and the accompanying envelope, but paused. The stub date read October thirtieth.

He had time.

…

The next day Zexion was at school.

"Are you okay?"

Demyx looked up from his lunch, looking the Nekojin straight in the eye. His reply, sullen and heavy, was simply, "No." The younger boy sidled up closer to him, risking the grass stains, and pulled his boyfriend into a sideways hug.

"What's wrong?" he demanded rather than asked. "You haven't been taking many photos today. The others are wondering what's wrong."

Demyx rolled his eyes. "They don't want me to take pictures, Zexion." He flung in arm in the general direction of the others. "In case you hadn't noticed, they don't want me anywhere near them. Any why not? Who knows what I could do to them? And to you? I've already messed with the Hybrids twice- third time's the charm!"

Zexion's eyes narrowed. Without warning, he stood, pulling Demyx up by the elbow. It jarred his shoulder horribly, but the blond made no complaints as the Nekojin almost literally dragged him into the school, then practically threw him into an empty classroom. "What the hell, Demyx?" he hissed, much to the blond's surprise. "They know you're on our side, now."

"Well, that's what they thought last time."

With no response to make, the Nekojin remained quiet for a second. His mind raced. What could have possibly put Demyx in this kind of mood? It was strange. After a bit, he settled on, "Stop being so..." He seemed to fumble with words for a second before settling on, "childish!"

"But don't you see?" he snapped. "I am a kid! I'm almost eighteen- if I'm not being childish then something's wrong!"

"Well something's wrong right now! Why can't you see that?"

"I can see that."

The Nekojin scoffed. "Well, if you're going to be like that I'm not going to be around you for a while." He moved to leave. "Come get me when you feel like sharing."

Immediately, Demyx softened. "Sorry, it's just that-"

"That what, Demyx?" Zexion didn't bother turning around when he administered a biting, "That you're not ready to grow up?"

"Marluxia's plan- I can't-"

"There's no 'can' or 'can't' in Marluxia's plan, Demyx. There's only 'do' and 'don't.'"

Demyx bristled. "Do you even know what he's going to do?"

"Oh course I don't," Zexion admitted. "He's handed the reigns for the operation over to Dr. Lucrecia. No one knows what's happening next." At the name Demyx flinched, but the Nekojin didn't see this. The blond chose then to sit down as a realization dawned. No one knew what was going down at the conference. Not even Zexion. "But we'll all come out perfectly fine. There's nothing to worry about." Demyx began to realize just how little the Organization knew about itself.

But his mission had just been proven official, no matter how horrible. "Only 'do's and 'don't's, huh?" Demyx miserably mused, burying his face in his hands. His fingers pressed against his eyebrows, then slid apart, massaging them outwards as the bud of a headache began somewhere between his temples.

And then there were arms, along with fur and the incredible smell of musk and wet skin that was so incredibly Zexion, surrounding his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It's all going to be okay."

"Right..." the blond surrendered, allowing himself to believe that, if only for a bit longer. "It'll all be fine."

…

Twentieth of October. It was the big day.

Styling his hair in its usual way before smashing it under the beanie after his shower, Demyx tried to pretend whatever he was about to do wasn't actually going to happen. He wasn't going to back up Marluxia in the worst way possible. He wasn't going to see horrible, horrible things that day.

The envelope had long-since been burned, as his directions were more than clear. Demyx pulled on the clothes bundled on the toilet seat and with ticket-stub in hand the blond went downstairs. "You're up late," his mother greeted in the living room, giving him a look that read disappointment as she wheeled from her place in front of the television over to him. "Shouldn't you be at school by now?"

"Dad gave me the day off," he replied, reaching deep into his back pocket to retrieve a note his father had prepared. "I'm going to see the conference. Take some pictures for the school paper, you know?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "You're not taking newspaper class."

