5.

"How is he? Has he yet stabilized?" He recognizes the deep voice almost instantly. Lexeaus. Ah. So I lived.

He can't open his eyes, can't, in fact, move at all. But the moment he's conscious pain invades, his innards feeling vaguely liquified.

A second voice, hoarse, almost inaudible-"No. Not yet."

"You needn't speak, Ienzo. I know it's still painful."

Ienzo?

"I'm fine," the second voice mumbles. He doesn't sound fine; he sounds very ill, or worse. "You should-" A cough, one not full of phlegm but inflammation.

"You've been taking good care of me. I'm back on my feet. You, on the other hand, need to rest. And to avoid talking for a little while."

"Okay."

A warm hand grasps his wrist, taking his pulse. A pen scribbles numbers. He must've been given painkillers; he sleeps.

This time he's able to open his eyes.

He recognizes the space instantly; it's his old med bay, in Radiant Garden. Why on earth is he here, not in his sterile, pristine facilities at the castle?

Lexeaus had called Zexion Ienzo.

Oh dear.

Was it possible? Had they-regained hearts somehow? Had they found the answers in Kingdom Hearts? And how was he still so injured if it's been that long?

He hears the door creak and slits open his eyes.

He sees the boy-the young man-rummaging in his cabinets. He looks much the same as he ever did, though, he notes, the boy (Ienzo?) Is dressed in white, apprentice garb. The boy turns and Vexen quickly shuts his eyes again.

The boy clears his throat. "I'm not sure if you can hear me," he says, haltingly. His voice is much clearer, and certainly the same timbre as Zexion's, but it carries something soft and alive in it Vexen's never heard. "Even… it's me, Ienzo. I'm sure the old names are a shock to hear."

Old?

"We're human again. We found out… once a person's Heartless and Nobody have been vanquished, they reform in the place they were split, whole. But with our Nobody's injuries. Which is why you're so hurt. I… I've no idea what truly happened to you, but you're rather unstable. You and Dilan both. But I'm tending to you."

Human?

"If you could speak… open your eyes… twitch your fingers… the EEG machines are broken and I've no magic. I'm not even sure you're in there."

Human and powerless.

"I-" He exhales thickly, and Even (the name fits again like a glove) realizes he's upset. Twelve years of emotion battering him, he presumes, child to adult in one instant. The concern wells up in him, consumes him; the pain sears him, and he's no idea whether or not it's physical.

Again, Even wakes. He can feel motion returning to him bit by bit, and he can close his fingers into weak fists. The physical pain is less potent now, but instead one thing floods him, sickly and constant.

Guilt. Rivers of shame, streams of remorse. Guilt for the way he stopped caring about Ienzo, guilt for all he did to the people of their experiments, agony about Ansem. Darkness can only excuse so much.

"Hi, Even."

Ienzo's back. Even can't bear to speak to him, though he's sure he can. He feigns unconsciousness, slitting his eyes open for glances of the young man.

Ienzo looks pale, thin, the boyishness gone from his face, but the change makes him look unhealthy. His hands, when they feel Even's pulse, are clammy, oddly warm without gloves. Even can't remember the last time he's actually seen them. He's aching to look the boy in the eyes. He chances it, once, while Ienzo fusses with the bandages on his chest; gone are Zexion's steely, empty blue eyes. The humanity is back, soft, opening.

He can tell from a glance that Ienzo is in agony.

More horrifying yet, he can just see below Ienzo's collar when he leans over-thick bruises surround his windpipe, along with an angry red scar.

He'd had difficulty speaking.

Who dared do this to him?

Unconsciously, the boy pulls his collar up. Even forces his eyes shut. "I'm afraid there's a lot to catch you up on," Ienzo says in that same frighteningly gentle tone. He explains about Xehanort, about the time travel, about the vessels, the hearts the Nobodies are regrowing, the Organization's real goal, the Keyblade War from the old times. "I… I could really use your help, Even. I know I was so dreadfully cold to you. I… I am sorry. You were always kind to me when I was small. You were there when Master Ansem was not-" His voice catches. "Excuse me, I am feeling unwell."

