9.

Uselessly, Even sits, trying to come to terms with… all that. He's feeling dizzy himself, and he honestly cannot tell if it's his actual physical condition or not.

The boy's health matters above all. Ansem must be given a stern talking-to, though doubtless he's so used to overworking himself that he wouldn't have noticed anything undue in Ienzo.

Ienzo. Oh, child, what are you getting yourself into? Of course, now that he's no longer a Nobody, odds were he would have come to these feelings sooner or later-it's only natural-but he's so emotionally immature that something like this would only end poorly. And is Demyx even capable of giving the boy what he needs-an understanding of his mind and how it works? Intellectual stimulation?

Have they actually been working on a project, or have they instead-

Do not dwell on that.

Ienzo can't handle heartbreak. Likely at the moment, neither of them can see the consequences facing them.

Even feels sick. It must've taken him hours to figure out why-time where he gives said troublemaker more fluids, more glucose, Demyx stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes all the while-but eventually… he does.

Ienzo is not a child. He's grown now, and will surely have adult wants and needs (as much as it reviles him to think about). But so like a child, he's not yet capable of understanding those needs. He's probably never had to feel anything like this, doubling the trauma if things go south.

Even's own son never got to grow up. He would be perpetually five, a ghost whispering in the background, fading more day by day.

This is uncharted territory. He does not know how to be of use.

Ansem needs to know-if anyone can convince that boy of anything, it's him.

It feels odd, after all these years, to approach him first. Worse still, to find him at the computer at the hearth of their old lab. Knowing the genesis of all this is so close only makes him feel sicker. "Master. A word."

His head snaps up, likely at Even's odd tone. "Is something the matter?" Then, immediately. "Where's Ienzo?"

"I have to talk to you about that."

Ansem stands; and stumbles. Without thinking, Even grasps him to keep him upright.

"You need rest," he says.

"I… am aware. And I shall. But first you must tell me what's going on. I'm not fond of this new flair for the dramatic you have, Even."

"I'm only as dramatic as the lot of you," he spits. "Come. I'll take you back to your quarters."

He knows he's been here recently, but only with the others; seeing it on his own gives him a new perspective. He's spent so many hours here, over the years-arguing, brainstorming, simply conversing with someone at his level. He feels something like… nostalgia? Bittersweetness? He plies Ansem with water, sinks onto one of the chintz chairs. To Ansem's tired eyes he explains, "Ienzo's very unwell."

"I know you're concerned about his mental state, as am I-"

He scowls. "I mean the boy collapsed, Ansem."

Perhaps it's the use of his first name, but Ansem just blinks. "Is he-"

Even stands and begins pacing. "Where to even begin? Dehydrated as a desert-blood pressure of the dead. Had such a bad nosebleed it looked like something out of a tawdry horror novel. His heart was starting to palpitate-likely if this continued for any longer, he might've-" He stops cold, his anger cooling. "It's lucky he was not alone when it happened."

"But is he-"

"Stable. Asleep. I gave him a very mild tranquilizer to calm him down, and his body will take care of the rest." He crosses his arms tightly. "This has to stop. I know you desperately want to be close with him again, but simply indulging the boy won't do any good. It's going to take-more work."

Ansem has turned very pale. He holds his glass of water tightly.

He takes a deep breath. "There's something else you have to know."

"...Which is?"

"Demyx and Ienzo's liaison-"

" You're going to fault them for finding friends in one another?"

"-it's more than just that. They're…" He can't bring himself to say the word.

Ansem gets it. "...Oh. Well."

"There's no way this can end well. The boy's gone through so much-both of them, actually-can he really take much more?"

"I'm afraid you know them both better than I do." He sighs heavily, swills the water around in his glass. "I know you want to protect him, Even."

He feels weak, tired now.

"I am not happy about it either. But he also… has to be given the space to make his own decisions."

"They both have trauma they haven't come to terms with-Ienzo doesn't-he's never had to feel such things. I'm afraid-"

"I know, Even. And it's touching you care so much-for a moment I almost saw the old you."

He can't stop himself from admitting, "I feel as if I never have enough time-and yet I'm also doing nothing more useful than waffling. Which I suppose… is all I ever did." The realization saps the strength from him. "Hiding behind my research… foolish, prideful, passive. I… All I've ever done is hurt people-especially those I considered the most dear."

