Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. This is a not for profit fanwork.

1.

The boy is utterly numb, despite the fact that Even's weaned him off the painkillers. He has not said one solitary word to anyone, has barely made eye contact. His knowledge of psychology is less than ideal, but he knows that the boy is clearly deeply traumatized.

Ansem has barely left his bedside, taking his work in with him, fretting over this or that shred of diplomacy. Even tried to tell him that such stress was not good for the little one; he needed peace, quiet, rest, and likely soon some kind of counseling, once they can find an appropriate person. But Ansem wouldn't hear it, and once Ansem's mind is made up there's no convincing him. What does Even know; he's only a doctor, he's only seen firsthand what stress will do to people.

Still, there is the matter of what will become of the boy. As the days pass, Even tries to convince Ansem into making some kind of choice. There are plenty of childless couples in Radiant Garden that would be happy to take him in, despite trauma; he will go down to the agency and personally interview them if that is what it will take to get a decision.

When Ansem finally decides, they've moved the boy from the med bay onto their floor. He still has not said a word, but at least he looks one in the eye. Even tries to fill the silences with questions. He is out of practice with children.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some juice? Apple, orange? Would you like to go outside? I'm sure Aeleus would be happy to accompany you. Fresh air would be good for you, it's such a lovely day. Maybe you can make a friend to play with."

He is met always with that quiet, one piercing teal eye staring up at me through long bangs. He's itching to cut it-no doubt that hair is no good for his eyesight-but he knows he needs to be careful with this one. Even realizes that he isn't sure if the boy even knows; what did he see? Did Ansem tell him what happened? He must've.

Again, he goes down to his office, that familiar bastion. Ansem's desk is a sea of papers; half bureaucratic, half scientific, a slurry that makes Even wince. "I don't suppose you have a moment, Master."

He chances giving me a small smile. "For you, Even, always."

Sarcastic bastard. "I hate to be redundant, but I have questions about the boy."

His soft expression hardens a little. "His name is Ienzo."

"Is he aware of what happened?"

Ansem scratches his beard. "It's hard to be sure what he's aware of," he mutters. "Have a seat."

It is never good news when Ansem asks one to sit. Even picks up a stack of papers from one of the chairs and sets it down.

"Even, it warms my heart to know you care. I see such tenderness from you so rarely. I wish you would allow it to come out more."

He wonders if Ansem'll chance bringing it up. Even wonders if he dares.

Ansem takes a sip of his tea. "The… parallels don't escape me."

His expression becomes rather fixed. "I believe I came here to discuss another matter," he snaps.

He lets it drop; which is good. It means he can keep all of his body parts. "Which is?" He wants to make him say it. Even scowls.

"Has anyone told the boy? Has anyone sat him down and explained his parents are dead?"

"There's no need," Ansem says quietly.

"Of course there is. He can't live not knowing. He can't begin to recover-"

"He saw them." Ansem knots his hands and stares at him. "After the Unversed swarm. Aeleus heard him screaming."

Even feels his heart settle, itchily, in his chest. "...I suppose that settles that."

"Is that all you wished to speak of?"

"You know it isn't. Someone has to decide his fate. And it seems that everything I say is taken with a grain of salt." He was the one who brought it up earlier, but Even almost finds himself backtracking to it-which one of them has parented a child?

"There is nothing to decide," Ansem says simply. "His place is obviously here."

"Here?" The blood rushes to Even's face. "This is not a fit place for a child. He needs the opportunity to go to school-to make friends-"

"We can provide a far higher quality education, one that is on par with his brilliance. You did not get to speak with him… before all this horror," Ansem says. "He is… he's beyond precocious. You can see it in his eyes."

All Even can see in the boy's eyes is pain. "I must insist otherwise," he continues. "He will have enough trouble adjusting. The best thing to do would be to get him into treatment, and find a loving family who can provide far more nurturing than we. Now that you've finally broken down that disgusting referendum barring homosexual adoption, there are so many-"

"Even."

He's made up his mind. Even may as well be speaking to a wall. He is just wasting his breath.

"His parents wanted to be apprentices to make a better world for him," he says, gently. "I think they would find it a great comfort if we were to devote ourselves to the same."

He shakes his head. "As a physician, I cannot condone this."

"I'm afraid you don't have the authority to make that decision," Ansem says.

It will always be a bit galling to have Ansem override him. Just because he was elected, he thinks he knows everything.

Ansem the Wise. None of those senators would ever believe his naivete. "I hope you trust me on this," he says, a bit more gently. "We can give him so much more than an outsider. And if you doubt me…" A heavy sigh. "You think I have not considered the alternatives? Dilan and Aeleus have been asking all over town. There's no other family." He leans back in his chair, shifting the red stole around his neck. "I am… trying to draft a curriculum for Ienzo's education. I would like your input. I also would not mind… any other advice you may have." He smiles gently. "Think of this as… an opportunity."

As if the boy could ever replace what he once had. "As you said. I don't have the authority."

