Strap in, folks. This one's a doozy.


Back in the cage.

Roxas had done everything that was asked of him. He accepted this horrendous trial for the good of the Organization. With the promise of getting his memories back, he let himself be a test subject for an experiment that had been growing inside him for months, hurting him, making him sick, and destroying his body and mind with the insurmountable stress.

Back in the cage, as usual.

He endured the isolation and the loneliness. He sat idle in bed when it was ordered. He submitted to every medical examination without complaint. He left it all up to fate with only the blind hope that he would live to see the day when it would all end.

Back in the cage, where I belong.

He stormed back into his room, tearing off his gloves and flinging them to the floor. He was so sick of this room. He was sick of these walls, the floor, the bed, even the air. He was so angry that he couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there and seethe. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his journal. He always wrote an entry after missions. Saïx told him it would help focus his mind. He flipped to the first blank page he could find and attempted to write.

Fuck this.

Roxas couldn't even scribble the date. He slammed the journal closed and threw it at the window as hard as he could. He flipped the chair as he stood, no longer able to contain his fury. He stomped over to the mirror to stare at his reflection, begging the image to warp again. To shift back to normal. He wanted to go back to the way he was. That swollen abdomen was the very embodiment of his status as a lab rat, a circus freak. That swollen abdomen was all anyone ever saw. It was disgusting. It was repulsive. He couldn't stand the sight of it for one more second.

He was grinding his teeth in rage. The tension traveled from his jaw and across his shoulders, down his arms and to into his hands. His body was trembling. He was clenching his fists until his fingernails nearly punctured his palms. His vision began to blur. He couldn't take it anymore. He desperately needed to destroy the grotesque image in front of him. That reflection needed to die.

Before he realized what he was doing, he reared back and his fist collided with the glass. Cracks spread from the point of impact, blooming from the center like ivy. There was no pain. There was only hatred. There was only anger. He threw his fist again and again. Over and over. Pieces of shattered glass fell to the floor. Blood was smeared all over the fragments, pouring out of his knuckles. Still he felt no pain, only numbness and rage.

Roxas was so consumed by his anger that he didn't hear his door open. He paid no mind to whoever had entered the room or to the deep voice that called his name.

"Roxas!"

The mirror was still standing. It hadn't crumbled to bits. He had to try harder. His reflection was still visible. Those strangers were standing beside him again, now looking sad. So, even the ghosts pitied him. It was downright infuriating. He aimed right at their faces and punched the glass again. That man with the familiar eyes. That woman with sadness in her expression. The boy who looked like him. He pummeled them one by one, wishing every one of them would just disappear. A pair of arms swiftly restrained him around the shoulders and pulled him away from the fight.

"Roxas, stop it! That's enough!"

Roxas struggled and writhed against his captor. He had no right to interfere. This battle was personal. "Let me go!"

The voice softened. "Calm down," it shushed him. "You're hurting yourself."

"I don't care!"

The man pulled at him, dragging him away, yet seeming unwilling to use too much force. "Just relax. This isn't going to make you feel any better."

Roxas' eyes began to well up, but no matter how they swam with tears, the image of his horrendous form remained in the bloody glass. "I can still see it! I'm sick of looking at it!"

"Roxas—"

Fed up with flailing and thrashing against the interloper, Roxas wrestled out of his grasp and doubled over in anguish. For several seconds he just stood there, frozen, watching his blood run off his skin. The intruder kept his distance, giving Roxas his space. His heavy eyes could only make out the shape of him, but his identity was unmistakable. Bright blue hair framed the man's face. His stern eyes were glaring at him just as they always did. Why him? Of all people, why him?

Roxas bit his lip, holding back the inevitable onslaught of emotion threatening to spill from his eyes. He wasn't going to crack when he'd come this far. Not in front of Saïx. Damn the wretched creature for bringing him so close. "I'm so tired, Saïx… I can't stand another minute of this…" His blood was boiling, and something was pounding so heavily in his chest that he couldn't breathe. "This monster has taken everything from me!" Roxas shouted defiantly. "My freedom, my identity, even my friends! I have nothing! I'm all alone! You have no idea what that's like!"

Saïx never lost his patience nor raised his voice, maintaining his calm and stoic demeanor in the midst of Roxas' near-hysterics. "Roxas, I do know what that's like."

"Then why are you stopping me?!" Roxas lunged for the mirror again, attacking with his already gnarled fist. Saïx reacted quickly, but not before Roxas was able to get another hit on the sharp glass. He grabbed Roxas by the shoulders again, forcing him to turn away from his inanimate opponent.

"Roxas, listen to me," he bent down to Roxas' level, speaking more gently than he ever had. "Take a deep breath. I know you're angry, but this won't help."

Roxas was no match for Saïx's strength and couldn't escape him in his condition. He surrendered, doing what he was told and taking a breath, then a few more for good measure. His head began to clear, slowly but surely. The drumming in his chest had relaxed its pace.

Saïx nodded his approval. "That's much better. Now, are you hurt?"

"What's it to you?" Roxas spat, recoiling from Saïx's outstretched hand.

"It's my job to ensure your health and safety."

"Is it? Then I think you dropped the ball a few months back."

Saïx's stony expression didn't change in the slightest. He reached out and took Roxas by the sleeve, tugging him away from the shattered mirror. "Come with me, Roxas."

"No!" Roxas protested loudly, struggling to free himself from Saïx's grasp. "Don't make me go back to the lab!"