Slowly Ansem says, "I wonder why it is you feel this now."

He rests his face against his palm for a moment. He feels overwhelmed, on the verge of dissolving. Remorse closes a fist around his heart, making it almost impossible to breathe. He stands, feeling the ground pitch a little-a sear of pain cuts through his chest. Before he loses consciousness he realizes this is exactly how the boy felt.

It hurts to breathe. "Easy. Steady, now." He's eased carefully into a sitting position. He wonders if he hit his head on the way down; a splitting ache makes the light hurt. He gasps a little, pressing a hand against his brow. "Are you alright?" Ansem asks.

"Clearly not," he spits. "All along I thought…"

"What?"

"That the boy was being dramatic…"

"Ienzo?"

"Demyx." He takes his weight back from Ansem. He's on the study floor. "It is exquisitely painful."

"What is?"

One pinch of pain and all of a sudden he's revealing things he shouldn't. "You know very well our hearts are not yet whole," he says. "All these fainting spells on his part… I guess I'm not an outlier."

"So you were feeling."

"As if one can make it stop." He takes his own pulse. Surely enough, it's racing. "Damnit…"

"You're not well either, are you?" Ansem asks gently. Even can't read his expression either. "I thought you were self-aware enough to understand hypocrisy."

The surge of anger he feels brings the pain back, but he stays conscious. "The only thing that is certain is that I truly understand nothing. " He tries to stand, stumbles.

"...You should not go anywhere in this state."

"I'll be fine." He sounds breathy, and can't fight Ansem when the man sits him gently on the loveseat.

Even can feel it coming; he shivers. And the last thing he needs is Ansem to witness him like this.

"Are you cold?"

If anything, he's sweating. But he admits in a pathetic voice, "Yes."

Ansem drapes a blanket around his shoulders, one that smells vaguely musty. Even keeps his eyes on the floor, fighting the rising tide inside of him. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not. "You struggle," Ansem says quietly.

Even can feel the cutting retort on his tongue, but it's like flash paper, gone in an instant. "Don't you?" Then the words are spilling out of him like he truly is some kind of puppet. "How do you do it? Just-go back to the way things were? How can you bear to look at me? At us ? Why are you letting us stay here? Aren't you angry?"

His expression is curiously neutral, diplomatic. He may be king no longer, but he's dusted off the mask. "The situation is rather complicated. I'm horrified at what you've done. But Even, you've been my friend for thirty-five years. As though I can forget that at all. Nor does it make it easier to see you like this."

"Some friend I was, to let this happen."

"You cannot ignore the truth of Xehanort's manipulation. Of the darkness."

"...The darkness merely brought out the truest parts of myself."

Ansem flinches. "It… does."

They hold eye contact for a long, long time. Ansem breaks the silence first.

"I believed Heartless… Nobodies… all of your discoveries were abominations. That they needed elimination. Even those with sentience were just… tools I used in my vain attempt at revenge." His hands are both outstretched. "Much like you… I gave myself a new name… covered myself in a new garb… and hid behind my so-called work, claiming good intentions." He looks back at Even. "We're not different, Even. Had I been in your shoes, on the ground with Xehanort… who knows what I have done? And were you in mine… would you have been able to stop me?"

The tide threatens to choke him now.

"Maybe we can't find forgiveness in each other. Maybe we're not meant to. But to… forsake one another is not much better."

He gasps out one sob, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"If you don't allow yourself to feel, Even, you can never hope to be any better."

How truly odd a mental breakdown is, he thinks. He feels almost as if he is watching himself, a shaking, weeping wreck. Simultaneously numb and in agony at the same time. This must be how Ienzo felt, while Even was recovering from his wounds; overwhelmed, uncontrollable, utterly weak.

"Don't fight it," Ansem says. "Just let it be."

More painful yet, to be consoled by him. "I betrayed you-and all you stood for. I betrayed… Ienzo . He said he wouldn't touch the boy. Why did I ever-"

Ansem frowns. "Xehanort?"

He's said too much. Even feels how tightly he's curled up, face parallel with the ground. "Who else? But he… he felt no… anxiety, no overstimulation. Now I'm afraid-" Afraid of what?

Perhaps, simply, afraid.

