14.

Even sits the next day, waiting for the phone call. He feels numb. Better to be numb in this moment. He'll be able to make better decisions if he can't feel. He keeps Aerith on speed dial. Mostly, he tries to keep it together.

It doesn't take long. The phone rings and he hears Demyx sobbing, a sound that shouldn't be familiar, but is. "It's alright," Even says. "I know. We're coming."

Call Aerith. Wrangle Dilan-who protests and snarls at Even after that argument, but submits immediately when he tells him Ienzo is in trouble.

It also helps that Even twisted his arm painfully.

They go down and down and down those stairs. He doesn't feel anything, seeing it again. The air is dank, damp, and musty, but there's no smell of darkness.

They must've done it, then.

He feels almost possessed, punching in those numbers, not listening to Dilan's protests. About fifteen meters from the offices, he sees them, the blood, Demyx doing compressions. "Take care of him," Even hisses at Dilan.

But when he tries to move Demyx, they quickly discovered he's injured too, blood gushing from his right arm. When Dilan tries to get him to walk, he can't bear his own weight, and when the man heaves him up, Demyx actually resists, reaching with his good arm towards Ienzo, something shattered in his eyes. But it's an easy fight, and Dilan carries him away.

Keep him alive.

Don't look at the blood. Do compressions, keep his heart beating. Don't notice the fact that his eyes are still half-open and that he looks like a broken doll. Don't notice that it sounds like it hurts him to breathe. Don't think about death, that the boy's tempted it too many times now, eventually it's bound to take.

Keep him alive.

She's there before long, there to help, always. Her eyes are frantic. "The second time," she says. "Even, I don't-"

He doesn't listen. He waits.

It's a harder fight, takes longer to stabilize him in order to move. His own hands are trembling. Aeleus takes him and they, so slowly, put Ienzo in bed. Aerith keeps working, keeps trying to heal the boy.

Even checks on Demyx. He's still so numb, but the boy isn't. He tries to stand, to cross over to Even, only to immediately drop to the floor with a soft groan. "Oh, bother," Even says. "Here. Right. Up we go." He sits the boy down, checks his wounds. Someone has wrapped them up.

"What's going on," Demyx asks, full of panic. "How-"

"Getting yourself worked up will not help the situation," Even says dully. "Let me see your leg." He feels at it. Without machinery, it's hard to be completely sure. It seems to just be a torn hamstring.

"Even," he presses. "He's not-"

"No," Even says. "Ienzo lives yet."

"You say that as if it's not guaranteed."

What does he seriously expect? "His condition is quite critical. Aerith is doing what she can. The situation he's in… it's quite extreme. We're still not fully sure of the extent of the damage."

"He didn't know he was doing it," Demyx says. He's crying, hiccuping. "He was taking them out of the pain. Out of the memory, like he did for me."

"And the interference of darkness doubtless doesn't help."

"I didn't know either," Demyx says. "I just-I thought-I didn't see anything, and then when I did see he was getting weak I tried to get him out of there. But then I got attacked."

"You're not at fault."

"Yes I am." His voice is sharp, full of razors. "I shouldn't have let him do this at all-"

"As you said. This would've happened sooner or later. Ienzo, in his humanity, has become quite impulsive."

"Still, I-"

"I believe he was more sensitive to their pain than he let on. He always was acutely aware of darkness. When he was a little boy, he would tell me he could hear the screams. I always thought it was trauma. Now I'm not so sure." He's barely aware of the words.

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"You two were the only ones equipped to end this suffering, and willing to do it. I cannot be mad that has a price." He can feel it, deep in the pit of his being. It's all over. The smell of darkness is gone, and the basement is just a basement.

He isn't mad at Demyx. He knows the boy tried his best.

He wishes he could feel.

Ienzo is dying. He can feel that.

Does he take the pain now, or later?

Demyx is still talking. "I knew her. Subject X. Her name was Skuld."

Their first true victim. The thought of her large orange eyes. "Really?"

"We were both Dandelions."

There are never coincidences, are there? "I did think that was a needlessly poetic name." Even takes his hand. "This has obviously been quite traumatic for you."

"What about you?"