There's so much to be done, yet here Even is, dallying. The chaise seems to be holding him down, not the other way around. He is exhausted; physically, mentally. He used to find these arguments with Ansem challenging; now they are just tedious.

Things between them have never been the same since-

It does no good to wallow in these matters. He needs to work.

He takes his coat from its hook by the door and slides it on. The smell of bleach is comforting, a sort of nothing smell. He heads down the hallway towards the staircase. Dilan must have been cooking; garlic and onion still hangs in the hall. He is trying to recall the last time he had a decent meal when he hears it. Soft, but unmistakable.

The boy is crying.

Even steels himself and tries to turn away, but he simply can't. He goes over to the boy's bedroom door, cracked to let in the nightlight in the hall. "Little one? What's the matter?"

When he sees Even he flinches, curling tightly on himself. Even approaches him slowly, taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket. "It's me, Even. We've met before. I didn't think I was that forgettable." His attempt at joking goes nowhere; Even was never good with humor. "May I sit near you?"

The boy says nothing, his one visible eye swollen and watery. He perches near him on the bed and offers him the cloth. After a moment, he snatches it, but rather than wipe at the tears he presses his face against the fabric.

"Were you having a nightmare?" Even asks him. He's not sure why he bothers; the boy likely won't respond. "You know that's quite alright. It's okay to be scared." He sounds like an idiot. "You know you are safe here? Aeleus and Dilan won't let so much as a mouse inside the castle."

The boy opens his mouth; for a second Even wonders if he might speak. But he only takes a deep breath.

He has no idea what to say. No idea how to make it better. He glances around the room. It's minimally furnished; no toys, barely any clothing. Even makes a note to arrange for the boy's possessions to be gathered from the parents' home; one heartbeat later he realizes he's going to have to be the one to do it. But he notices something on the desk (much too big for a boy that size); a storybook, roughly middle-grade. The boy sees him staring at it. "Do you want this? Do you want me to- to read it to you?"

The boy shakes his head, but holds out his hand. Even takes the book and gives it to him.

"Let me get some light. Bad for your eyes." He flicks on the lamp at the bedside table. Even figures he's probably looking for the pictures. Very carefully, the boy opens to a page and looks down. If Even didn't know better, he'd say the boy was reading; he's much too young for something so advanced. He watches closely; he can see the boy's eye moving slowly. "Can you read?" Even asks.

The boy gives him an odd look.

"Did you know most people your age are just beginning to learn?"

Slowly, he shakes his head.

"This is pretty advanced. Did you want something easier?"

He shakes his head again. At least they're communicating in some small way, Even notes with relief. He can work with yes or no questions. "Did you want something… more difficult?"

For a second, but just one, the pain in the boy's eyes retreats, replaced with something like a glimmer. Ansem is right.

"I'll be right back," he says to the boy. "I'll get you some more to read."

He doesn't have to go far. In one of the small libraries-one of the only ones with children's books-he finds the ones for older readers. He chooses a few difficulty levels, and once, on impulse, grabs an adult one. Even takes the books back to the boy and places them on the dresser. The boy watches with something like apprehension and anticipation.

"Try this," he says, handing him the adult novel. "You may like it."

The boy takes it from him. It's almost comically large in his lap-is he merely small for his age? He flips right to the first chapter, a smooth, practiced notion. Even waits. He knows the boy can tell he's being observed, but he doesn't seem to mind much.

"You can understand all that?" Even asks.

Slowly, hesitantly, a nod.

Again, Even so wished the boy would speak, to get a grasp of his vocabulary. His heart is racing. He longs to test the boy, to see how much he knows and how much is raw intelligence. He forces himself to hold back, but before he can stop it, "Do you know how to write?"

The boy gives him a puzzled look. Even takes a pad and pen out of his pocket. Slowly, with less pleasure than the books, he takes the items. He holds the pen awkwardly, and then with great concentration, writes his name. This isn't surprising; most five-year-olds knew this. But then in the same breath, the boy wrote out his whole address, replete with surname. The parents must have taught him in case he got lost; how clever. He seems to have wounded himself, tearing up again. Even gently takes the books and pen from him. "I know, little one," he says. "I know it hurts."

He knows more than he'd ever care to.

One thing is certain; the boy can write. Even isn't sure how well. But this could be a tool that could help them communicate with him, should this period of silence go on.

"Selective mutism," Dilan says, with a shake of his head. "Not uncommon in cases of trauma." He walks over to the white board they'd all been wittering over, considers the equation, and changes out some numbers for others. Aeleus begins tediously working it out. "I am… flabbergasted, though. Does Ansem seriously think this is a good idea?"

"Master Ansem," Even corrects gently. Dilan rolls his eyes. "And I… am very much on your side, Dilan. I tried convincing him to find the boy a good home, but he wasn't having it. He thinks he knows best. We are all too busy to raise a child. This place isn't safe." He noted, with horror, the many different hazards that existed in their residences alone; the windows aren't screened in, for one. And the tubs are much too deep.

"Nor do we want to raise a child," Dilan mutters. "If he wants to… indulge his parental instincts, that should be on him, not all of us. He should've just gotten a dog. Goodness knows we can use one."