"We're not going to the lab."

Though Saïx tightened his grip, he didn't pull any harder, and Roxas supposed the man would wait there for days if he had to. Left with no choice but to submit, he let himself be escorted out of his room and down the hall toward the staircase. No words were exchanged between the two as they walked, the only sounds being the tapping of their footsteps and the dripping of blood from Roxas' hand onto the marble floor. Even Roxas' thoughts were eerily silent, his mind too weary to wonder where they were going. To his surprise, they ended up at the kitchen, where Saïx headed to the counter and started up a kettle of boiling water.

"Sit down," he said. "This will not take long."

Roxas hesitated. He could have run right out of there and was certain that Saïx wouldn't stop him. He took a step back into the doorway. If he was quiet enough, perhaps the man wouldn't even notice him leaving.

"Run, if you wish," Saïx called without turning from his work with the kettle. "I haven't the energy to chase you."

There was a shrill whistling as the water reached a boil. Roxas watched as it was poured into a small cup over a mound of loose tea leaves. His curiosity piqued, he slowly trudged over to the table and took a seat just in time for Saïx to set the cup in front of him.

"What's this?" Roxas asked, leaning over to smell the contents.

"Ginger tea," he answered. "I find that it settles the stomach."

"You have stomach problems?"

Saïx was pouring a second cup for himself. "I'd say that's the least of my problems," he muttered as he sat and reached for Roxas' hand. "Let me see it."

Roxas quietly obeyed, finally getting a clear look at his hand as he presented it to him. It was mangled all to hell, but Saïx took it carefully, turning it about and inspecting it. There were pieces of glass in it. It was covered in cuts and bruises. Parts of it were swelling terribly. Blood gushed from it in several places, staining his skin completely red. The wounds were mostly superficial and nothing had broken, but now, his anger having simmered down and without the aid of adrenaline, it was beginning to really hurt. Saïx made no outward reaction to any of his observations, continuing to silently examine every side of it.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, rising from his chair. "Stay where you are."

"Saïx—"

"Stay."

He disappeared into a closet at the back of the room, searching briefly before returning with a small box filled with emergency medical supplies. He pulled out a roll of bandages, a bottle with a clear solution inside, a tiny pair of forceps, and a tube of ointment. He removed his gloves, exposing his hands so that Roxas could see them. He realized that he'd never seen Saïx's hands before, and now he knew why. The man's knuckles were covered in a chaotic roadmap of scars.

Catching him staring, Saïx explained. "I'm no stranger to self-loathing, Roxas."

Roxas gasped, stunned by the notion. "But why…?"

"Hold still."

He began with the forceps, carefully picking shards of glass from Roxas' hand. It was fascinating to watch, if not slightly unsettling. Roxas bit his lip and was silent during the process, hoping that the man might fill the space with words. Perhaps elaborate on his confession — his admission of self-loathing. As cold and hateful as it seemed he could be, Roxas would have thought Saïx to be the least likely to genuinely loathe anyone or anything. It simply wasn't possible, and no one had embraced that limitation more than he. Where the rest of the Organization had begun to open up to the idea that they could inexplicably feel again, Saïx closed off even more, curling inward and hiding behind the guard of his stone face. Even now, as a typhoon of thoughts and memories — as his story — swirled about in Saïx's head, he still showed no emotion, only continuing to pluck glass from Roxas' wounds with his usual expressionless stare.

After some time, he seemed to notice Roxas watching him intently, waiting to listen to that story. The one that, as Roxas could plainly see, he didn't like to tell. He sighed heavily. "I didn't always look like this," he began. "I've punched more mirrors than I care to admit to."

"You mean the…?" Roxas eyed the mark across the bridge of the man's nose — the X-shaped scar that dominated the center of his face. Roxas had always been curious about it, but knew better than to ever ask. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "Um… What happened?"

"Xemnas did this to me many years ago."

Roxas blinked. "Why?"

"I asked him to."

"What?"

"I was young. I was hurt and desperate," he answered blankly. "And, I was foolish."

He'd finished removing the glass and was wiping away the dried blood with a wet cloth. Roxas would have expected him to be a bit rough, but his handling was surprisingly gentle. Even as he applied pressure to the few more alarming cuts still leaking blood, it was obvious that Saïx was being cautious. Roxas watched his face, trying to read him. He could sense the man's emotions clear as day, but was continually impressed by his ability to mask them. His eyes were keenly focused. His responses were deliberately vague. Although Roxas could fill in the blanks, he could hardly contain his questions. "Who hurt you?"

"It doesn't matter," he said shortly, setting aside the bloodied cloth and opening the bottle of clear liquid. "Brace yourself."

He took firm hold of Roxas' wrist and poured the contents of the bottle over his hand. There was a searing pain upon contact, and even though Roxas was prepared for it, he still hissed and squirmed in his seat, prompting Saïx to tighten his grasp. Thankfully, it wasn't long before the sting had faded, and Saïx could continue his work dressing the wounds.

"My reflection only serves to remind me of the mistake I made back then," he went on, still in a jarringly flat tone. "I like to think I had a softer expression once upon a time."

"You didn't deserve that…" Roxas muttered. When Saïx looked up, questioning him with his eyes, he repeated himself. "You didn't deserve what he did to you. No one deserves that."

Saïx paused before responding. "It's in the past, Roxas. It doesn't matter anymore."