It feels like getting slapped. "It is never easy to see Ienzo in danger," he says haltingly. "I admit I do not care for this new self-sacrificing streak of his."

"You raised him."

Even stares at him. Is his numbness obvious? "You know how I feel about Ansem's paternal instincts. What was I to do, let the boy go rabid?" He sighs. "Like many days of our past, that was a harsh one. All of a sudden I'm presented with a bloody, traumatized child and expected to make it all better. Not unlike now. At least you're speaking to me. It took him close to a year to talk." A voice he may not hear again.

"I don't know what to do."

"You should get some rest. You must be exhausted."

"But what if he-"

"Should the situation worsen, I will rouse you." He stands. "He would not want you to push yourself for his sake." Not if he may be all that's left of the boy.

Even leaves, feeling his body weighing him down, the walls not having straight lines. He opens the door to Ienzo's room. The girl is still hard at work. He can't think of anything to say. He leaves. He sees Aeleus, the man's white gloves stained with blood-whose?

"Even?" the man says. "Even, friend?"

He feels the pain starting in him, sharp. "Aeleus, I'm afraid-"

He steps forward just in time to catch Even as he falls.

He's been put in his bed. There's a cloth on his forehead, which is splitting. The light hurts his eyes.

There's someone in the room with him. He tries to focus.

"Easy, there," says a voice.

Even groans a little. "...Ansem. Where is-"

"I'm afraid everyone else is indisposed at the moment. You must deal with me." He hands him a glass of water. "When was the last time you slept?"

"The stress, I'm afraid, triggered another… spell. I can't simply keep it together now." He forces himself to sit up, drinks all the water down. "Do I… want to ask about Ienzo?"

Ansem sighs, a heavy sound. He knots his hands. "It's every bit as bad as it was the first time. But the girl is optimistic. Says she can feel him."

He feels nauseous.

"They ended it. That boy, his unrelated lover. This wasn't their responsibility, and they still were able to fix things. All while we… wrote it off as collateral." He shakes his head slowly. "I trust in him too. He had such a connection with the darkness. Purging it… can finally give him peace."

Even isn't sure what he feels. It's strong, it's bittersweet. It's painful.

"We're running out of chances with him," Ansem says.

"I know."

"Did you help them do this?"

"I… gave Demyx medicine, to try and save Ienzo. I have no idea if I was successful. I… he…" He can't speak. "Ienzo was stuck. He was willing to do this. They both were. Like you said. Collateral. I did not want it to happen. But otherwise… the boy would be haunted. As Demyx said, we live here. We live with the darkness we've made. And he was always so sensitive to it. So yes. I helped the boy. If sparing them helps spare him… then I am for it." He's breathing hard. "They were all victims, Ansem. All of them."

"Let him go to save him?"

"He's a grown man, Ansem," Even says. "But this is more than just Ienzo. It always was. Could I have put up a fight? Dragged you into it? Would it have stopped him?" He's woozy, faint. "Maybe. Maybe not. Ienzo won't be manipulated by anyone anymore. Let him be stubborn. He needs it."

He must sound absolutely insane, because Ansem just gently pushes Even back down. "You need rest, Even," he says. "You'll feel more centered."

"...I'll try."

Even sleeps a long time. He feels unstable, strange, a wretch. Guilt washes over him, even after Ienzo stabilizes, even as they wait. Did he do the right thing, giving the boy the tools to destroy himself? Or did he help them? Did he help those Heartless? Why does he feel so guilty even after assisting in this good deed?

After a week or so of this wallowing, Aeleus intervenes. "You're getting up," he says briskly.

"I've no need to listen to you."

"I'm stronger than you," is all Aeleus says. "So we can do this willingly, or not so."

Even can tell from his eyes that he means it.

"Go bathe. I will wait here." He sits on the chaise, crosses his legs. "I left out a change of clean clothes near the tub."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because clearly at this moment in time you cannot look after yourself. And we look after one another."

"...I'm frightfully pathetic."

"Go." He points towards the bathroom door.

The warm water feels good against his skin. He's greasy, vaguely gritty. It takes a bit of scrubbing to pull himself together, especially his hair. To do all this is absolutely exhausting, the reliance on the body frustrating. Yet more work to comb out his hair. He really has to do something about it. Most unbecoming. When he dresses, he notices Aeleus has left him a new pack of elastics.