"You know how he gets when he's made up his mind," Even says drolly.

Aeleus holds up the small board he is working on. "It doesn't figure," he says.

"Damn," Dilan says. "I don't suppose you have any opinions on the matter?"

"I think it could work if you swapped the imaginary for a radical."

"Not that, you dolt. Obviously. "

Aeleus blinks. "I believe if the decision's been made, then I have no right to comment on the matter."

Even sits down. His feet are hurting. He feels as if he's just gotten these shoes; have the soles worn out already? He pulls the elastic out of his hair, to readjust it, only to feel the band pop. He sighs heavily. "I need this compound to work," he says. "Let's start again."

Dilan scoffs. "Why? What on earth are you going to use it for?"

"Something that concerns neither of you."

Dilan looks at his watch. "Then you can solve it," he says bitterly. "Duty calls. As always."

"Is it that time already?" They've been here for hours, blathering on and getting nowhere. "Goodness. The boy must be hungry."

Dilan gives him an odd look, his violet eyes glinting. "Ansem wants a ward, he can feed one."

Even shakes his head. "He's been in with city council all morning. Trying to get them to reverse their stance on their veto."

"They vetoed the referendum?" Dilan asks.

Even pales-Ansem told him that in confidence. "Don't tell anyone I told you," he says. "It wasn't… public."

"All our progress and we're still run by a bunch of idiots," Aeleus says calmly.

"He's king in title only," Even agrees. "I must go."

The boy is exactly where Even left him last night; nose deep in books. At least it is distracting him from his pain and grief. "Have you been here all morning?" he asks the boy. At least, he notes with relief, that his breakfast plate is clean. "Would you like something to eat?"

The boy seems distraught; he clutches the book.

Even chuckles, knowing that feeling well. "You can come back after you eat," he says. "You need to keep your blood sugar up. It helps you think more clearly."

He considers this and, very seriously, nods.

"Alright, then. You best come with me. I can't keep serving you forever."

The boy, on uncertain, unused legs, follows him across the hall to the kitchen. He warms some soup Dilan made, butters toast. The boy takes it without comment, eating quickly, Even is sure, so he can return. While he lifts his spoon, the boy flinches and switches hands.

"Is your shoulder aching?"

He seems surprised Even noticed.

"I'd like to take a look at it," he says. "I'm sure the stitches are uncomfortable. I can make that… better." He can't be sure if the boy fears needles; he was unconscious when Even initially doctored the wound.

Again, a small and serious nod. Even takes him by the hand towards the hospital room, sits him on the bed. The boy takes off his shirt without being told, his mouth opening in a small O of pain. Even scrubs his hands and removes the bandages. The wound's clean, the scars forming beautifully, though they'll be quite noticeable. He takes a small pair of scissors. "This won't hurt, but it might pull a bit," he says.

The boy doesn't react as he removes the stitches; his eyes have again gone vacant, focusing grimly on the nylon sutures in the pan. Even smears the wound gently with a salve to promote healing, and covers it again.

"Better?" he asks.

The boy shrugs a little, as though testing it. He nods.

"You handled that bravely. Would you like a…" What? Candy? A sticker? Did they even have any of that?

There's one thing they always have. "Would you like to go see Master Ansem?"

The boy nods again. As they walk towards his office, Even feels the boy slide his tiny hand into his. He feels something like a stab of pain, deep inside, and he has to bite down hard on the memory that wants to come.

He knocks on the door to Ansem's study. He can just hear the tail end of a phone conversation- "I will not accept no for an answer. For any amount of dallying about, but not about this. This is the one thing I have authority to change without anyone else questioning me." The gentle ding of the phone clicking onto the receiver. "Who's there?"

"Just a little guest," Even says. He opens the door. Immediately Ansem's demeanor changes, softening, his rust-colored eyes lighting up with a smile.

"Ienzo! Thanks for visiting!"

The boy seems almost unsure of how to react, but Even swears he can see the beginnings of a smile. "We got our stitches removed and were very brave," Even says, feeling a bit of shame for the way he spoke, so babyish.

Ansem crouches so he's eye level with the boy. "That so?"

"Didn't even flinch. Put up less fuss than Dilan when that erlenmeyer flask burst. If only all my patients were so good."

Ansem takes the boy's tiny hand and gives it a squeeze. "Well I think that deserves a reward, don't you? Have you ever had sea salt ice cream?"

The boy shakes his head. Ansem clucks his tongue. "That's a shame. I think that needs to be fixed immediately. I think we can all use some fresh air, hm?"

Even starts a little. "We've none in the castle?"

"Why shouldn't we go out? It's a lovely day. What do you think, Ienzo?"

The boy thinks very hard. He nods once.

"Then that settles that." Ansem takes the boy's hand. "Surely you'll come with us, Even?"

Ansem's gaze is unsettling him, wrapping a fist around his heart. Memory tugs. "Oh, I mustn't, I've been trying to solve an equation for hours."