He sits up. Ansem offers him a clean handkerchief, a glass of water. "I should like to go see Ienzo myself," he says softly. "You stay here as long as you need."

Of course Even leaves as soon as Ansem's out of earshot. He's beyond fever, brief as it was, has left an unpleasant film along his skin, and so he bathes, winching as he brushes scars, the strange numbness and hypersensitivity.

The towel he's draped over the mirror has fallen; he sees himself. His skin is a patchwork. From his collarbones all the way to his feet, brittle scars cover him.

It's no less than what you deserve.

He dresses and falls into a restless sleep.

For a while he feels numb. Even sleeps a lot; it seems like his strings have snapped, and he can't move. He can't tell if he's merely just exhausted, or if this is his depression worsening. He considers pharmaceuticals; but when he checks his stock, he finds everything expired. Figures.

He decides he must go to the marketplace, to get some supplies. See what he can find.

"Where have you been?" Dilan asks. "Feel like I haven't seen your mug in some time."

"I'm afraid I was feeling rather ill," Even tells him. It's the truth, at least partially. "I fear I wasn't taking adequate care of myself, and needed rest. Ienzo's collapse was something of a wakeup call." Despite his sweater, and coat, he's shivering, and he isn't even outside. Is this because his BMI is too low? Or is he merely unused to feeling the cold anymore, after being Vexen?

"Yes." Dilan sneers. "I've heard about that."

"Oh?"

"Impossible not to. They've been practically joined at the hip since last week."

"...Have they." He feels that swell of anger, of concern.

"It's not all that surprising. This is just a flash in the pan; nothing more. Warm bodies, you know? That's all I care to think on the matter."

He feels another swell of disgust. "...I feel similarly."

"Where are you going?"

"My supply of medication is expired. I need to seek out more-considering it seems I'm the one for such things now."

"That woman Aerith is a healer. Perhaps you might get what you need from her."

Even chuckles. "I'll feel better with what's proven."

Dilan shrugs. "Would you mind particularly if I joined you?"

Why? Even nearly asks. "...If you must."

It's colder outside; more jarring. Even winces, adjusting the scarf at his throat. "I forgot about these winters," Dilan says. "Say what you want about that godforsaken castle-at least it was well-insulated."

"Those coats were rather warm, weren't they," Even mutters. But the thought of putting one on repulses him.

He chuckles. "No, I do not wish to be young," he adds, shaking his head. "These things are… difficult enough as it is. I don't know how either of them are sane."

"Clearly, they aren't." I don't feel much better off. "But if Ienzo wants to get hurt… well, I'm to let him make his own decisions, aren't I?"

"He is twenty," Dilan points out. "It was bound to happen sometime."

"I'm not sure if you agree, but I… feel so very odd, being here."

His expression darkens. "Yes," he says. "But where else would we go? And-what else would we do?"

"I can't tell you. I feel as though…" He trails off.

"You've no idea where to begin?" Dilan offers.

"...Indeed."

"I can… tell. Even, my old friend. Please do not take offense. But whenever I've seen you recently… you seem so besides yourself."

"I… am not offended." He smiles wryly. "I'm merely realizing the all-too-human costs of what we did."

Town is approaching. For their own protection, soon they will have to lower their voices.

"I've been rereading our Organization reports," Dilan says. "I didn't realize you had so many."

"I'm afraid with my… unseemly departure, close to a year is missing-arguably the most cataclysmic year."

"Isa left a relatively detailed record. You needn't worry too much." The frozen ground crunches a little under his feet. "All those Heartless that were made-that I made-the people who were killed because of it-"

Even touches his arm. "Peace," he says softly. "You and I… are much in the same boat." Streets begin blooming around them. "You have to forgive me, Dilan."

He raises his brows. "Oh?"

"That day in the cemetery… I've known you over twenty years, and yet I could not recall who you lost."

The memory softens his face. "I'm afraid I'm-frightfully sentimental," he murmurs. "I had a twin, once. I used to… visit her on our birthdays. She was quite young. The thought of having missed so many… put things into a sort of perspective. A human pain."

Even furrows his brows. "Oddly… it was my worry for another that helped me decide to atone. The bonds." He shakes his head.

"Ienzo." Not a question. "You always had a soft spot for the boy."

"I wonder often if he's the by-product of some parental instinct of mine."