It feels odd, to bind up his hair after so many years. Odd and habitual, Llke he's not quite himself. The old Even was much too passive, too vain and petty for his own good, so aggravatingly self-righteous.

And what of this one? Is he making good choices? How to determine what is good and what is not anymore? He feels so like a child, learning the difference between good and evil.

When he emerges, he finds Aeleus has made them both breakfast and coffee. For too long Even stares at it, almost uncomprehending, before finally forcing himself to eat.

"It's like the old days," Aeleus says. "I remember quite often that I'd used to need to feed all of you, tempt you with favorites like you were kids. Otherwise you'd all work yourselves into the ground."

"I'm a doctor-you would think I'd know better, all my wittering on." He shakes his head.

"Knowing and doing are two different things." He rests his cup on its saucer. "How do you feel?"

"The pain has… faded." He touches his breastbone. "I do hope I'm nearly there. This is awfully inconvenient."

"...Other than that."

"A rather pregnant question."

"I'd like to know." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"In short-guilty." The damp hair against his back is cold in this barely-heated room. "I feel I handed Ienzo the tools to destroy himself. How can I allow it? Yet-doing so, I enabled them to help our poor victims find peace. I don't want to continue to allow the poor boy to throw himself away for others. There must be some other way. Isn't there? All these kids know is sacrifice. It's… so sad."

"Perhaps there can be a future where it is not so."

"I dearly wish for that."

"We can make it happen, Even."

"How? The committee refused my help-and they're the de facto government. And I'm afraid bigger picture experiments are too indulgent when we're sitting here freezing."

Aeleus blinks. "Maybe that's it," he says softly. "We can fix this place-leave it for future generations. But there's one thing you need to work on above all." He takes Even's hand. "Recover. Learn to be human again."

If only it were that simple. "I shall surely try."

Again, Even writes. He stays out of that frigid lab, sits in silvery sunlight. He writes of how he feels, how his body responds to these emotions. He tries to parse his own psychological state. It's not an easy task. It might be the most difficult, tedious work he's ever done, and he can't be sure he's getting much of anywhere. It all seems like going in circles.

He tries to spend time with the others. Aeleus and Demyx are the most amenable to this, the most willing; and of course Ienzo is a captive audience. But Ansem and Dilan… the latter has been avoiding him since the basement, and the former is often nowhere to be found.

To mend a bond, both parties have to be willing, after all.

The cold seems to ease somewhat, snow yielding sleet, yielding rain. Ienzo sleeps. Demyx continues studying, always with that sitar in hand; Aerith comes by, teaches him simple spells to take care of the boy's fallen form. Even observes this all happening. Demyx is so nervous, his hands trembling. He shapes magic gently, cautiously, getting what he needs done. Then, facing Aerith with something like wonder, "I can… feel him. He's really going to be-" He cries, and she embraces him. Good. The boy can use more friends.

He misses that sense of awe, of fixing what's broken. Then again, he never was that way in the limited time he actually practiced medicine. People were things to him, inconveniences.

And now? He can't be nurturing, it simply isn't his nature. But perhaps he can help ease the strain, so to speak. So many others are in agony, the psychological consequences scarring them for life. His knowledge of psychopharmacology is limited. But he has time, and a library. He reads, studies compounds, scavenges for materials in the marketplace.

He puts on his white coat, ties back his hair.

Even experiments.

The weeks pass, one after the other.

This is the sort of work that takes time, patience. His study of replicas gave him more insight to the human body, how it might react to certain compounds. This is still something that will require testing. But it's all he has, so he moves forward. He studies the physiological impacts of trauma, of darkness-scars and burns. He tests treatments on his own myriad scars. Not much can help him, but maybe someone else.

They keep watch over Ienzo. It's been nearly six weeks again. Demyx claims he can feel him, his energy, but the boy is new to his studies, and the EEG machine isn't giving Even much to work with. But, again, Demyx is right.

(Demyx has been right about far too many things lately.)