Of all twelve members of the Organization Roxas could call his comrades, Saïx was the one he understood the least. Without fail, he always maintained a well-practiced composure unmatched by all. Always wore an icy glare, flat and lifeless in even the most stressful of circumstances. He never faltered, until now. Until the experiment came to a head and everything seemed to fall apart. Saïx was a closed man, guarded in every sense of the term. Roxas never knew just what he was thinking, but now had a decent guess. In so few words, Saïx had laid out his entire story for him to hear. One he'd heard before, in a way. One of sorrow and pain. One that, however inadvertently, the two of them shared. The parallels between them were uncanny. Together, they had lost too much. Together, they were hurt and angry. Together, they'd had their fill of loneliness.

Roxas began to feel an ache somewhere in his chest. It began in the center and traveled outward until it filled him entirely. It wasn't anything like the fiery spread of anger or the electrifying current of happiness or the sharp daggers of fear. No, this sensation was one of a slow, sad decay, as if he were rotting from the inside out. He swallowed hard, fighting the clench in his throat and the nauseating drop in his stomach.

"Saïx," Roxas whispered shakily. "What's going to happen to me?"

Saïx paused briefly, but didn't answer. Roxas pressed him further. "This thing can't stay in here forever. What's going to happen?"

He didn't raise his head. "None of us know what will happen."

"Even a theory. Anything, Saïx. Please."

"All of my theories are disturbing."

"I can take it."

"Roxas…"

"Just tell me!"

There was a long hesitation wherein Saïx still did not budge. Not a word, not even a glance. The silence was heavy and crushing. Roxas was glaring impatiently, and at last Saïx relented, giving him a look like he'd never seen before. There were a multitude of emotions behind it. Roxas could see pity, sympathy, anxiety, and outrage, all clashing in a great war inside him. The battle raged on, back and forth, with no end in sight. Through the hole in his chest and into the pit of his stomach, Roxas could see the catalyst that set it all off. Remorse. The slow-moving virus that wore him down piece by piece. He didn't have to say anything. Roxas heard him loud and clear.

It was no longer refreshing to see Saïx looking so emotional, so human. Now, it only filled Roxas with a sense of unease. He regretted the intrusion, trying to peek into the man's thoughts like he did. After having found Saïx's mind to be such a dark and frightening place, he struggled to turn away from it, as if gawking at a gruesome, bloody scene of an accident. It was then that Roxas began to understand. Zexion had explained the meaning of the term 'pregnancy' months ago. It was an awkward discussion from beginning to end, but the apprentice glossed over the more unpleasant details and stuck to the necessary facts. Even those facts were harrowing — Zexion described symptoms that sounded so brutal that Roxas questioned why anyone would ever choose to let such a condition overtake them. All the while, the scientists promised to make him as comfortable as possible, throwing everything they had at the pain, the nausea, the insomnia and the stress, all to no avail. Roxas experienced every symptom in its entirety, and each day he would turn to the sky and beg for just a moment of freedom. Just one breath of fresh air to hold him over, to remind him of what would be waiting for him on the other side of this godforsaken trial.

What he wasn't told — the details he'd been so graciously spared — was how it would all end, and Roxas had always been too afraid to ask. Now, he understood why such information had been left out.

"Will it hurt?"

Another heavy pause. "Yes."

Roxas gulped. "Am I going to die?"

An unforgettable look in his eyes. "I don't know."

Roxas should not have found any of it surprising. Plenty of times he prayed for death. If anything, he should have been relieved to hear that he might finally escape this hell. Even death would have been better than staying this way. But then, as the words passed Saïx's lips, and the reality of his situation came crashing down on him, all Roxas could think was noise, and all he could feel was fear.

He'd almost forgotten the pains until he felt another one suddenly crushing his insides. He hissed, clutching his writhing abdomen as the pressure climbed at a staggering pace. Saïx froze in his seat across from him, looking on in horror. Roxas heard him gasp and felt his alarm. "Roxas? Is it like before?"

"Yeah, it's the same as—" The pain intensified, interrupting him. He closed his eyes and tried to take himself back to the clock tower. Tried to remember the taste of the ice cream. The sound of Axel's laughter and the warmth of the sun's rays on his face. The steady rhythm of his breaths and the reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Roxas," a voice came from directly beside him. "Drink it."

He opened his eyes. Saïx had moved to the chair next to him and was holding out the teacup. Roxas had forgotten all about the tea. Ginger, for stomach problems. Tummy aches. Quite an understatement for what was happening to him.

"Saïx, I don't think—"

"It will help you relax."

Roxas did drink the tea, and the pain did pass, but he wasn't about to give the man credit for it. The spasms always lasted around a minute or so, and this one was no exception. When it had finally wound down, Roxas began to feel very tired. He peeked at the clock, finding it to be only a few minutes past five in the evening. Much too early for sleep. Perhaps the mission had worn him out. He was woefully out of shape. The other guys were probably tired, too.

"They are getting worse," Saïx observed with foreboding in his tone.

"No," Roxas blurted insistently. "I was just surprised, that's all."

Saïx was unconvinced, but nodded and silently returned to his place across the table to finish wrapping the bandage on Roxas' hand. It was still sore, but mild in comparison to the mysterious spasms. Like usual, the pain had come out of nowhere with no discernible trigger. It had been some time since the last one, long enough for him to have let down his guard. In exasperation, he listened inward for whatever message the creature wanted to send, any reason it could give for hurting him. I've been pretty generous to let you live inside my body for so long. The least you could do is tell me what you want from me. The only response he received was a series of painful aftershocks, and Roxas winced as they rumbled through his belly in defiance.