"...A replacement for your son?" He thinks, fussing with his jacket cuffs.

"Perhaps."

"A heart has room to love more than one." He shrugs. "Though-essentially the boy is your son. "

"I'm sure if he heard that he'd disagree." Even stops cold.

Dilan frowns. "Even?"

"We've… betrayed him, the three of us. We…"

Dilan puts his hands on Even's shoulders. "I… know."

He swallows. "Let's finish this errand."

"Errant" is the right word for it.

Even sits at the desk in his quarters, a frightful numbness overtaking him in waves. He had no luck finding antidepressants; not that it could've cured him anyway. He's never felt quite this woeful. But every time he thinks he's understood it, he realizes more ugly truth.

I am irredeemable.

A gentle knock at his door. "Enter," he says tiredly.

It's Aeleus-Even breaths a small sigh of relief. "We've been invited to dinner," he says. "Up with Ansem. Ienzo's cooking."

His heart aches. "Oh… I… see."

"I can tell them if you're in the middle of something."

"I'll go. Better than subsisting off of toast."

Aeleus nods, but remains there. Even turns towards him in the chair.

"You've more to say."

"Why do you think the three of us grew apart?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Who? Myself, you, Dilan?"

"You, me… and the boy." He drops his eyes. "I was… reflecting on my time in Castle Oblivion. The three of us… all we basically did was argue with one another."

"Until we all started dropping like flies, you mean?" Even asks. He sighs.

"I'm afraid to say I did not feel much for either of you." He drops his eyes.

Even nods slowly. "I experienced much the same," he admits. "The moment I became Vexen-the first time-I could feel that I had been ostracized from all I ever cared for. And in the moment, it was… liberating."

"To not have to care?"

"...Yes."

"It was," he says softly. "Wasn't it? But then again… to have those feelings back… it seems only right. Natural."

Even can't help but agree, despite the pain it's causing him; his concern for the others is the only thing keeping him here. (In the castle? Or-)

Do not dwell on that.

"Shall we walk together, Even?" Aeleus asks.

"Of course. I admit." He sneers a little. "I am curious to witness this trainwreck in motion."

They set off. After a moment, Aeleus says, "I know you are worried for Ienzo's heart," Aeleus says. "I am too. But at the same time… if something makes him happy, however brief, are we justified in trying to take that from him?"

"He's already so mentally fragile, I fear-"

"Aren't you? Aren't we all? Aren't bonds supposed to help with all that?"

Even scowls, irritation rising in him. "Who knows," he mutters. "I surely don't, apparently."

Aeleus, either stung or out of tact, lapses into silence.

It's odd. The table has been set, neatly; he can see Ienzo conscious for the first time since he's collapsed, in civilian clothing, his skin a normal color again, bustling around the kitchen. Demyx hands him a serving platter. Even observes them warily, notes that Ansem and Dilan are doing the same; but neither boy seems to notice. Ienzo laughs at something Demyx says, a sound Even hasn't heard in a long time (if ever?). Demyx looks at the boy with… something, something that isn't quite lust, it's much too soft.

Oh dear. It's worse than he could've thought.

They settle in for dinner; Demyx sits in the spot that normally Even gravitates towards, unaware of the decorum. Nobody mentions this. Nobody talks about much of anything, actually, and for a while the only sounds come from the gentle scrapes of spoons against bowls. Demyx and Ienzo both keep their eyes on their plates.

Even can't help himself. "I see you're feeling well, Ienzo. What is it you've both done to keep yourselves busy?" He tries to keep his tone affable, but he sees the dangerous look in Ienzo's eye and Demyx's blush, only further confirming- you'll just torture yourself.

"Not much you'd find of interest, I'm afraid," the boy explains. "Resting, mostly. We both were lacking winter things, so we've spent some time in town. That's about all."

"I am sure we're all glad to see you back in good health," Even says to him. "I just hope that this new development does not cloud your judgement going forward. To be young and… caught up in such matters, can no doubt impede your critical thinking. However natural it is."

Ienzo sets down his teacup. He's blushing, but the frustration in his voice is undeniable. "Clearly you have thought on the subject, and I appreciate your concern. But I feel as though I am just as able to take on my research as I ever were. Not that I have asked for your advice. Should you have more to say on the matter, please let us discuss it in private." After a moment, "You needn't worry about me anymore," Ienzo says, a bit more gently. "I… I'm not the little boy I was."