The boy shrugged, taking a step around his mother and making his way to the kitchen. Xion really was sharp. "I just wanted to go, and Dad thought it was a good idea." Lies. They rolled off his tongue so easily, but he knew his voice was a dead giveaway. He always was a terrible liar.

But the note made it plausible, because his father really had written it.

After a quick breakfast, Demyx headed to his car. It felt strange, heading out at noon to something he knew would change everything for him, everything for so many people.

Nothing for so many others.

His fingers itched for Zexion, but their bond would have to wait.

…

Everything was so loud. Demyx hadn't been aware that an address- as he had realized the press conference would come after- could be so loud. It was surely a loud one on the scale, and the room was much larger than they usually were on television. Normally the rooms were smaller, with just enough room for the press to pack in their equipment and hope for the best for good sound quality. However, an entire auditorium had been rented out. People were rushing about everywhere, and press photographers with their big fancy professional cameras were bustling to and fro, taking pictures of this politician and that activist. These chairmen and those political "has-been"s who showed.

Being seventeen with jeans and a T-shirt, the man at the door hadn't originally let Demyx through. It had taken flashing his father's letter three times and a lie about the school newspaper- the same on he'd told his mother- to get through the front door, only to be stopped by a bouncer. This one was harder to convince. For this one he actually pulled out his camera- which was a dinky little piece of nothing compared to the press'- and showed some of his photography. It was strange, showing someone a photo when they weren't in it. Usually the camera was kept well within his own reach.

Luckily, he'd thought ahead and stored all the photos with Hybrids in them on his computer. Nothing could give away that he was pro-Hybrid. No in this crowd. Not with what was going down.

When he got in he went straight to his seat and adjust his camera settings for the lighting. The stage was already lit for the speaker, so it was much easier than he thought it'd be.

Eventually the press settled down, and people went to their seats. Seated just behind the press section, he found visibility limited. And he liked it that way. The less he saw the better.

An announcer stepped up an introduced the Hybrid Committee Chairman, and that's when things really went quiet.

"Welcome," he began. "It's good to know so many people still care about the rights of our people. Even more so, it's good to see youth taking an interest in politics." Then the man looked pointedly at Demyx, and he felt his throat drop somewhere between his stomach and his knees. Somewhere on that uncomfortable chair was his heart, as well, soaking the tinny, paint-flaking surface in imaginary blood. A camera somewhere might have been placed on Demyx, but the boy hoped it wasn't. "We are here, as you all know, to talk about the rights of humans everywhere. For us to live freely a threat must be kept contained.

"For this reason the Hybrid Exception Laws were created..." He paused, almost in contemplation. "But we all know this! It's common sense! Why, you may wonder, are we holding this conference? The danger they pose should already be well contained, and it is!" His deep, booming voice was compelling. Every word he spoke seemed to be the truth just by having once existed within the man. Demyx even felt himself wishing each of those sugar-coated vowels were true. But there was no danger posed without that man. "I would like to bring to mind the car bombing that occurred not long ago, when a pipe-bomb was sent through my car's window and exploded, sending shrapnel through the windows and into the surrounding street.

"Now, pipes are not easily accessible for a Hybrid. And rightly so, as events like this occur. However, countless detectives have been looking into the event, and have surfaced from the case without results." The man had the audacity to look tired. "It has been determined that they have at least one human accomplice in their numbers, and that their numbers may be greater than four. Greater than ten. Greater than twelve." A collective of murmurs spread through the crowd, and Demyx began to wonder if everyone there was trained to react in such a cliché manner. "I am speaking of an Organization made up of unregistered Hybrids, ringed by a group of socially ostracized humans bent on social unrest."

Demyx's scoff was lost in the uproar that followed. He did not bother mentally commenting on the crowd's reaction, and instead scanned the stage. Four guards, all equipped with two-way radios and what he hoped were stun guns. It was hard to tell from that angle.