"I see. Don't want to lose mojo." Ansem smiles. "I'll bring some back for you. Though it may be gone if you're not quick about it." He winks. "Onward and upwards, Ienzo." He begins whistling softly.

Even watches them leave, the fist around his heart squeezing tighter. I will not think about this, he mutters to himself. I will not-

He's stuck. Again.

It's not just the numbers that don't make any sense; neither do the formulas. He's increasingly convinced he's just smearing goo around beakers and test tubes, wasting resources that could have a practical application. This isn't even theory at the moment; it's madness.

On paper it all makes sense; a being is a body, heart, and will. A body should be simple, is simple. But whenever he tries his method compared to standard IVF, nothing is viable. All he needs is a cell, just one cell. If he can get this, everything will fall into place. If he can make this work, who knew how many lives could be saved?

"...You forgot," Ansem says slowly, with a chuckle. "How long have you been here?"

He's startled him; it takes Even a moment to compose himself. "Do forgive me," he says. "I've… hit a wall."

"Best take a break, then. You may get clarity when you revisit it." He offers Even the ice cream bar, still in its wrapper. Even removes his goggles and gloves, washes his hands clean, though he's done no work that dirtied them.

"I do so hope this is only the second one you've had," Even says.

Ansem shrugs.

"Should you hope to have a long tenure, you should take better care of yourself. The last thing we need is for you to go on insulin."

Ansem laughs. "Pot, kettle, black. When was the last time you left this castle, Even?"

He sighs. "...Touche."

"Shall we walk, then? You've nothing "cooking," so to speak?"

"I wish." He takes of his coat. "After you. Sir. "

"You know you needn't call me that." The breezeway, compared to the lab, is cool. "One of the… many things I'd like to accomplish is the demolition of these useless titles. I am a civil servant; nothing more."

"You do deserve respect. You are my superior."

"By luck and coincidence." Ansem shakes his head. "Indeed, were you more extroverted yourself, you might have found yourself in this position."

"...Balderdash. I detest politics."

Another laugh. It's a warm sound, like woodsmoke. Then, he sobers somewhat. The cool night air and the ice cream are making Even a bit cold. He should've kept the jacket on. "Even, are you… fulfilled, with what you do? I do not mean to open wounds, but I know you've gone through some upheavals. I wanted to… check in. Not as your superior, but as your friend."

Even stares down at the ice cream, half-eaten. It's no longer quite so sweet. "That is kind of you," he says slowly. "I am… happy with my work. The rest will come if it's meant to. I… do not wish to give too much away, but the project I am working on could do so much good. It could be the culmination of my career."

"And you won't give me a hint?"

"Not the slightest. You're not that lucky."

Ansem smiles. "I suppose not," he concedes.

They're on the veranda now. It's starting to get dark. They pause at the railing, watching the pinpricks of light below.

"There is so much potential for this world," Ansem says slowly. "So very much. Our people don't hunger, there's not much crime. With the right reforms, we can give this next generation the tools they need not just to grow this world, but to visit… others."

Even looks up, startled. "Don't tell me you seriously believe there are others," he says.

"Even, how can we not? You know the history, the tales of one vast world before it was fractured by darkness. There is evidence everywhere, if only you're looking to see it."

"Then how do you propose getting to one of these other worlds? And what then? What right have we to delve into such matters?"

Ansem squeezes his shoulder. "Yes, Even. Exactly."

The warmth of Ansem's palm seems to remain after he takes it away. Even brushes these thoughts aside. "I don't know why you get so excited over what will surely be a bureaucratic nightmare. Good luck trying to get these people to understand. They barely accept the fact that some people love differently."

Ansem sighs heavily. "It's the old guard. They are… dying, or retiring. The new blood is always so much more accepting. Hopefully this will all one day be a horrible memory."

"That will take far too long," Even says, but without energy. "Must another generation suffer?"

"Not if I've anything to do with it."

For a moment neither of them speak.

Ansem clears his throat. Even's not sure why, but he feels his heart stutter, the fist from before loosening the slightest. But Ansem's words do not warm him. "I wish to take Ienzo on as my ward," he says softly.

For too long Even does not know what to say. "You can't be serious. This is… more than taking the boy in. Should you proceed with the adoption, Ansem, he will be your son , legally, emotionally. Have you the time to nurture him the way he needs? You were right." He feels heat rising in his face. "He… he's brilliant. He can read -not just Dick and Jane, or what have you, but Shadow of the Morning Star. And he can write more than a child of that age. I… I implore you to reconsider. Not as your colleague, but as your friend who's known you for years."

Ansem stares at him. In the semidarkness, Even can't discern his expression. "Would you feel this way if it were not… for the situation?"

He feels like he's been punched. For a moment, Even is positive he will vomit. The vitriol comes out in his words instead. "How dare you?" he spits.

"Even-I did not mean it that way-"

He turns and starts walking the other way, long confident strides that don't make up for the fact that he's fighting tears. He tries to swallow it down, swallow it all down, because none of this is productive.