He shakes his head. "I will always worry about you," he says. "After all, I've so much time to make up for." It's the most personal thing he's said to him in some time.

He softens a little, but says no more. After a rather awkward silence, Demyx speaks. "Anyone want seconds?"

The boys remain around long enough to be polite; they do the dishes and take their leave (do not think about what it is they're going to do). Revulsion makes his stomach sour.

But Even finds it's actually more awkward with them gone; without the drama of the relationship as a buffer, it's the four of them together alone in a room for the first time since…

No, can't be. Is it?

Since the last time they were all together in the basement.

Even considers excusing himself as well, but Ansem breaks the silence. "I believe we all are… concerned in our own ways," he says slowly. He poured himself a glass of wine at the beginning of the dinner, one that is still untouched. "But it's only right to allow the boys to be human. You've been rather defensive, Even."

Dilan smirks. Even isn't sure how much wine he's had, if he's drunk. "What was it you said? "I've so much time to make up for?" Rather softhearted now, aren't you?"

"It's what I have to hold onto," Even admits, startled by his own candor. "Almost all else is lost."

"We can't pretend things didn't happen," Aeleus says. "Master, I…" He bows his head. "No apology I offer can ever be enough."

What little humor Dilan's found fades; he drops his eyes, twisting the ends of one of his braids. "Some code we were supposed to uphold," he mutters.

"You've all separately come to me, in your own way. But truly… I am not an innocent victim, as you may suspect." He chuckles. "You remember the man who called himself DiZ?"

"That thorn in our side?" Dilan asks, incredulous. "That was you?"

Even knows this was what Ansem was alluding to, but still feels somewhat surprised. Despite himself, he laughs, too. "Never pictured you as a vigilante."

"Anger was all I had keeping me going. This shouldn't be a surprise-we've all spent too much time with darkness."

"Was it revenge you desired?" Aeleus asks.

"Revenge… death… who knows?" He shrugs.

"We needed to be taken down," Even says, to the floor. "Though sadly for you-all of us save Dilan were already gone before you put your plan in action."

"I was after Xehanort- Xemnas." He sneers. "The fool. I sure felt something about him when I found him. I thought it was something good. I should've known what was going on the moment he arrived with darkness."

"What's the saying-"hindsight's 20/20"?" Dilan shifts his weight a little.

"And I'm king no longer. I have no authority, no title… I'm merely a foolish old man, weighed down by memories of the past. Are we not all wretches?"

He's right, but Even can still feel something like fury. "So what, are we to not even try?" he spits. "Are we just to-waste away here in this castle, sealing ourselves up and getting nothing done? Avoiding one another like the plague-and ourselves more?"

"What do you propose we do, then, Even, since you know so much more?" Dilan hisses. "Try to assist the townsfolk we've terrorized? How will that be of any use?"

"Retraumatizing," Aeleus whispers, his eyes on his knees.

"You both have a valid point," Ansem says. He seems unnervingly calm, but Even can see the tension in his jaw; the mask is back on. "To merely sit on our hands and do nothing would in and of itself be another atrocity. Yet… the landscape of this city has already been so scarred by what we've put in motion."

"We?" Even asks, incredulous.

Ansem meets his eyes. Behind the cool diplomacy, Even can see something like fire. "You think I did not realize what could happen?" he asks. "Once you began studying the darkness, I'd heard by then it could change you, morph you into something… less. But I've known you all for years, handpicked you for your various specializations… I figured… no, they're friends of mine, they should simply be better. I could've stopped it-instead I chose to sit behind my title, my supposed… power, over you. In every single aspect, I've failed." He hasn't raised his voice, in fact was quite soft spoken. But when he stops speaking, the silence is especially notable. "In a way we suit one another, do we not?" He's addressing them all, but it's Even's gaze he holds. "Four grown men-intelligent, educated-and all we can wreak is havoc."

He's had enough. "I refuse to believe this is all we're capable of."

"How can you help anyone if you can't even help yourself?" Ansem levels, and for the first time, despite the very calm cadence of his voice, can Even feel the depths of the anger the man has for him.

Very well.

Without another word, Even gets up and leaves.

Let them suffer together. They deserve it.