Even hears him sit and chances another look. Ienzo sits with his head in his hands, rocking slowly, trying not to cry.

No, boy, cry. It's alright.

"I… forgot how much this hurts," he says, with a dark laugh. "I am… so unsure of who I am… you'd doubtless find it fascinating. Can you imagine the psychological journals, Even? What happens when you try to give a twenty-year-old man an eight-year-old's heart?" A sob. "I'm so sorry. I… am trying to pull myself together. They need me. But I could never let them see me like this."

Cry it out, little one.

For a time, Ienzo does just that, a sound that makes Even's heart (heart) ache, triggering another vein of remorse.

I should have protected you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Even shuts his eyes again. He feels Ienzo take his hand. "This is most unbecoming, isn't it? I bet you'd say I'm making a disgrace of myself. I have to… check on some things. Get some rest."

For a long while Even lies reeling. His physical pain lessens into a throb, while his heart seems to grow heavier and heavier with regret, the I should'ves and that's my faults. Ienzo and Ansem take center stage, his abuse and dishonesty towards them pounding in time with his heart.

Ienzo comes and goes every few hours. Even is too much of a coward to talk to him.

"It's… bizarre," the boy says. "Your body… is healed. Why aren't you awake?" Even hears a click, sees bright light; he wills himself to flinch as little as possible as the boy forces his eyes open. "Even, if you're pretending, it's alright. We can work through this."

Don't move. Don't move.

"If only we had a replica for you… or one in general…"

Why do they need one?

"I miss my old friend. Come back soon."

He's gone again, and Even aches for him. The loneliness is nearly as potent as the guilt.

He can't lie like this forever. He needs to make a decision, needs to talk to the boy, needs to begin to figure out where to go from here-

"You're so full of shit."

It's the voice that startles him. Braig. Of course the man is back too. He opens his eyes. Unlike Ienzo, he's in the Organization coat still.

The true vessels.

The fool.

Even stares at him. "Is there a reason you're here?" His voice is hoarse from disuse, but clearer than he thought. "Perhaps to put an old man out of his misery?"

Braig smirks. "You wish," he says. "I've been watching these tender scenes play out between the two of you. Who thought Ienzo would be such a softie? To think, he was wanted."

"By Xehanort, I presume?" He spits.

"Who else?" Xigbar shrugs. "He's good. So quickly. A heart and instantly everything changes. But there's no point getting rid of him. Xemnas is sentimental. Who would've thought?"

So callous. Even scowls.

"How's humanity feel?" he asks, with a smirk. "You look like death. Bet you feel like it too."

"Is there a reason you're here?" he repeats.

"Let's just say I have a proposition for you." He scowls a little. "We could use you. He could use you."

A spark, an idea. "Why should I? What do you have to offer me?"

"We're closer than ever to Kingdom Hearts. If that doesn't intrigue you, I don't know what will." Xigbar comes closer, his footsteps almost silent. "Would you rather stay here? Crappy place, overworked and underappreciated… reminders of the past everywhere. Doesn't it just hurt. "

He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"If you can barely look at Ienzo…" He clucks his tongue. "Why don't you think about it? I got the impression you never liked humanity anyway."

"Nor you," Even says softly. "This life just doesn't suit creatures like us."

Xigbar smirks and disappears into a dark corridor.

An idea comes to him slowly, fettered by guilt and headaches, and Ienzo's surprisingly loose tongue. Zexion was verbose but careful; Ienzo talks almost constantly, with little ability to stop himself.

"I'm… almost at my wit's end," the boy admits. "I'm inundated by what we did… I knew it, factually, but Zexion made my memories so cold. To feel it…" He rumples the curtain at the window. Even's glad he doesn't look at him; it means he can watch him. "How could we? I… I don't understand how we made the leap. Was it all the influence of Xehanort, or darkness? Why did they let me-do this?"

The weight of it might just choke him. They'd started this darkness, made it spread faster than it would've naturally; they upended a balance just to see what would happen, with little care who or what was lost.

I took an oath.

Even's a bloody hypocrite.