Almost six weeks to the day, Ienzo wakes. He's with Ansem when it happens, and only an hour or so later does anybody see fit to tell him. "This is all becoming rather routine now, isn't it?" Even says coolly when he sees the boy at his door. "Come here. Sit. You shouldn't be up and about without someone properly looking at you."

"Demyx says I'm fine."

"Demyx has three weeks of novice healing training. I have a medical degree." He feels at Ienzo's vitals, finds that the boy is actually smiling a little. "You're in awfully good spirits, all things considering."

"I'm so… relieved."

Even takes a better look at him. The utter agony that has been in the boy's eyes since he reformed is gone. This act, reckless and destructive though it was, has given him more than any of them could. "Well I should hope so," he says crisply. "Your body is not a renewable resource, you know. I should not like to make you a replica. It's no substitute for the real thing. Not when so much is still not proven."

He sighs. "Well, you needn't worry. My power is well and truly gone-and the lexicon is now a mere notebook." He shakes his head. "I don't need it anymore."

"No. I should hope not." Even sits next to him on the chaise. "It's about time you were able to try living for yourself," he says.

Ienzo nods once. "It's terrifying," he says. "I was always under someone's purview or another-now to be under my own? It's been a… learning experience. Truthfully I do not know what I want ."

"You have time," Even says. "That is, unless you end up destroying yourself again. You won't get a third chance, Ienzo."

"I'm aware. And I… am trying to see myself as having worth. I'm not a tool. I'm a person. That in and of itself is overwhelming."

"It is."

The boy twists the tie of his robe in one hand. "So strange, to be warm again," he says.

"Yes. I'd forgotten how eternal these winters seem." He pauses. "You should be careful. I have no doubt that you'll catch the first thing someone carries in."

A derelict sigh. Then he smiles. "Quite. Well, if it's all the same… I'd very much like to get cleaned up."

"You go on."

For a second it seems Ienzo will get up; but then he winces and clutches at his head.

"...Child?"

"Headache," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm sure it'll pass."

It doesn't.

It becomes clear that this recovery is much harder on Ienzo than the last; because the headaches don't go away. It takes him time to bounce back, time to gather his strength. Aerith does her own examination and insists there's nothing physical about the headaches.

"Well you did wear down your will twice," she says to Ienzo, in a slightly scolding tone. "Of course it's going to be a lot harder for it to actually move your body, and this is how that manifests."

And Even has no working machinery to take a look at the boy. All they can do is give him medicine… insist he does nothing physically or mentally difficult… and wait. It's clear this chafes him endlessly. If Even were constantly being poked and prodded and checked in on, given not one moment of alone time or peace, he'd bristle too. But he'd rather have the boy annoyed and frustrated rather than dead.

Demyx tries to keep his spirits up, keep him entertained, bringing him books and the like; though there's some tension there too ( do not think about why that may be) . They've weathered the storm, but there will still be aftershocks.

Even still isn't entirely sure what happened down there, what Ienzo saw. The humanity of the Heartless intrigues him; it's possible they've been forever wrong about these creatures. He decides to bite the bullet and ask. "I brought you some tea. No pesky headaches today, I hope?"

Ienzo takes the cup from him, setting aside the novel. "No. At least, not yet."

He appraises him. "Your color looks good. You do look a little thin, though. We should try to get you eating more. I'm not sure how many kilos you lost-"

"My clothing doesn't feel loose."

"Even so. I thought you were underweight before all this happened. I'll get you some of the leftovers from dinner, how does that sound?" He brings the boy a plate, notes that at least he seems to have some appetite. "I know what happened," Even begins, haltingly. "But I didn't get to hear the whole story."

Ienzo shoots him a look. "I'm not sure I'm the source you want. That evening is very hazy to me. Demyx would probably be more accurate."

"Hazy? How so?"

"I've lost my powers." As if this explains anything.

"Yes. I can't say I'm sorry to see them go."

"Neither am I, but… I believe they gifted me an atypically strong sense of memory, and now that I am merely average, it feels like something of a downgrade." He touches his brow. "Feelings, fine details, are not so clear."

