10.

For an unknowable amount of time, Even writes. At first it is spurred on by anger; at Ansem, at the others, at himself most of all-but it seems that, once his fury cools, he can't stop the words.

Even has never been a particularly poetic person. He tried, in the past, to keep all his journals and reports objective, clean, and to the point. Plainly worded, aside from the necessary technical terms-he himself remembered being incredibly frustrated with how wordy academics could be, so masturbatory in their writings-and neatly detailed.

These writings are clearly something else entirely. Emotion makes the pages bleed. He feels, above all, just a little deranged. He writes about guilt, about pain and remorse, about replicas who are now people, about how agonizingly raw he feels despite the fact that he is still not yet fully human , about DNA and boys from the past and boys from his memories. About what it felt like to be married and then widowed in seemingly an instant. About how his emotions color everything, despite his best attempts to remain reasonable, logical. If he were truly logical, he would've been able to end all this suffering before it happened.

When his wrist aches, he changes to a keyboard. He can plainly see spelling mistakes, grammatical aberrations; but he doesn't edit, not yet. He writes himself into a stupor and falls asleep right on the keyboard, filling twelve pages with the letter F. When he rouses, he feels splitting pains in both hands, especially his dominant; he ices them, wraps them up tightly, and forces himself to sleep on the cot.

He doesn't feel better, but he feels strangely relieved, like he's released some pressure. He takes mild anti-inflammatories for his wrists, and drags himself towards his actual quarters.

His phone begins to ring. At first it seems to be from Ienzo; but then he notices the small forwarding icon, indicating the boy missed a call. They've set their phones up like this in case of emergency; Ienzo's the one in contact with the restoration committee. Even blinks a little. Where's the boy-is he alright? Or is he merely distracted? He hopes for the latter.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Oh, finally. I got someone." A woman's voice. "My name is Aerith. From the committee?"

He remembers. "I'm Even-apparently Ienzo has seen fit to make me his backup point of contact."

"None of that matters right now. Demyx lives with you, right?"

Here it goes. How wonderful it would feel to tell the others he's right. "Yes."

"He's very badly hurt."

The satisfaction turns rank. He stops dead in his tracks. "How so? I'm a doctor-spare me no technicalities." It feels odd to identify himself so after so long.

"Yuffie-she's on security detail-found him at the edge of town. Heartless, it seems like. They didn't get his heart, thank god , but they've got him right in the infrarenal aorta. He's lost something like three liters of blood. I'm trying everything in my power, but-"

"Don't get my hopes up?" he finds his own heart beating heavily. "Can I be of any assistance?"

"The wound's already closed-it's the shock he has to recover from. I'll… I'll keep you updated, okay?" She hangs up before Even can say anything else.

Just because Even wants Demyx away from Ienzo doesn't mean he wants him dead.

And now he has to tell the boy.

He has no idea where to find Ienzo. Not with Demyx, surely. But where?

The lab.

Even finds him in the hallway on the way back. "There you are. Why haven't you answered your phone?"

The boy looks limp-Even realizes his eyes are red-rimmed. He's been crying. Of course. Well, bigger fish to fry, in the moment. "Did you call me?" he asks tiredly.

"Perhaps you do not remember, but your phone is set up to forward calls to mine if marked urgent."

"Whatever is the matter?"

Even hesitates. If they've fought or broken up-but the boy deserves to know. His time of hiding things from Ienzo is long over. "It's Demyx."

"What about him?" he asks, sourly but not without a trace of anxiety.

"He's been injured. Mortally."

His eyes widen; his hands flutter at his throat. Even explains what happened. "So you mean he's-"

"We don't know yet. What do you know of this woman's abilities?"

He shakes his head, his eyes empty.

"You poor boy." He embraces him, and to his surprise feels Ienzo hug back. He smells so the same as he once did, the slightly sweet scent of ink. "I worry, too. I know how much he means to you."

He feels Ienzo shudder against him.

"Come. You mustn't wait through this alone."

He escorts the boy back to his quarters. Ienzo's breathing oddly, heavily, and his eyes are so vacant. Even wants to press, to find out exactly what happened, but Ienzo doesn't need that. He leads the boy over to the sofa; Ienzo immediately lays on his side and curls up. Even drapes a blanket over the boy. He knows nothing he can say or do will be of any use.

After what seems to be hours-hours where Even obsessively checks his gummiphone-Ansem arrives, breathless. "Have you any news? I heard a few moments ago. I was away from the phone."

He scowls. "Oh good, you're here. Whatever would we do."

Ansem ignores the barb. "What happened?"

"The usual. Heartless. Only he had no means to defend himself. He did not fall to darkness, but was wounded critically. That's all we know."

He shakes his head. "The irony of it. To survive all that, and to get wounded by shadows."

"So things go," Even mumbles.

Ansem kneels in front of Ienzo, who's still supine. When he touches him, Even notices him flinch. "Have hope. I'll get you two some tea."

Even grits his teeth. Once he's out of earshot, he snarls, "The man can take better care of a houseplant than a child."