"A step we need to consider," he continued once the crowd had settled down, "is the implementation of new laws. Some representatives of the committee are meeting as we speak, with Dr. L. Crescent at the head." The name gave Demyx a start. The woman was everywhere. "We hope to regulate the flow of information available on the internet as a hope to stop any other Organizations in the budding stages, as well as corner the current threat and put an end to their attacks."

Demyx sighed. No one in that room knew what they were doing, and he was only just realizing how bad it really was. All the strings were behind the scenes, and none of them were in the hands anyone thought they were. Marluxia didn't control a thing. The supposed chairman was just a face, just as scared by his bigoted words as the people. Zexion only followed orders. Luxord only followed orders. I was just following orders.

And all the orders were being issued by Dr. Lucrecia Crescent.

"Hybrids are a dangerous race not meant to rightfully exist in this world. Their levels of intelligence are dangers, and their strength, when allowed growth, can reach levels overwhelming nearly any obstacle that comes to them. It is deep-rooted in their society and their nature that violence is the only answer-"

The conference room was dead silent as a man took to the stage just as Ansem finished his speech. "I'll give you ten seconds," he shouted, nodding his head to the man, "to tell me why you think you're right." Demyx's eyes widened in recognition. Marluxia stood proudly on stage, his Navi gone, eyes aglow with the burn of Mako, and a gun pointed straight at the chairman's head. The barrel nearly scraped his nose. At point blank Marluxia could not miss. He looked down on the Chairman, standing a good three inches taller. The entire exchange had taken mere seconds, and it seemed that it hadn't occurred to anyone to stop him.

Up Demyx's camera went for the first time that night. He seemed to be the only one brave enough.

"Ten."

Silence. It seemed the chairman was in shock, staring down the barrel of a gun. "As a fellow human you should understand-"

"Don't insult me. Nine."

The entire crowd seemed to glance at the man's head in unison, where the skin spiked back much like hair. The chairman seemed to realize his mistake.

"Eight."

Another shot was taken as the guards in the background seemed at a loss as for what to do. Some moved to reach for their holsters.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Marluxia advised, jamming the tip of his gun into the man's temple. "I can handle a gunshot much better than a human, and if you shoot I'll be more than capable of pulling this trigger." He grinned. "Seven, six, five." The numbers were spoken quickly. "See what that got you? A penalty. What do you know?" His words- all of them- were being caught in the microphone. The entire crowd could hear.

Demyx momentarily wondered why no one ran, but thought better of it. This man had been brainwashing them for years, convincing them that Hybrids were dangerous and to be feared. Controlled. They thought he would pull through and keep them "safe."

Strange how the mentality of the human race can be so diminished by the mere thought of danger.

"Four."

The chairman seemed to have regained his footing. "How can you expect us to trust you when you react in a violent manner such as this?"

"See, that would be a great comeback if it weren't for the whole 'human rights' bit you're forgetting. The one where we're allowed to speak up against oppression. But wait! We're not human, according to your laws! What do you know?" He backed up a bit at his. "But you know what? This earned a different sort of penalty."

Suddenly, the room went blacks, and a series of four gunshots rung through the room along with a panicked, "Get down, sir!"

A million cell-phone flashlights burst into being as more shots were heard. People began to flee for the exit. Demyx, however, remained exactly where he was. The press from in front of his occasionally jostled him as the fled, but he stood completely still in his seat. After a good thirty seconds, when the shooting died down, he stood from his seat and slunk towards what he hoped was the stage. Off to the left was the familiar glow of Mako, but he ignored it for the time being.

He set his camera on flash, and carefully hoisted himself on stage. Right as he moved to step, however, his foot slipped- just enough to be a warning- and he held back a gag. As it was, he refused to think of what was going on.

Extracting himself from the situation, he carefully held his camera to his right eye and prompted a photo. The light came on, and he nearly gagged at the sight of Marluxia and the chairman lying face-down in their own puddles of blood. A thought occurred to him- where were the guards? A glance to his right proved many of them were nursing bullet wounds of their own, more commonly in arms and legs. Somehow, all of them had been injured, but none of them were dead. Neither could they move.