"I've been trying to help them," Ienzo says. "Sora, the restoration committee. They've been so terribly gracious about it. It truly is the least I can do. I've given them everything that I had, but you classified and encrypted so much. They have a right to know what really happened. Maybe if they know… their outside perspective can help us put a stop to it. I… wish you were here, Even. There's so much you never told me, things that could be of use. We… need a light. I don't understand a whit of your research, the small bits I've managed to decrypt. I wonder if this reformation process has given me some form of brain damage." A wry laugh. "These emotions do make me feel… much clumsier. Doesn't help I've been using you as a captive audience. But the others… truly cannot understand what it is I'm going through. I wish I were able to find it fascinating. Mostly it is hampering my ability to be of use."

He's silent a long time. When he speaks again, it's much more quietly, to himself. But Even's always had good hearing.

"If I can break the code… find Roxas… it could change everything. But the bodies… I need to know what Even knew."

He hears Ienzo leave. Slowly, Even sits up. He feels weak from being so still for so long, but otherwise functional.

It all makes sense. Everything.

Yes. This would be how he can atone.

Xigbar returns soon after. Even's already sitting waiting for him. "I'll go," he says tiredly. "Seems to be the only way to further my research. I've no need for such... paltry emotions."

Xigbar's grin is killer.

The transformative process is just as painful the second time. Again the emptiness. He feels his mind wander, tempted again by darkness, by the ability to set bonds aside, but he reigns himself in each time. Thinking of Ienzo, his devastation, of his betrayal of Ansem's trust. He doesn't feel quite hurt anymore, but it weighs heavily on his conscience. No matter.

He can fix this. He will fix this. No matter the cost.

He acquiesces to the New Organization's demands, because they, too, need replicas. All the more excuse to perfect what he knows, to leave the most flawless in stock for Roxas and for Xion-though he can barely remember the latter. All he has of it- her -are his own reports. But if she were with Roxas long enough, she'll be important. More convenient yet, Xemnas wants her, her easy mimicry of power.

There are too many familiar faces in this New Organization-Organization Rehash, Larxene calls it, and Vexen can't help but agree. Xigbar, Saïx, Xemnas, the four neophytes.

Saïx is initially welcoming to him, and visits him again.

"To what do I owe the pleasure," Vexen says evenly.

"I wonder if you feel it too," the man says.

"Feel what, nostalgia? That's all this Organization is."

"You gave up your new life. That says a lot about you. Was this truly about research?"

Vexen turns, sorting the lies he could tell.

Saïx knots his hands. "I gave mine up too."

Vexen rolls his eyes, turning back to the new replicas, still forming in their chambers. "Yes. And?"

"I wish to… put an end to this nonsense. I sense you may feel the same."

Vexen looks at him, his gold eyes (so like Vexen's own, now-he tries not to think about it more than necessary) somewhat unreadable. Is this a trick? Are they trying to lure him out?

Saïx leans in a little, drops his voice. "Let me help you," he says softly. "Together, we can put an end to this Organization."

Vexen feels the gut punch; caught. Yet, he reads earnestness in Saïx's tone.

"You were once my teacher," he continues. "I know what you're capable of, and vice versa. I think-if we're careful and clever-we can give the other side what they need."

"How am I to know you won't merely turn me in to Xehanort?"

"It matters not to him whether you fill out the ranks so long as he gets his bodies. Not since you and Demyx have been… ah… retired. He's spread himself too thin, shattering his heart so. He wouldn't notice a thing."

Vexen inhales.

"I don't want to be this way. I don't want this to be my legacy. I'm sure you feel the same. We must end this suffering."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

Saïx smiles. "Simple," he says. "We do what he asks-and have a third party ferry a replica over to Radiant Garden. One whose movements are hardly ever noticed-because that's the way he likes it."

Vexen has an idea where this is going. "...Do I even want to know who you have in mind?"

The smile becomes even larger.

Demyx agrees to meet him in Radiant Garden. To be so close to Ienzo but unable to contact him is a sensation that sits oddly in his breast. Vexen explains it as simply as possible, but Demyx's reaction is relatively theatrical.

"What? " He's making much too much noise-Vexen clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet, you dunce," he hisses.