Saïx took notice and was already reaching for the teacup again. "Another one? So soon?"

Alright, alright! I'm sorry for asking! Stop it! "No, it's nothing. It's just a cramp."

"Roxas, if it's coming back already, then you need to—"

"Just hold on a second," Roxas stopped him. He was so close to having it figured out. Saïx was staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer just as much as he was. Roxas could feel his anticipation. Could hear the buzzing of his nerves. Just like that morning during his examination. Just like every damn time he got near him. Suddenly, something clicked into place.

"It's…" he whispered. "It's you."

"What?"

"It's you," Roxas said, staring him directly in the eyes as the picture became clearer. "You're in pain. You're terrified. What's wrong?"

Saïx's face became slightly pale. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Roxas was dumbfounded. He looked at Saïx and could see it all so vividly, so perfectly. Was the man really not aware? How was it that he could hurt so much and not even realize it? It finally made sense. At last, Roxas had put the pieces together. The strong emotions, whether his or otherwise, were what triggered the spasms. The repugnance at seeing his own reflection. The anxiety in the lab that morning. The excitement after the battle in Agrabah. The overwhelming fear right there in the kitchen. Emotions that belonged to him, and emotions that did not. Roxas could feel them just as powerfully, and when they struck, so too did the pains.

"I get it… emotions," he elaborated. "I know we don't have hearts. But I had to feel an emotion to be able to break that mirror. And you. And everyone. Whenever any of you feels something, I can feel it too, and if it's strong enough, that's when the pains happen…"

"Roxas, we are Nobodies. We cannot feel emotions."

"I don't believe that for a minute, and neither do you."

Everything Saïx might have said in response flashed across his eyes so quickly that had Roxas blinked, he'd have missed it.

"Look, your face, it just changed," he pointed out urgently. "I've seen it before on all of you. You don't notice it?"

Saïx spoke not a word as he cleaned up the medical supplies, fixing his gaze on the table in avoidance. He was stuffing bottles, ointments, and unused bandages back into the little box, rearranging it constantly to make it fit. Fidgeting. Roxas had never seen him fidget before. He reached out and clasped the man's wrist. It was shaking. Roxas couldn't believe it, couldn't even comprehend what he was seeing past the utter shock. Saïx's hands were trembling, and he didn't protest the unexpected touch. He went limp, watching as Roxas slowly lifted his arm until his hand lay flat against his own sternum.

"Do you feel it?" Roxas asked in a hushed tone. "In your chest?"

The room was so quiet that Roxas could practically hear the beating. Saïx was holding his breath, listening with widened eyes. It was unfathomable that any one of them should be afraid to feel that persistent drumming, yet if Roxas could have described Saïx's expression, he'd say the man looked horrified. In clear distress, Saïx wrenched himself out of his grip and practically leaped out of his seat. "Come, you need some rest, Roxas."

"Wait!" Roxas grabbed his sleeve before he could get too far. "Why are you running away?"

Saïx froze in his tracks and Roxas continued in desperation. "I thought we wanted more than anything to be able to feel emotions. Except you. Why, Saïx? Why do you fight it?"

Roxas had no intention to intrude on the man's most personal motivations. He wasn't aiming to violate his privacy or break down all of his barriers. More than anything, he wanted to get through. Not as a counselor, not as a comrade, not even as a friend. But as a person, Roxas appealed to the humanity that Saïx was trying so hard to suppress. After a lengthy hiatus, the man answered in a voice that chilled him to the bone. "Roxas, there is something I want you to understand."

Roxas nodded. "I'm listening."

"You are very close to Axel."

Unsure where this conversation was headed, Roxas stammered slightly, caught off-guard. "I… Y-Yes, I am."

"He cares very deeply for you, as I'm sure you know."

"Well, yeah," Roxas narrowed his eyes. "Where are you going with this?"

With a slight waver in his speech, Saïx spoke slowly, deliberately, ensuring that Roxas understood every word. "I was once very close to Axel."

Saïx turned to face him, now a different man than the one who had turned away. His features had not changed at all, and his mannerisms were undeniably Saïx's, but there was more there. His expression was brimming with something more powerful than sorrow, more agonizing than grief. A type of pain that Roxas did not recognize. Something deep and vicious that both stung sharply like needles, and carved slowly like dull knives. The missing chapters of the story were filled in, and Roxas was now seeing a side of Saïx he'd never seen before. One that was just as broken as the other, but in a much different way. The side that Axel talked about on the clock tower. Roxas was staring into the face of Saïx's Somebody.

"You… You were more than best friends."

Saïx neither confirmed nor denied the claim, only continuing with his explanation with a slight grimace. "You mean everything to him. If something were to happen to you, he would be devastated. I…" he swallowed with some difficulty. "I couldn't bear that."

Roxas was not human. He had never been human. By all accounts, humanity was entirely foreign to him. Friendship was a human concept. Love was a human emotion. Pain and grief and loss were human experiences. Xemnas had always taught them that it was those very facets that made humans weak. But when Roxas looked at Saïx, he did not see a man who was weak. Axel wasn't weak either. None of his comrades were weak. And even so, Roxas couldn't fathom why weakness could be so wrong. How could there be strength without weakness?