More photos were snapped, in hope that the men wouldn't recuperate before he could finish his job. A bullet-wound to the back of the chairman's head- which didn't make sense. He'd been facing Marluxia. Shouldn't it be in the front? Demyx ignored the hollow feeling in the center of his chest, choosing instead to continue.

Three wounds to Marluxia's stomach, and two to the head. None of them were healing, despite the sheer quantity of Mako flowing freely from the man's body mixed with his blood.

Marluxia was dead.

Thoughts centered around Larxene began to make themselves known, but Demyx pushed them away, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand without actually thinking about it.

Shots of the gun was taken. Shots of the bodyguards, how they were doing. At one point Demyx slipped in the puddle where the chairman lay, and his pants soon were soaked with something else he'd wanted to avoid.

Then he made his escape.

Instead of heading to the doors, he jumped into the excitement that was backstage. Police had yet to arrive, and only four bodyguards had been on site. But when he's almost made it to the emergency exit, a strong hand took hold on his arm and dragged him into a bathroom. He fought the grip initially before a familiar voice whispered, "Calm down- I'm on your side." A portable electric lamp was lit and set on the sink as Demyx's "assailant" let him go and rustled around in a bag. His face, finally visible, made Demyx think back. A short silence followed.

"Roxas?" he gaped, suddenly recognizing the boy from school. "What are you doing here? And what do you mean you're on our side?"

Much to Demyx's (further extent of) surprise, Roxas tugged free of the backpack a set of clothing. "My real name is Ventus Vanitas Crescent." He stood up straight, showing he was exactly Demyx's height. "That should answer most of your questions." Demyx wanted to say it did, but it opened up so many others that he knew would never be answered. The camera was snatched from his limp fingers and stored in the backpack. "Change into these." The clothes were set beside the lamp. "When your clothes come off don't drop them on the floor- put them in this bag and then wipe yourself off with these. They also go in the bag." A bundle of alcohol wipes were set next to the clothes, and a bag was thrown at the boy's feet.

Roxas- or Ventus- turned face and looked at the wall as Demyx's clothes were practically torn off his body.

The shirt wasn't too badly ruined. Only a few spatters of blood here and there. The undershirt he took off despite having completely escaped any form of stain. He swiped the underside of his arms with it before chucking it in the bag. Shoes were removed using only the laces as he refused to touch the bottoms for fear of some kind of contamination. His pants and boxers went next, but not before they clung to his body with every movement, parting from his skin with the accompanying squelching noises wet fabric was famous for.

The smell was horrible.

The alcohol wipes were a meticulous process, but it needed doing. Before long, Demyx reeked of cotton and clean bathroom floors. These, too, were chucked in with the clothes.

Ventus donned gloves and tied the bag quickly- it was a plain plastic shopping bag. He then double-bagged it before shoving it into the backpack after tucking the gloves inside out into the crevice around the tie. He threw the clothes to the other blond. "Hurry up- we don't have much time!" The clothes were donned, and the car keys from Demyx's pants, clean, were shoved into his hand. "Your car should be right outside the nearest exit."

Demyx was pushed out of the bathroom and into the car that was, indeed, right outside the door marked, "Exit" he's tried to leave through before Ventus had stopped him.

"Drive!" the boy commanded, and Demyx gave him a look. "What are you doing?"

"Where am I headed?"

"This isn't the time!" A solid response. Demyx turned the car out of the lot, making sure no one was outside to see them leave.

After about two blocks Ventus guided the other blond to an upscale neighborhood, where he was dropped off with the camera. "Go home," the boy ordered. "Get some rest. I'll take care of things here."

It was nice to knowing someone would. He went to pull away from the house, but Ventus suddenly returned, his hand against the door.

"Tomorrow don't hang around any Hybrids," he said. "Don't even pick up Zexion. If anything is different do not go anywhere near them. Your record will protect you for a while."