Ienzo raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, come off it. I've earned a few good digs at Master. He still does not understand people. As hard as he tries. It's a miracle you came out as civilized as you did." He sniffs. "Perhaps there is yet some bitterness in my new heart." His phone started ringing; the boy's eyes widen with something akin to panic. "Yes?"

"Even? Aerith again. Demyx is alive. He's recovering well enough, but I had to put him to sleep for a while. The blood loss was really hard on his heart. Vitals seem to be stable, though." Even can feel the boy's eyes on him.

"Quite. Quite. I see. At least there's that."

Ienzo tenses.

"Merlin and I can bring him there. This isn't really a good place for a person to recover. I figure you probably know what you're doing."

"Thank you. You're a kind girl." He explains it to Ienzo, but this doesn't seem to placate him. Even chances a small smile. "If Demyx is anything, he's resilient. I have a feeling he'll be around to annoy us for a long time yet."

When he's back in his own bed, the boy is indeed in poor shape. There's no wound, aside from a scar, and most of his blood has been replaced, but frankly he looks terrible. "So long as you don't wake him, he'll recover." She too looks horrid. Even can remember his own endless days of patient care, how wearing it can be on the body. "When you take a person back from the brink of death, you have to let them sleep. But he should be okay. He's got a will to live like I've never seen. Broke through several layers of sedation like it was nothing."

"That's what I've been saying," Even says. "Poor Ienzo has been having conniptions."

"Are you two close?" Aerith asks him.

He hesitates. "We're partners," he admits in a voice hoarse from hours of disuse. Interesting word choice.

She nods. "I'm sure this has been a harrowing experience. But we caught it in time. It's lucky the Heartless didn't want his heart."

"...Lucky," he echoes.

"Thank you for everything you've done," Even says.

"Of course. I'm happy to help. Things have been so peaceful that this is the first major injury case I've seen in several weeks." She sighs. "These things come and go in waves. Hopefully they don't get much worse. I'll come back tomorrow to check on him. Call me if you need to."

"I shall. There was one thing left I wanted to discuss." She follows him out the room, but Ienzo remains, taking the boy's hand, an exact inverse of when he fell ill.

"What's up?" she asks wearily. He wishes he had an ether for her, but his stores are still decimated.

"What is the medical care situation like around here? You're not the only one, are you?"

She shrugs, tiredly.

"Oh, no. You poor girl."

"It's alright," Aerith says. "Like I said, it comes and goes in waves."

"I don't suppose you could use… an extra pair of hands?"

Her smile seems rather composed. "That's a very generous offer, but…"

He nods. "It'd be rather disquieting to the patients?"

"Yeah. Kind of." She exhales, smoothing her braid. "I know Ienzo says you all want to atone, and that's only right. At the same time… the darkness has scarred everyone."

"...I see."

"Perhaps there are other ways you can help," she says. "You're all scientists-and the committee is run by largely uneducated people. I'm sure you can be useful. The one thing I'm sure you can do, though…"

"Name it and consider it done."

"You could give me a list of the victims."

She says it so earnestly. Even feels his heart drop.

"We've maintained a list of the missing and presumed dead for years. It might be nice… to be able to give the surviving families closure."

"...Yes. Of course. I will make it my priority. I can give a complete statement."

"That would make Leon very happy… well. Happy as he can be, anyway."

"The truth isn't easy, but it is necessary."

She nods.

"Now go sleep, woman. You look dead on your feet. I've been looking after these miscreants for years-I can handle it from here."

"Be well, Even."

"...I shall certainly try."

He peeks into the room once more before descending back into his lair. Ienzo touches Demyx's face, once, delicately. After all this… Even finds he no longer minds it so much. The boy needs love, and it's clear his own desiccated heart is not capable of providing it-nor anyone else's, save perhaps Demyx.

Love can be more than pain-he remembers that very distantly.

He allows himself to think about that person, slowly, unwinding the defensive chain around the memory. They too were in the sciences, the same doctoral class. They wanted to help people have children-in a roundabout way, inspiring him to consider the body, the replicas-the two of them must've discussed this for hours, the methods and the ethics, until the library closed. That person leaned over so carefully, their hair brushing Even's shoulder-and kissed him, his first.

The pregnancy wasn't necessarily intentional, ironically enough-neither was the following marriage, the proper thing to do at the time-but it was an arrangement that worked, an easy partnership. That period of his life seems long, but it was only seven years from start to finish. Gone.

Perhaps this is why, but when Even unseals his reports from the time before, he can feel the humanity, and despises the utter coldness with which he wrote about their victims. He reads their histories, their stories. He cries. How many children has he taken from their parents, spouses from their partners?

One hundred and twenty three.

From the initial, unharmed participants to the first artificial Heartless, there were one hundred and twenty three people they'd broken; one hundred Heartless.