Humans are fragile. Humans are vulnerable. Humans are breakable. And even if their injuries are healed, their Nobodies can remember the wounds, can remember the pain. But what Roxas could sense in Saïx was more potent than that. It was plain to see that the man did not just remember — he could still feel it. Axel could feel it as well. Maybe even as strongly as it was when they'd first been hurt. When they'd first hurt each other, as Roxas had come to understand. Perhaps, he thought, they'd never healed in the first place.

Roxas figured he might never grasp the nuance of humanity, but the vulnerability that Saïx was showing him now was more human than anything he'd ever seen. It was then that he concluded that Nobodies could be fragile, too. A Nobody could be broken. Heart or no heart, a Nobody could be hurt just as deeply as any human, and by no means did that ever make them weak.

Saïx released a shuddering exhale. "That is why I am protecting you. I blew my chance to make him happy, but you still have yours."

"That isn't true, Saïx," Roxas argued. "You still have yours, too."

Saïx looked doubtful, and Roxas was even more insistent. "You said it's in the past and it doesn't matter anymore. So, if you want to make him happy, make him happy."

At first, Saïx's face shone with disbelief, clearly untrusting of Roxas' invitation. But Roxas meant every word, and he sternly locked onto Saïx's eyes until he could convince him of his sincerity. There was some hesitation, but he could see the man's jaw clench with determination as his expression became increasingly resolute. He returned to the table and knelt beside Roxas' chair. "Listen carefully," he placed his hands on Roxas' shoulders and fervently implored him. "It will take everything you have to survive this. If you want to live, you have to fight. I didn't, and I went under. It's not too late for you." He was on his knees, begging Roxas from the very core of his being, pleading with a chilling desperation in his voice. "It's going to get a lot harder from here, and you're going to want to give up, but you can't. You have to hold on, Roxas. If not for your own sake, then do it for Axel."

Saïx's intentions were just as much selfish as they were selfless. His desires ran deeper than just wanting — needing Roxas to take care of Axel. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice gave it all away. More than protecting the man who meant the world to both of them, Saïx beseeched Roxas to care for himself as well, in the hopes that the boy wouldn't end up like him. A man who had given up. A man who went under. Roxas refused to accept it. Saïx and Axel were both alive and well. They lived under the same roof, breathed the same air. If there was something standing between them, Roxas couldn't see it.

"Saïx," Roxas took his elbows, speaking just as urgently. "You have to hold on, too. For Axel."

Saïx and Roxas were not friends, and as far as either of them were concerned, they didn't need to be. But after tonight, it was clear that there had been a change in the dynamic of their relationship. What they shared now was a deep conviction to understand — to understand each other and to understand the gruesome reality that had been thrust upon them. To acknowledge their common goals and work together to reach them. For Axel. Those words were the seal. The reminder that even if they had nothing else, they would still have him.

It was in Axel's nature to pour all of his energy into caring for his friends. He was self-sacrificing to a fault, and his fierce loyalty and protectiveness was more often than not to his own detriment. Now, in his zeal to carry everything on his own weary shoulders, Axel was teetering on the brink, and the two of them needed to lend him what little strength they had left, or else he would go under, too. It was this promise that had become their purpose, the first thing they could share between them. Axel was their connection. Axel was the basis for this new bond they'd formed, and they both wanted nothing more than what was best for him. He was their purpose, their universe, their everything, and Roxas was more than willing to share him.

Saïx didn't want his pity. Roxas knew that, and he would spare him such a sentiment if that was his wish. But he wasn't about to sit there and let the man suffer, no matter how noble he might have believed it to be. Axel's happiness was far too important to let Saïx be left behind. Whatever troubled past they shared, whatever ugly history was written between them, Saïx meant something to Axel, and Axel meant something to Saïx. Roxas had no right, and no desire, to let that bond stay in jeopardy. If Saïx had truly gone under, then Roxas was not only obligated, but honored to extend his hand and pull him out. They were in this together now, and no one would be drowning on his watch.

Indeed, they were not friends. But they weren't enemies, either. Axel needed them. He needed them both. Their vow, their purpose, was to fight for his sake, and together, they were going to fight like hell.

"It's not too late for you either," Roxas concluded, turning down the man's resignation. He let his words sink in, watching as Saix's eyes changed, cycling through the emotions that were stirred up by the exchange. At the end of it all, he appeared much more relaxed. Relieved, even. Without saying so, he'd agreed to hold up his end of the bargain. Roxas could celebrate his success — at last, he'd gotten through.

"How do you feel now?" Saïx asked, stacking the now-empty teacups and clearing the table.

Roxas' head felt heavy as a cinder block. "Tired."

"Can you walk?"

"Of course I can."

The moment Roxas tried to stand, his knees buckled and he nearly collapsed to the floor. In his fatigue, his legs were too weak to carry him. Saïx caught him before he could fall, supporting his entire weight as the two carefully staggered back to his room. It was a slow trek, silent as the one they'd made earlier. Saïx was patient for every step, stopping whenever Roxas needed to catch his breath. When they arrived at his room, Roxas found that the mess had already been cleaned by the Dusks and the mirror had been replaced. He climbed into bed and could feel himself fading the moment his head hit the pillow.

When he was settled, Saïx turned to leave, shutting off the light as he made his exit.

"Wait," Roxas called for him, barely awake enough for his voice to carry across the room. "Don't tell Axel…"

Saïx returned with a solemn nod. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks…"

Roxas was out before he'd managed to leave the room. Standing there, alone in his presence, Saïx watched him. For once, he looked peaceful. There was no green tinge to his skin. There was no pained grimace etched into his brow. He wasn't afraid, and he wasn't suffering. He was sound asleep. With all he'd been through, Roxas deserved to rest, if only for one night. Knowing what would be in store for him, he would surely need it.