Demyx swats his hand away. "But dude, why would you pick me?"

"I cannot let the chosen catch wind of this, understand?"

Immediately he gets defensive. "Oh, I see, it's because I got benched."

This is more frustrating than he could have hoped. His tone is much shorter, and louder, than he intended. "I got "benched" too."

"What! Hey, quiet." Now it's Demyx's turn to try to silence him.

They both look around and see nothing, though admittedly this is meaningless. Vexen turns away, trying to think.

"Okay, man, look. Real talk? Backstabbing those guys would be stupid."

Vexen rolls his eyes. As if this life is truly worth anything.

"If they find out, we're yesterday's toast. I mean, what's in it for me?"

Vexen wonders if this angle is the right one. "Forgiveness."

He seems genuinely surprised. "Huh? For what?"

"Men like us-in the pursuit of science, we sometimes make terrible mistakes. Lose sight of our mission to help people. But now I can help someone with my research. Now, I can atone."

The boy's been listening with interest, a calculating gleam in his eyes. But what he says next is only further disappointment. "I'm not a scientist." He turns to leave, with a dismissive wave.

Something very like panic overtakes him-if the chosen heard of this-"Wait, wait, wait!" He grabs Demyx's shoulder. The younger man shrugs him off with ease.

"C'mon, dude. I'm useless, I'm chicken, we're not friends. I can count the amount of times we've hung out on one hand-less than one hand. I didn't even know you in the old life!"

Enough of this. For a moment, Vexen wishes he had more patience with Demyx in the past, if only to make this encounter easier. "Fine, fine. But listen." He pulls the boy close. "This is Saïx's doing."

Demyx's eyes widen almost comically. "Huh? No way."

Good. He has his interest. "It's true. The whole thing was his idea."

"Huh… no fucking way…"

"He wants to atone too. But, he is one of the chosen, so his hands are tied. Hence my actions on his behalf, hence my need for you to act on my behalf should all go awry." He's listening intently, Vexen notes. He could use Xehanort's callousness towards Demyx to his advantage. "As you said, we are far from friends. No one would ever suspect you."

"So I'm not doing any fighting?"

"Correct. And more importantly, no benchwarming."

He smiles, and Vexen knows he's won. "Yeah baby! Sign me up! Yes! Demyx time."

Vexen sighs heavily. This certainly would be interesting.

He's more than a little alarmed when he catches wind that the "chosen" are seeking Ansem. Apparently, the man's been spotted in Twilight Town. Xehanort's Heartless intends on intercepting him. The man is too dangerous.

Vexen doesn't hesitate. He's abandoned Ansem once; never again.

He's been mostly ambivalent to his status as a Nobody, but it does grant him a certain strength he didn't have before. He's able to stop Xehanort's Heartless, to let Ansem escape. It comes to him, in a flash-the chosen hardly ever watch him, now that they've gotten their bodies-perhaps he could let Ansem know, to get the word back to Ienzo and the others. Perhaps he and Demyx could rendezvous, with the replica. Ienzo would need his help. Doubtless the reunion would be… dramatic, but he knows the boy is capable of completing the task at hand.

It's time to shore up. Time to stop being a coward. Time to apologize.

But he is glad that, as a Nobody, he cannot feel much.

Ansem looks as though he's aged much, much more than twelve years, despite the fact that he could not age in the realm of darkness; it seems as though there are many more years between them than merely five. He's with some teenagers, those friends of Roxas, those assisting, albeit in a very tertiary manner.

Even struggles to find the words, to assuage them all he means no ill will. "My dear Master," he says slowly. "You are safe." It's a lame, tone-deaf beginning. Because they are anything but.

"Who's there?" one of the teenagers yells.

In a shockingly even-keeled voice, Ansem asks, "Even, is that you?" A beat. His expression barely changes, all coldness and indifference-not that Vexen anticipated anything more. "So, those Nobodies were your doing."

Vexen lets the Dusks appear. Then, very deliberately, he bows. "I have been waiting for this," he admits. "Gave up a normal life in order to plant myself in the Organization. And when I heard Xehanort had gone looking for you, I realized it was my chance to find you as well." And keep you safe. "For you see, I, too, wish to atone."