"Even, I'm sorry. I truly-"

He stops. His hair, with nothing to restrain it, hangs around his face like he's some kind of lunatic. "Children are not playthings," he spits. "They're not pets. Everything you do has an impact. Everything. "

"I know. How can I not know this? I deal with consequences every day, Even. You may have had a human child, but my child is this town. Every day, I make impossible decisions. Every day, I have to decide what's right and what's wrong."

"Then why am I the one who's been looking after him?" he asks. "Where have you been?" His heart is beating painfully fast.

"I had hoped this would help you-none of us have been able to reach you-"

"You don't know what's best for me."

He expects Ansem to argue, but all he says is, "Do you?"

He clutches his elbows tightly, trying to choke down the wave of pain.

"I'm sorry," Ansem says. "Truly."

Even can't look at him. He turns away. "I must go. Do what you wish. You always did."

It's a pain like rivers.

There's a knock at his bedroom door. A dull, insistent pain beats the inside of his skull. "Go away," he says to his assailant.

The response is another knock. "I do not wish to be bothered. Kindly leave."

Another knock. Anger heats the pain inside of him, and he vaults off the bed with the intent of telling off whoever it was. He gathers the words under his tongue, opens the door, and sees nothing.

Something tugs his free hand. Even looks down. It's the boy. "...Little one?" he asks, trying to smooth and soften his face. "What are you doing here? Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head.

"Is your shoulder hurting you?"

Another no.

"Then what can I help you with?"

He holds out his hand towards Even. With a sigh, he takes it.

The boy leads him to the small library. "When did you come here?" Even asks him. The response was a shrug. "You haven't been wandering on your own, have you?" Another shrug. "This place is far too big for you to be off on your own. You could get lost… and we might never find you again."

The boy seems not to be listening. He crosses over to a shelf and points upwards. Even understands. He gestures to a certain volume, and the boy nods.

"What on earth do you want with this?" he asks the boy, but hands him the legal volume anyway. The boy goes over to one of the chairs, hops up, opens the book, and begins searching. Even reads over his shoulder, noting the speed and almost the grace with which he finds the section on "adoption." "I suppose Master Ansem told you, then." God, the bastard is really going through with it. "How do you feel about this?"

The boy looks up at him, considers this, and nods once.

"Wouldn't you rather have a nice family in town? Some parents who-"

The boy's shaking his head, the pain in his eyes leaching onto his face.

Even crouches down to his level. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

He nods once, blinking tears out of his eyes. Almost automatically, Even reaches out to wipe them away; both he and the boy seem startled by his touch. "If you're sure," he says softly. "But if you're going to be here indefinitely, we need to figure out some system so you can talk to me. Have you ever spoken?" Likely too complex a question for the boy to understand, but something in Even seems to intuit his understanding.

The boy nods.

"Is it that you won't, or can't?"

He thinks about this. He holds up two fingers to indicate the latter.

Even considers this. "I'm sorry, I'm going to touch you," he says. He feels the boy's throat, seeking some irregularity, finding none. "Would it be alright with you if I took a closer look? With machines? It won't hurt, I promise."

The boy shrugs.

"Well, then. Come with me, Ienzo."

So that's that, then. He is no longer an aqueous entity, no longer just a noun. Only then does Ienzo become real to Even.

"...Sit right here."

Ienzo looks so small against the table, and he shivers. He looks at the x-ray machine with a morbid curiosity.

"I'm going to take a picture of your throat. Just to see if everything's working the way it should." He guides the machine into place. "Don't move. It'll only be a moment." Ienzo barely stirs, staring at the ceiling as though he's done this a hundred times. Even frowns. "Ienzo, has this happened to you before? Where you were talking and all of a sudden you couldn't?"

Slowly, he nods. "I do wish you had told me." He takes the shot, because, well, the boy's already in position. "I can take a look at your medical records. You've been to doctors, yes?"

It takes a little bit of digging, to get Ienzo's records, but working under the king does give one certain advantages. Ienzo has been to many doctors, it turns out, for a variety of reasons. Headaches, sensitivity to noise and textures and smells, anxiety, panic attacks, and the wavering ability to speak. Nearly all of them noted his brightness, as well as his shyness. Reading the notes, it becomes obvious to Even-

Patient, while bright ( he does so detest physicians who use that "while" as if they go hand in hand) seems to be somewhere on the autism spectrum. Referred parents to a special education facility and offered medication. No further action needed.

Things have just become more complicated.

Even finds himself reading about it voraciously. To help Ienzo communicate is a problem to solve; rather than his messy, theoretical work. Autistic children can develop selective mutism, sometimes as a trauma response; Dilan was right. But there's no easy way to break the cycle except, perhaps, through therapy, and Even's absolutely not qualified. He figured manual language would be the most useful, but none of them have the time to learn. When he asks Ienzo if he wants to try that, all he gets is a shrug.

Ienzo solves the problem for him. He approaches Even in his bedroom and plunks down a small whiteboard, the same they use in their work. A pen clatters down next to it. "...Where did you get this? ...Never mind. I don't want to know." Hopefully it had nothing important on it. "So you can write?" He gives back the board and sees him struggling.