…

School the next day was something akin to a nightmare.

The moment Demyx arrived he knew something was different. Two men stood by the door and requested the ID of everyone who went through. Near the front stood Zexion, and the blond nearly jumped into- probably violent- action when one of the men started laughing as he approached them with his ID. They did eventually let him in, however. When Demyx approached, however, they didn't laugh. One of them even tilted his head and said, "Sorry for the inconvenience."

Furious, the boy couldn't bring himself to pay attention in any of his classes.

Sometime after Math, in one of the hallways that didn't have any guards, Demyx spotted Zexion. When he was near enough to his boyfriend, he grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the wall, ignoring the boy's sharp whisper of, "What are you doing?"

"What's going on?" he asked under his voice.

"Feds are interfering everywhere. Checking for possible uprisings at places where large quantities of Hybrids work or live." The entire thing was said matter-of-fact, and Demyx felt panic rise within him.

"Is your house being monitored?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." The blond flinched. "Listen, Demyx, when you get home you need to take down those photos on your wall. Anything linking humans with Hybrids is really dangerous right now. Also..." Pausing, Zexion seemed to need to force himself to say the next few words. "We can't see each other until it's safe, and I don't know how long that could take."

When Zexion brushed past him, Demyx felt a bit of himself crack. Everywhere the Nekojin had once marked him suddenly burned, and it took everything he had in him not to spin on his heel and embrace the boy right there.

…

At first Demyx thought that things might calm down in a day or two. "Safe" could mean anything from a lack of guards at the school to a public announcement of Hybrid freedom. Who knew how fast Dr. Crescent could work behind the scenes? He used this reasoning the first twenty-four hours without much contact, aside from English class. Then the first forty-eight, when their only contact was the tentative brush of ankles under the table. On the twenty-fifth of October things did not prove to be any quieter, however, and he was losing hope. Halloween was approaching, and he was running out of steam. When Halloween did occur, Demyx spent the holiday by the front door, handing out candy in the hope that Zexion might pass by.

Unfortunately his efforts did not pay off, and he was left pining for the boy in the silence of November 1st.

…

End Notes: I PROMISE FLUFF IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. This was written in about six hours, but I still like it. Kind of short- just shy of 5,000 words, but it'll have to do. You all may notice that I'm updating much more often- what with posting the prologue and the first chapter of Plain Sight, and now chapter eleven on Return in less than a month. Oh- please check out the rewrite of this fic! It's already complete.

Here's your preview for chapter twelve!

There was something oddly familiar about the way Zexion dropped to the floor beneath Demyx's bedroom window. Was it memories of days passed? No. It was the curve of the Nekojin's torso, even as he curled into a ball beneath the sill, almost as if in pain. A quick check of the boy's body showed there were no wounds, so the blond quickly closed the window and drew the curtains.

"They got us," Zexion was whispering, tears trailing down his face as he no doubt mentally recounted whatever experience he'd just gone through. "They stormed the house and they found us. The Calm isn't coming fast enough."

Cue trumpet music or something here. So, in case you didn't notice, I'm doing something odd with the characterization. But let's leave that for a later note! For the time being, let's go on to the question of the chapter! Careful, though! This one's pretty hard, and has multiple answers. Many "answers" given will not be considered correct.

Quiz: What does Roxas' "real name" imply about him?

Chapter ten winner(s): Dysopian Hope

This chapter did not have a beta. Sorry, guys! Hope my spelling's gotten good enough to pass on its own without too much scrutiny, though! (I did go through it twice myself to check for mistakes.) If you see any errors feel free to point them out. And once again, reviews remind me this fic exists as I have eight other projects going on at the moment.

Kudos to my three favorites reviewers- Luckless-Is-Me, Inju Uchiha, and Dystopian Hope for generally being awesome! I love you guys. (Insert very happy face with hearts coming off it here.)

Love,

Besieged Infection