Once the door was closed, Saïx's whole body slumped against the wall in exhaustion. He wasn't sure how, but in that moment he felt entirely drained in a way he hadn't experienced in many years. Physically spent. Emotionally depleted, if it were even possible. It had been a long time since he'd last felt so tired. His head sank into his hands and his eyes, dry and bloodshot, closed off the world and all its blinding noise. Everything was too loud, too bright. The overstimulation made his head ache.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite blue-haired associate!" a cheerful voice slurred from down the hall. "Evening, sweet thing."

It was an understatement to sigh and roll his eyes, but it was all he had the energy to do. He turned to see Xigbar wobbling on his feet as he sauntered toward him. "Why the pet names?"

"Because I'm drunk and I like you."

Drunk was another understatement. Saïx could smell the alcohol on his breath from several feet away. "Sorry, I'm not really ready for a relationship right now. It's not you, it's me."

Xigbar clutched his chest, grinning as he feigned injury. "Ouch! My heart!"

Saïx kept his head down as Xigbar joined him in leaning against the wall. Well aware that he was being watched, he moved not a muscle. His breaths were level and his expression was blank. He felt Xigbar's prying eye, scanning him for a reaction, and he wasn't about to give him reason to start an interrogation.

It was unclear whether he was satisfied or disappointed, but Xigbar eventually dropped the staring and gestured in Roxas' direction. "So, how's the kiddo?"

Still guarded, Saïx chose his responses carefully. "He's fine," he answered, peering at Roxas' door with something like trepidation in his eyes. "I drugged him. He'll sleep through the night."

Xigbar clicked his tongue piteously. "Poor kid. Probably needs it."

They walked together in silence to Saïx's room, where Xigbar invited himself inside and plunked himself in a chair across from Saïx at his desk. Saïx, however, was in no mood for whatever games the man had in store. "What do you want, Xigbar?"

"Well, I came to drop off my mission report. I stayed to talk."

Saïx picked up the nearest stack of papers and began to rifle through them. "I haven't the time to talk."

"Make time. You've been walking around with a face that screams 'I need therapy' for days now."

"I have a lot of work to do."

Xigbar's face was etched with disapproval. "Saïx, you're a mess. Take a break."

"I can't. I still have to file these reports, plot out tomorrow's search rotation, log Roxas' health update—"

He was interrupted by the loud bang of a dark, unlabeled liquor bottle being slammed onto the desk in front of him. Saïx arched an eyebrow, questioning what would possess the man to offer him alcohol at a time like this. "What's this?"

"What's it look like? It's whiskey. Now drink it."

Saïx shook his head and slid the bottle away to the other side of the desk. "I don't drink, Xigbar. It turns my stomach."

"Everything turns your stomach. At least this will help you relax for a little while first. What's the difference?"

"The last thing I need is to be sick while I'm trying to hold the entire damn Organization together."

"Isa," Xigbar leaned in. "Drink."

Saïx wasn't sure what exactly made him do it. Maybe the sound of his human name struck him with a pang of nostalgia. Perhaps he thought it would encourage Xigbar to leave sooner. A shot of cheap whiskey was a small price to pay to get rid of him. Or, maybe some morbid curiosity in him wanted to feel that familiar buzz again. After so many years, he'd forgotten the sensation. Maybe he was wondering if it would feel good. Maybe he wanted to feel good. Whatever the reason, Saïx heaved a sigh, opened the bottle and took a long swig. It was revolting. Now he remembered quite well why he preferred not to drink. It burned from the tongue all the way to the stomach, but he swallowed it without any reaction to its offensive flavor. When he could take no more, he set the bottle back in front of Xigbar and quietly returned to his work.

"Damn!" Xigbar exclaimed. "When were you gonna tell me you could shoot liquor like a champ?"

Saïx did not look up, having no intention to ever answer him.

"I guess you needed it," the man laughed, taking a large gulp himself. "Now, listen. You don't have to hold us all together. That kind of stress can kill a guy. All you have to do is ask and we'll help. You're not alone, my friend."

"Xigbar—"

"You have a lot on your plate. You need to relax or you'll give yourself a coronary."

At this point, a coronary would be preferable. Saïx pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling softly. His patience was wearing thin, but perhaps some part of him welcomed Xigbar's company. He simply didn't have it in him to throw the man out. "I really have to finish this, Xigbar."

"Why don't you let me take some work off your hands? I can hand out mission assignments. You could sleep in. Go work on your tan. Visit Axel."

So that's what this is about. The discussion with Roxas was more than plenty. Saïx would happily gossip about any other man in the Organization until his voice was hoarse. Any other man but Axel.

"So," Xigbar reclined heavily in his chair and set his feet on the desk, apparently unwilling to drop the subject. "Tell me about him."

"What is there to tell?"

He grinned mischievously and held out the bottle to him. "Drink more."

"Xigbar—"

"More."

Saïx glared at him, never once breaking eye contact as he grabbed the bottle, took another sip, and returned it to its place as far away from him as possible.

Xigbar giggled, tilting the bottle back over his own mouth. "That ought to spice things up."