Yes. The writing is messy and childish but legible.

"We must work on your penmanship."

OK.

Before this, there's a matter of things being settled. Considering Ansem's status, the court hearing is basically ceremonial. Who wouldn't trust him? Such a sweet and caring man to take in the poor child, didn't you hear? It takes all of twenty minutes and three signatures for Ienzo to become Ansem's son. They celebrate with ice cream; Even finds himself scrubbing the blueness out of Ienzo's clothes. Brilliant as he is, he is five.

They take the remainder of Ienzo's things, as well as anything that might be important-a few photos, some documents. Ansem places the home in a trust under Ienzo's name, should he decide he wants it when he's able to make such decisions. His parents were comfortable, not rich; there is not much else to take care of.

They do not take him, as it would doubtless be traumatizing; Ansem tells him afterward, gently. He can't look Even in the eyes, still, but for Ienzo Even will be civil. The child does not need more stress; neither does he.

Ienzo scribbles something feverishly on the board. What about the plants?

"The…" Ansem frowns.

Ienzo exhales heavily, erases. Her plants.

Even does not have the heart to tell him that in the weeks that passed, the plants all died; even the heartier, desert blooms. He wonders briefly if they can feel their missing caretaker; but they're just plants, after all.

So why does he find himself lying? "The neighbors are taking care of them," he says. "But would you also like to learn a little bit about what makes them grow?"

Even never studied botany thoroughly; that was Aeleus. Aeleus and Ienzo work together in the greenhouses, dirt and bulbs, propagating stems, whispering in the science of it, the Mendel's peas and punnett squares. Ienzo seems to find something soothing in the work, and Even understands why; learning his mother's craft must be something like catharsis. Anything to tide him until they could find a proper therapist.

And so Ienzo's education begins.

The boy's brilliant; Even's never seen anything like it. He reads and he reads and he reads and he seems to remember nearly everything. Facts, numbers, all seem to make sense to him. Even sees him blooming slowly.

"He's… phenomenal," Even says to Ansem. "I knew he was… but to see the proof, as it were-"

Ansem smiles. "You do see why I couldn't let him pass us by?"

He sighs. "I still… disagree. But I believe we may be able to make this work. The one thing that I do not wish to compromise… He needs therapy, Master. The studies and the gardening make a wonderful distraction, but you do not live near us. I can… hear him, at night. He has nightmares. And… sometimes I'll be teaching him, when all of a sudden he breaks down in tears. I'm positive it's no temper tantrum." Even's aware of how grammatically improper his sentences are. He bites the inside of his cheek.

Ansem nods. "I agree," he says. "I will… see if my peers know of anyone qualified. We also have to consider… the other aspect of Ienzo. Not that there's anything wrong with it."

"Of course not. His needs will be… different." He stands, strands of hair slipping free from his worn elastic. "Please consider it."

Ansem touches his shoulder. "Believe me when I say it's my priority."

When he pulls it away, Even again feels warm. "I shall see you later, then."

"Yes. I'm going to be tutoring Ienzo, so I may as well join you all for dinner."

"Yes."

He gives Even another solid once-over. "Are you alright?"

"I have been… tired," Even says. He forces a smile.

"These things do take a great deal of energy, do they not?"

"For you especially. Between your work, the research, and now the child-"

"I'm managing. I always have. Best do it while we're still mostly young, eh?"

Even smooths the wrinkles in his jacket. "Quite. Well, I take my leave."

For a little over six months, life continues in this vein; juxtaposing research with childcare exhausts Even to no end. More than once he falls asleep at the dinner table, only to have Dilan tease him mercilessly.

"One would think he's your ward, not Master's," he says, with a nasty smirk.

The thing is, Dilan's right. Ansem devotes as much time as he can for the boy, and Ienzo is clearly enamored with him. But two or three hours here and there isn't enough to cover the scrapes, the nightmares, the sicknesses.

Which is why for Even the memories become harder to avoid; they creep up in his dreams, and he wakes up, an emotional and illogical wreck. But he needn't burden the others with his woes. His absence prior to Ienzo's appearance was telling enough.

Ienzo continues learning in leaps and bounds; quickly they realize that they can't possibly expect to hold him to a grading system. But while he engages highly in their STEM work, he still never stops reading fiction.

"I believe he could benefit from some training in the humanities," Even says tiredly. He's been coming to Ansem's study more and more, less for his own cajoling of resources than for Ienzo. "He loves stories. He'd enjoy it immensely."

"We might make a writer of him yet." Ansem chuckles. "Leave it to Ienzo to want to learn the one thing we have no expertise in."

"He's certainly stubborn as all get out." He rarely takes no for an answer and pursues what he wants with recklessness, regardless of what Even or the others ask of him; more than once Even's had to scold him for trying to get into the freezer for more ice cream. All he ever gets in response is a scowl. "I don't suppose you've made any progress?"

Ansem sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the neat slick. "I'm afraid the situation is more dire than I realized. My predecessor failed to mention in her reports the state of mental health care in this city, leaving me with piles of unanalyzed numbers. Needless to say, we're in something of a crisis."