He allows his wrists to ache as he types the report. In fact, the pain suits him. The document ends up being something like twenty pages, and he still has more to say. Even finds himself trembling, aching. This time he can feel it coming, and eases himself onto the cot before unconsciousness claims him. He wakes. Rather than bathing and sleeping, he resumes his work, trying to edit it into something reasonable. When he has a working draft of this impact statement, he sends it to Aerith, returns to his quarters, and sleeps.

He feels himself becoming… what?

He's not well. He knows that much. But who dare he ask for help? Should he deserve it?

This is a dark place indeed, even darker because this is what they put their victims through.

He spends several days washing in and out of consciousness, hardly able to move aside from performing the most basic bodily functions. Despite it all, I live, I breathe. Why?

A knock at his door. He ignores it. His body, though underweight, seems to be dragging him down.

A voice, Aeleus's-"Even? Are you in there?"

He forces himself to his feet, feeling the ground pitch, likely from low blood sugar. He smooths down his hair. "Do you need something?" he asks in what he hopes is a normal voice.

He cracks open the door and enters. "I… have not seen you in several days," he says. "I… was worried."

Even forces a smile. "What, about a wretch like me?"

"Yes." He blinks. "I fear you are more volatile than ever."

"You needn't worry. I've merely been catching up on my sleep."

Aeleus goes over to Even's hot plate, opens up some of the cabinets above.

"What are you doing?"

"Feeding you," he says. He pours water in a pot, begins making oatmeal.

"Aeleus, I'm a grown man. I can cook for myself."

He grunts in response. "Because you can doesn't mean you will."

"I'm not sure I like what you're implying."

"You don't take care of yourselves-any of you, but especially you, Master, and Ienzo." He stirs the mixture. "Where do you think the boy gets it, Even? You're more than your mind. I don't think I've seen you looking healthy since we've all been back here."

"My health doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does." Aeleus turns to face him. "I'll not have you doing anything reckless."

Even feels vaguely caught; though why?

He starts making coffee, hands Even the steaming cup. In the winter weather, the warmth is incredibly welcome.

"I feel so cold," he says softly.

"I know," Aeleus says. "But you're thawing."

"...A lame pun if I've ever heard one."

"It's true." He takes a deep breath. "My heart aches too, Even."

He feels little emotion; but his eyes are watering. "It makes no sense," Even says slowly. "I… my heart is still a mere fragment, yet I feel… all too much. Scientifically, it just doesn't…"

Aeleus chuckles a little. "The heart is not bound to logic. Not even close."

"Aeleus… you have always been… a steady presence." He takes a drink of the coffee, centering himself with its warmth and bitterness. "I fear I am rather… becoming mentally ill."

"You're beginning to process. It's healthy." He digs in Even's barren cabinets for sugar. "I'm afraid the oatmeal is merely plain."

"You believe this is healthy?"

"Better than absolute numbness, absolute repression."

Even takes a few timid spoonfuls; he finds it goes down easily. "I feel so… horridly weak. I cannot even begin to…" A bite, a drink. It's strangely foreign. "I'm giving that nice young woman a… report of what we did. It-"

"Remorse."

"Yes." More wetness warms his eyes, but he can't blink it away this time.

"You should cry. It's good for you."

"I'm so humiliated, Aeleus."

"Who will I tell?" It's the earnestness that gets him. "We're all in the same boat. I… myself, in my own quiet moments… I know you know what I did."

"...What?"

"Ienzo. When he was a boy. Incapacitated him, so you could not take him." He flinches just the slightest.

"Oh, Aeleus-"

"His eyes were full of such trust… I handed him that cake, knowing full well-" He shudders, almost imperceptibly. "All these years, I have tried to protect him. But I could not stop Axel from-" He trails off.

"Where would I have gone?" Even asks tiredly. "Without the power of darkness, I could not have taken us outside the city limits, where we no doubt would've starved, or died from dehydration. Else Xehanort would have found us… and disposed of witnesses." It takes work, to finish the beverage and meal; once he's done, he finds himself even more exhausted.

Rather than delve more deeply into this conversation, though, Aeleus looks out his window. "It's snowing," he says. "Even, look."

He crosses over to the other man. Whiteness piles onto the windowsills, the ground. "So it is."

"I'm… afraid I must tend to the steps, salt them and whatnot," he says. "But I will be back in a few hours with another meal."

He takes a breath. "Thank you," he says softly.

Aeleus takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

For a long while Even sits by the window, watching the slow fall so slowly. Briefly, he misses his element, his control over it; snow is much more natural than anything Vexen did. Cleansing. Gentle.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees movement. In the courtyard below his window he can see two figures in the snow; the boys. They're throwing snowballs at one another, an endless volley. (He notes, with pleasure, that Ienzo seems to be winning.) Demyx is teaching him how to play; something they never did. With another swell of warmth, he notices Aeleus join in, pelting the two further.

He smiles a little. He realizes the boy is going to be fine; Demyx truly does care for him.

He bathes, for the first time in days, is able to give Aeleus a meal in turn, though it is flavorless and bland. He still lacks intellectual sharpness, but he'll settle for simple functionality after all this.

Even begins to pull the shards of himself together.