Ansem's expression is closely guarded, but he very nearly smiles. "Is that so?" he asks slowly.

"How could I not? To be human for those days again… made it all so real."

The teenager who'd yelled gave him a once over. "You're one of them, aren't you," he spits. "Sora told us about you."

Vexen ignores him. "I wish to help. I… realize you have no reason to trust me." He chances taking a few steps forward. "I also realize any apology I offer could never possibly be enough."

Ansem is silent for several moments. "Am I not at fault, as well?" he asks.

"You…" He wants nothing more for these teenagers to disappear. "You still didn't deserve the fate you received."

His eyes are empty-so empty. He turns to the children. "Thank you for all your help, but this man will not harm me. Come, Even. Apparently we have much to discuss."

Vexen wills the Dusks to disappear. They walk for a long time in silence, the two of them, in this perpetual sort of twilight.

"We cannot return to the mansion. It's being watched for now," Ansem says. "Keep your voice low."

"We seek to take down the new Organization," he says. It's beyond odd to be this close to him.

"We?"

"Myself. The man you knew as Isa."

Ansem smirks. "And how do you propose to do this?"

"In these intervening years… I did perfect the replica program. More or less." He doesn't feel pride any longer. "We have a… third party willing to deliver one directly to Radiant Garden, for Roxas's heart. To Ienzo."

Ansem's calm exterior slips, for just a moment. "How… is my boy?"

"I did not see him for very long," Vexen says. "He is… well. Whole again."

"You hesitate."

"Of course I do." He takes a breath. "He's received his humanity after years of numbness. The adjustment… I fear it's not been easy. But I have faith. His brilliance has only grown with him." He sighs. "With this replica, and our ally, I wish that you, Master, will go to him." Ansem says nothing; his face is stony. "I realize the feelings you have are complicated. But he needs someone to help him, and I must keep my cover."

"...Yes. Quite." He nods. "However could I face that poor boy?"

"With the warmth and grace you've always had," Vexen says softly. "Once this is all over… humbly, I would like to return as well." If he survives the process. "That is, if you'll have me. I wish to do nothing more than to ease the pain I've caused. I should like to regain your trust."

Ansem nods once. "This is a good start."

It pains him, to not be present for all this, but his own feelings and notions are irrelevant. He dresses the replica in a coat to protect it, wraps it up further in a blue blanket-almost like an infant.

Demyx arrives-on time, for the first instance that Vexen's ever witnessed. "So, here we go, right?" He's smiling.

"...Quite." He touches Demyx's shoulder. "I must… thank you for doing this."

He shrugs. "I've been thinking about it. It's not right for Xehanort to use us for his own stuff, you know? It kinda bites."

Vexen chuckles. "Indeed. I'm afraid I must ask one more thing of you."

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is affable when he says. "For pete's sake, what now?"

"You and I must lie low, once this is through. We must wait and hope for Xehanort's defeat."

Demyx glances down at the replica, in its swaddling. "...And then what?"

"Whatever you like, I suppose."

He bites his lip. "Yeah… that might be nice." He hefts the replica over one shoulder. "This thing is hollow, huh?"

"Not for long. You know where to go?"

"Yeah, get the old man. I hear you."

Vexen sighs. "Good luck, Demyx."

For just a moment, before he disappears into darkness, Demyx smiles, and it's the most genuine expression Vexen's ever seen him wear. "You, too."

He can't be certain that Ienzo receives the replica, can't chance checking. He goes to an anonymous world, hides in the wilderness. He waits, and to a degree he prays. Weeks pass. He wonders if he should chance contact, should see how things have gone-between Ienzo and Ansem, and along with Dilan and Aeleus, there shouldn't be any issues with the procedure.

Then he feels an ache in his heart-the heart he doesn't quite have. The piece of Xehanort. Without hesitating, he returns to Radiant Garden, knowing that he will not have the ability to travel for long.

Because it's withering, and dying; he can feel the sickly pain, the feverishness, inexplicable agony in his whole body. It must've worked. They must've beat Xehanort.

It's all over. At last.