"So there's no one?"

"No one other than overworked, under-educated social workers. All they'll tell him is to "hang in there!"" Ansem grimaces. "I'm trying to put the groundwork in place-but you know how slowly these things go. Lives are at stake-more than just his."

"But his is the one I witness day in and day out. There has to be something that can be done."

Ansem sighs. "Have you spoken to him about it?"

"Interpersonal relationships are not one of my strengths."

"I'm not so sure. The boy clearly cares for you. He writes about you all the time."

Even raises an eyebrow. "I do not believe it for a moment."

"Believe it, or not."

Even frowns, feeling his face heat. If he were reading Ansem's tone right, the king might just be… jealous. "He cares for you too," Even remarks. "You should see how excited he is to spend time with you."

Ansem laughs. "I don't suppose when you accepted your role here you figured coparenting into it."

It's the word choice, "coparenting" versus "childcare", that throws Even off. "Er-no." He looks into the cup of tea Ansem offered him, still untouched. "Though I never expected you, of all people, to desire a family."

Ansem shrugs, dropping his eyes. "I had never considered it," he admits. "But I also know enough to trust in the ways of fate, should it hand something to me."

"Fate." He shakes his head. Learned scholar, and Ansem believes in that nonsense. "In which case, it surely has a sense of irony."

There's a pause, one long enough for Even to consider taking his leave. Finally Ansem says, "It may help you to speak of such things too." His eyes are so gentle.

Even is too tired to come up with the Pavlovian rage he's developed. "I do not desire my personal life to intermingle with my work," he says instead. He sips the tea to avoid saying anything else; it tastes terrible, and he flinches.

"Even, how long have you and I known one another?"

"Too long, apparently," he says.

"The way we all live and work-there's no room to isolate parts of oneself." He reaches out across the desk, takes Even's hand, and gives it a squeeze. It's the touch more than anything, unexpected and warm, that shakes him, brings the wetness into his eyes. He takes his hand back.

"I should go," he says.

"Even-"

"How many times do I have to make this clear? I do not wish to speak of it, and considering you are my superior, you should respect that professional boundary. It's unbecoming."

Ansem sighs heavily. "You're right. I apologize."

"I must go. It's time for one of my lessons with Ienzo." He turns. It hurts when he swallows. "Good day." He shuts the door to Ansem's study, but not quickly enough to blot out his parting words-

"I hate seeing you in pain."

Pain is not useful; so he keeps it at arm's length. Like any wound, left alone it would eventually heal. Anyhow, he has ways to fill his time, more than he thought possible. On top of his nebulous research for this new project, he is occasionally required to assist the others (it's only polite) should they need his expertise. Dilan, in particular, loves to waste Even's time, having him check and recheck his equations. To a degree Even understands this need for things to be watertight-in civil engineering the slightest thing off could literally take lives-but he finds it utterly exhausting. Aeleus's own work-architecture plans for the further expansion of the city-is of course stuck in a bureaucratic backlog, awaiting votes from the council and populace alike.

Even admires the way Aeleus always makes himself useful; in this period he takes over Dilan's guard shifts, and looks after Ienzo. Even believes he can sense something of a bond forming between the two. Aeleus always did have endless patience. He works in the garden with Ienzo, cultivating the blooms the boy bred. One such afternoon he happens to pass by and sees Ienzo on Aeleus's shoulders, trying to catch butterflies. "That's a Danaus plexippus," Even hears him explain. "A monarch butterfly. They migrate here this time each year. That's why I make sure there's so much milkweed. It's what the babies eat, where the adults lay their eggs. I think you've got one. Be gentle, okay? We just want to look at it. Don't touch its wings."

It's the most Even's heard Aeleus say in one go, he realizes. He approaches slowly, so as not to disturb them. Aeleus sets Ienzo down and takes the net from him.

"Look at the patterns. You can tell by the shape of the wings this one's female. The males' wings point more downwards. Nobody's sure exactly why they migrate. But not every mystery is meant to be solved by us. You ready to let it go?" Aeleus opens the net, watching the butterfly go up, and up-Ienzo waves to it. "It's going to go join its friends."

Ienzo turns slightly and notices Even. He smiles a little.

Aeleus nods. "I figure a little taxonomy couldn't hurt."

"Nothing learned is wasted," Even says.

"Everything is alright?"

Is there something on his face? In his eyes? "Oh, yes. I was taking a little stroll. Forgive my intrusion."

Why can't he figure this out?

It's the closest he's gotten since beginning this fool's errand-the cell actually fertilized, but it did not begin to undergo mitosis, quickly degraded, and died. All of his calculations support it living in these conditions. Something's missing, and he's no idea what.

He's pondering the dead cell yet again when he hears his door bang open. "Come in, why don't you," he says sourly.

Dilan's in his guard uniform, his face flushed, sweaty. "He's not in here with you?" he asks, a trace of panic in his voice.

Even raises an eyebrow. "I've been alone all morning. What on earth is the matter?"