Saïx's thoughts had wandered back to the other night, standing in the hallway and watching Axel's face fall as he rejected him yet again. It couldn't be helped. Saïx knew things now, things he never wanted to know. He remembered how, for the first time in many years, his eyes had welled up as he read the reports with his own name on them — the devastating news he wished he hadn't learned pouring into his mind faster than he could process it. For a long while afterward he just sat there, staring at the screen, reading it over and over and hoping it might have been a mistake, but the words never changed. How could he face Axel now?

Saïx was back to sorting through mission reports — a task which largely became just moving the papers from one stack to another. He couldn't concentrate on any of the words therein, and it seemed that Xigbar had taken notice as he crossed his arms impatiently. "I'm waiting."

"If it's Axel you're so interested in, why don't you just go talk to him?"

"Why won't you?"

Saïx had decided that Axel didn't need to know. It would only complicate things further, and their relationship was enough of a mess without throwing in another variable like that. He wanted the man to know him as he was — a faint echo of someone who had once been his best friend. The mere shadow of Isa. That would be enough. Axel's memories need not be tainted like they were for Saïx.

"I bet he misses you."

"Lay off, Xigbar."

"He's probably lonely."

"Too bad for him."

Saïx was gripping his pencil hard enough to break it in half. Xigbar clasped his fingers behind his head, looking infuriatingly relaxed by comparison. "You know, what you need is to get your rocks off."

"My rocks are fine where they are."

"You'll feel better," he said persuasively. "I just got my shit rocked so hard I swear I grew my heart back. And I feel great!"

"Congratulations," Saïx muttered with a hint of bitterness. "I'm so happy for you."

"Aw man, let me tell ya, that Luxord is a dream. Really knows his way around a—"

"Fine. I'll take a break," Saïx snapped, dropping his pencil on the desk. "I'll go for a walk, read a book, jerk off, whatever will make you go away."

"You're sleeping with Axel, aren't you?"

Saïx could feel a warm flush flooding into his cheeks. His skin was burning up from his neck to his ears. He couldn't believe that he was actually blushing. He was probably just angry. Or perhaps it was the whiskey. Whatever it was, it seemed to delight the hell out of Xigbar, and Saïx was ready to wipe that smug grin off his face right then and there. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Xigbar, but Axel and I broke up years ago. I'm through with him."

Xigbar slid the bottle across the table. "Take another drink and see if you still think that."

By this point, Saïx was drinking the whiskey strictly out of defiance. Another shot in and he was beginning to feel the buzz. It had been years since he'd taken even a sip of alcohol, and apparently by now it didn't take much to affect him. He would certainly regret every drop in the morning, but for now, he conceded that maybe Xigbar was right. Maybe he needed it. He set the bottle back on the desk with a heavy thud, closing his eyes as his head began to spin.

Xigbar let out a satisfied chuckle. "Drunk yet?"

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

"Maybe. You're so tense. You needed to chill."

"I'm perfectly chill."

"You are now," he took another sizeable gulp himself. "So have I loosened your tongue?"

He certainly hadn't. Saïx folded his arms. "I don't understand what it is you want me to tell you."

Xigbar lowered his voice to a suspenseful whisper. "Tell me your secrets. Your thoughts and feelings, your hopes and dreams. All your girlish fantasies."

Saïx could have laughed out loud at the notion. "It'll take more than a few shots of whiskey to get any of that out of me."

"I've got a whole bottle."

Saïx didn't wait for Xigbar to offer it this time. He grabbed the bottle and poured yet another shot of whiskey down his throat. He was growing accustomed to the taste. It was still cheap and lacking in any pleasant flavor, but it was tolerable, and it played its part adequately. He could now say that he was thoroughly drunk. It was a condition in which he never thought he'd find himself again — he was quite honest when he claimed that alcohol turned his stomach — but he didn't entirely dislike the rocking of the floor beneath him or the numbness in his skin. He felt loose and light, more so than he had in a long while. He closed his eyes again, measuring the pace of his breaths, listening for that beating in his chest that Roxas had discovered. It had been such a beautiful sound, so shocking and so moving. So frightening. He was nearly overcome with fear — fear and elation.

The alcohol had saturated his body and his mind. He could feel it pooling inside him, whispering thoughts he wouldn't ordinarily think. As safe as he knew he was with Xigbar, there was a shaky vulnerability to suddenly feeling so open, so exposed. It was such a human moment, letting his inhibitions crumble to bits at his feet. He was liberated, if only temporarily. He could connect with Xigbar so easily now. He could tell him everything and he didn't have to care. If Xigbar wasn't going to leave unless he caved, then he would readily talk the man's ear off until he tired of the conversation at last.

Xigbar flashed a sly smirk. "He must be good."

"He is the best I have ever had."

"Now we're talking."

"It's the closest I ever come to feeling anything."

"You're making me hard just talking about it."

Me too. Axel looked so stunning that night, naked and writhing under him. Saïx couldn't stop thinking how exquisite it felt to be inside him. Couldn't stop remembering the groundbreaking intensity of the climax. He should have been embarrassed to discuss such a topic with Xigbar, to have such thoughts in his presence, but he didn't. He felt completely at ease. Saïx could go on and on about how sex with Axel was simply life-changing, how beautiful an experience it was to be so close to him, how intimate their connection was and how deeply in—

"But you're not satisfied just being another notch on his bedpost."

Xigbar's interruption brought him out of his fantasies and back to the present. He'd delivered a heavy dose of reality and Saïx was unprepared for the crushing disappointment. He rose out of his chair in a huff and meandered toward the window, feeling unexpectedly and disproportionately pensive and troubled.

Relax. It's just the booze.