He's breathing hard. Even goes over to the mini-fridge and pours him a glass of water. Dilan drinks it in one swallow. "We can't find the boy. He's disappeared."

If the castle is full of places for small children to hide, then the city might as well swallow him whole. A sharpness tugs at Even's chest, a hot flush of fear. "He was supposed to be with Ansem this morning. Ienzo must have slipped away when he turned his back." He throws aside his lab coat. "Let's go."

They search for hours, the three of them; they get some of the cleaners to assist as well. It feels like vanity, to keep calling his name-could he even respond? What if Ienzo were hurt, or in danger? Could he scream? They pore over the castle for what seems like an eternity, checking every wardrobe and closet, the gaps below the balconies, the strange tricks of architecture. He's nowhere to be found.

"Let's try town. Maybe someone's seen him," Dilan hedges.

Even wonders if this is all in vain. Finally a shopkeeper admits to seeing a silver-haired boy in the clothing Even left out for him this morning, but she says that when she tried to speak to him, he ignored her. They follow the trail out into the residential district. It's there they find him, finally, crouching in a patch of flowers. Even runs over to him. "Oh thank god," he says, over and over again. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He gives Ienzo a once-over and finds with immense relief that, aside from a scraped knee and some dirt, the boy is unharmed. Ienzo seems shaken; again his eyes are vacant. "Did someone hurt you?"

He shakes his head weakly. He gestures over Even's shoulder. It's the house. Of course. He must've tried to come home.

"Oh, little one, why didn't you just ask if you wanted to come here? We've been worried sick, looking for you. You shouldn't be out on your own."

Ienzo sniffles a little, his eyes watering. His hands tremble. He points to the pad sticking out of Even's pocket, and he hands it to him. Why did you lie about the plants?

"The-" It clicks. "Dilan, take a look at the house." He nods and turns towards the door.

Ienzo keeps scribbling. The pots are all empty. You didn't give them away. They died.

"I-" It feels terrible, to be caught in this lie. "Little one, by the time we got here it was already too late. I didn't have the heart to tell you. You already lost so much."

Ienzo seems to not know how to respond; he gives Even back the pen and pad.

"The door's still locked, but it looks like he crawled in through the window," Dilan says. "I've secured it."

The boy is so deflated now, so exhausted, tears running disjointedly down his face. He does not fight when Even picks up him; he lays against him limply. Once they are finally back at the castle, Even runs him a bath and puts him in bed. In all this time Ienzo does not try to communicate. Finally, Even concedes. "Ienzo, I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have lied to you. But do you understand why I did it?"

The boy turns on his side, away from Even.

He sighs heavily. "Try to get some rest."

His own body is so heavy, so unwieldy. He drags himself slowly to his quarters. He needs sleep more than anything; perhaps a stiff drink as well. Normally such substances are out of his realm of interest, as he tries to think as clearly as possible. But tonight he needs to think a little less. He reaches into the cabinet for the cheap bottle of whiskey Dilan gave him one birthday, finds it mostly empty, and gives up. Tea will have to do.

Even feels strangely numb. He probes the sensation idly. He knows he should be concerned; sadness is one thing, numbness could be pathological. Which is the last thing he needs. He realizes that he, too, is rather filthy, from all the digging in the near unused parts of the castle. But he cannot find the strength to go bathe. Cannot find the strength to do anything, it seems.

There's a knock at the door. He does not respond. Best let them think he's asleep. The thought of crawling in bed while so dirty appalls him. Perhaps he'll just sleep in this chair.

The door opens. "Even? Are you awake?"

Ansem. He takes a deep breath.

And finds himself yelling. It's a surprise to him, too. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Searching like the rest of you-"

"He was with you, he was supposed to be with you!"

"I turned my back for a moment to take a call-"

"Do you know what could have happened?" His spit tastes like copper. "He could've-fallen out a window, or down the stairs, or someone could have taken him. He's a child, Ansem. You can't expect him to know these things. Why on earth weren't you paying attention? I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't-"

He notes how haggard Ansem looks; his shoulders sag. "Even. My friend. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry's not good enough." He can feel the heat in his face. "Now leave me be."

"Even-"

" Get out."

The tone of his voice is enough, and Ansem flees. He drops himself back into the chair, wretchedness choking him. And promptly bursts into tears.

It feels strange to cry, after putting it off for so long. Alien. Inhuman.

He gives Ienzo space, after that. Even does not know how else to apologize. He leaves a book for Ienzo to read, one he liked as a boy. Ienzo seems to tolerate his presence, but the tentative bond they built seems to have weakened.

No matter. The boy is not his son. His opinion of Even should not matter.

He turns back to his work, back to the walls that face him in his experimentation. He makes careless mistakes, misses errors he wouldn't have normally. Even feels unwell.

Something is missing.

So he reads. He turns away from numbers, towards a story that ultimately doesn't matter. He understands why Ienzo reads so much. It's an easy way out. He's delved into one of these volumes in the sitting room when he hears the voice.

"Even?"

Startling. Unfamiliar. He looks up slowly and sees Ienzo.

"It's back," the boy says simply, and leaves.