"Hey, now, don't walk away," Xigbar hopped out of his seat and caught up to the back of him. Saïx had no inclination to fight, and put forth no resistance toward Xigbar's affectionate embrace around the shoulders. "Listen, I'm not gonna pry. It's none of my business. But I know you, man. I've known you for a long time, and I can tell when something's bothering you. And something really big is just eating at you from the inside out. Something bigger than Axel. Something that scares you."

Xigbar was speaking so softly that, were his chin not resting directly beside Saïx's ear, he wouldn't have heard him. Saïx opened his mouth, intending to say something, to counter his claim, but the numbness in his lips and tongue hindered his speech and he let the words go unsaid.

Xigbar shrugged, unfazed. "You're trying to hide it. That's fine, I guess. I'm just letting you know your cover's slipping."

That's easy for you to say.

Saïx had to bite his lip to keep from snapping at him in response. Xigbar didn't know a damn thing. He couldn't possibly understand what Saïx was going through. To wake up every day over a ten-year transformation, never recognizing that anything was changing until one day he looked in the mirror and saw someone else staring back at him. How terrifying an experience it was, how confused he was at the sight of it. He knew exactly how Roxas felt. He knew exactly what it was like to loathe the grotesque being standing where his reflection should be. All those years wondering why, never to receive an answer until it was too late, then to find that he never wanted the answer in the first place.

You try hiding it. You try living this way.

Your cover would slip, too.

Saïx took a breath. Two breaths. Several breaths. Xigbar had come to help. He was here to be a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on, Saïx's chagrin be damned. He hated the man for breaking through his guard, but at the same time couldn't appreciate him more for handling his weakness so gently. On any other day, Xigbar might have just poked fun and teased him mercilessly, but it seemed that he was prone to sentimentality when under the influence of alcohol as well.

It wasn't the first bottle of whiskey they'd shared together. Saïx fondly reminisced about those late nights in Radiant Garden, lying on the floor and giggling over nothing. Back when alcohol didn't bother him. Back when they were human — Isa and Braig. When they were friends. They talked about Lea then, too. They talked about Luxord. They talked about everything. Braig was full of stories, Isa was full of questions. Now awash in nostalgia, Saïx released a long sigh.

"You're very lucky, Braig."

The man tilted his head. "Lucky? In what way?"

He didn't take it away from you.

He reluctantly ducked out of Xigbar's arms to look him in the eye. His cover had more than slipped — it had shattered. Roxas chipped away at its surface, then Xigbar came through with a mallet and smashed it to bits with one heavy blow. Just like he always did. Saïx looked at him with weary eyes. "You have a high tolerance for alcohol. And a strong stomach."

Xigbar didn't laugh this time. His expression glossed over with melancholy, but his smile was warm and sincere. "You can keep that bottle. A gift from your old pal Xiggy."

Saïx supposed that Xigbar had accomplished exactly what he'd set out to do. The alcohol had knocked him out cold, and when morning came, he could barely see through the splitting headache he'd been left with. When the man came to his door again, giggling as he collected the mission assignments to hand out in his stead, Saïx couldn't even get out of bed to either greet him or to throttle him. He lay there until the afternoon, feeling so ill that he refused to eat and could barely manage a shower. But, in spite of it all, he was grateful for the evening he'd had. Rekindling old bonds and forming new ones. Making promises. Finding a purpose that was worth it. He understood what Axel saw in Roxas, even if he couldn't put it into words. The boy was genuine in a way Saïx hadn't seen in years. He was trustworthy where everyone else in the Organization was not. One could believe everything he said as truth. He was kind, even to those who didn't deserve it. He was loyal to his friends, even when they hadn't earned it. To just be in his presence was a comfortable feeling that defied description.

Everything was falling apart. Nothing was certain, and no one was truly well. But what choice did they have other than to hope for a brighter future? Why not wish, why not pray, why not dream? Why not fight? They all had to cope in their own ways. To muddle through and find those small comforts wherever they could was all anyone could do. Roxas and Axel could have their evenings on the clock tower if that preserved their sanity. Demyx could play his sitar until the castle windows all shattered in unison. Zexion could bury himself in work and live off of black coffee and lonely nights. And finally, for Saïx, it was a welcome escape to set it all aside for once, lose himself in memories, relax into good conversation, and get shamelessly drunk with an old friend.


It's all fun and games until Xigbar shows up with a bottle of whiskey.

I was just on vacation for a week, where I got to finish this chapter and proof-read it several times. Every time I got to read it was a delight. I am so moved, so thrilled. All of the emotional beats I wanted to hit here landed perfectly and I am so excited to hear what everyone thinks of it. Even the title feels flawless, you guys. I'm stoked as hell.

The first chapter rips my heart out every time I read it. The second half of this chapter was a complete surprise! It was originally going to end after Saix leaves Roxas' room! But NOPE, Xigbar crashed the party and hijacked the rest of the chapter with his surprisingly fluffy bullshit and honestly, I'm here for it. You do you, Xigbar. Live your best life.

This chapter is a real turning point for this story. We have a ways to go, but shit is going down and it's gonna get chaotic, so pack a bag and practice your breathing. I can't wait to show you what I have in store.

Up next, we get to check in on a couple of other fellows who have some choice words for each other.

Come and hang out with me in my discord server! discord .gg/ ffy5E8G

Peace and Love,

Ostelan

PS - this chapter came out to almost a whopping 9000 words, so the title is no joke, y'all!