How odd… but Zexion's abilities were always so psychic, so intangible. And the boy's will was a Nobody's. To have all that be gone… of course he feels different. "The average memory functions by recording, then recalling that recording, and then taping over it with the recollection. Which is why, for the ordinary person, it fades over time. If you're not used to that sensation, of course things must seem out of place."

A pause. "Do you think I will ever be capable of magic again?"

The last thing he needs. It's hard to go from powerful to powerless, but does the boy still not acknowledge how destructive this all was? "...Perhaps," he concedes. "But I forbid you from trying anything for some months. You've taken enough risks."

Ienzo scowls.

"Ansem agrees with me. So, I'm sure, would Demyx. He was an absolute wreck when you were asleep." He exhales. "This isn't about choice, or agency. You've pushed the limits of your being too far. Of course we're going to worry."

He smiles, but it's very cold. "This reminds me of when I was a child."

Alright. Fine. Two can play. "Well, when you were a child, you didn't have a death wish." How to impart to him what was done? The boy never used to be dense.

Is he just in denial?

"Beg pardon?" Ienzo asks.

This requires gentleness, tact-things Even still is not any good at. "Part of me believes you absolutely did the right thing. On the other hand, the part of me that raised you cannot bear this impulsiveness of yours."

"It was not an impulsive act. This was something I wanted ever since I was human-"

"But were you truly saving them? Or saving yourself?"

It's the hesitation, the stuttering, that gives it away. "Does it matter?"

It about breaks Even's heart. But he should've known-hasn't he raised the boy to be like this? He sits next to him, takes the empty plate. "It's time for you to let go."

His tone is rather sharp when he says, "I have. I think you need to follow suit."

Ienzo's right; it's this that has him reeling, and before he can formulate a reply, the door is swinging open and there's Demyx, carrying a bag of books. "So I couldn't find the third volume of Shadow of the Morning Star, but the rest were there, so-" Noticing the tension, he blinks. "Am I, uh, interrupting something."

All the better. There's no way Even can be neatly composed. "I was merely bringing Ienzo some lunch." He leaves, taking the plate and cup with him, feeling something like lead in the pit of his stomach.

How to let go? How to move on? He's hoping his new research might be of use, but in case it isn't? Is he allowed to move on? Is he allowed to live?

(Moreover, does he want to?)

He's in the middle of this process, still clutching Ienzo's dishes, when he sees Dilan in the hall. For a moment they both hold eye contact before the man pushes past him.

How does Even begin fixing things?

Is it possible?

All questions, no answers.

There is one person in this castle who is good at such waffling.

For some weeks Even procrastinates seeking him out, but with nothing of substance to do, there's no point. Even takes a breath.

It isn't easy to find Ansem. Even calls him twice, knowing well the man won't answer-even for Ienzo he's hard to get a hold of. A brilliant programmer, yet he can't-or won't-grasp the gummiphone.

(It makes him more accountable.)

So he searches. On foot.

It's the thick of spring, but the castle is still damp, and it's raining; they've all been passing around the same cold. It's been nearly six months they're all here, Even realizes. Six months of-what? Not much of anything, really. Reeling, sniping at one another. Only Ienzo and Demyx seem to have begun recovering. The rest of them feel stagnant.

He checks Ansem's usual haunts; the lab, the library. It's only as he's heading towards the man's quarters does he sees Demyx, toting his medic bag (the sight will never not surprise him). When he gets closer, he sees something heavy in the young man's eyes, his posture slumped more than usual.

"...Boy?" Even asks. "Are you alright?"

He looks up as though surprised, then blinks once. "Even," he says. "Do you… have some time?"

The wind seems so loud against the breezeway. "That depends. Is something going on? Is… is everyone okay?"

Demyx seems to think for a moment. Then he grasps Even's hand and brings him back towards the sitting room. "Well I mean not really," he says in response to Even's question. "Alive? Yeah. Uninjured? Sure." He sits Even down on the couch and starts building a fire. "You want tea? You hungry?" There's something manic and not at all hospitable in the way he's speaking.

"Boy, you're frightening me. If you hope to cultivate a good bedside manner-"

"Ansem's in trouble."

All he can see is the back of the boy's head, half shorn. He holds rumpled paper in one hand. Even can hear him breathing. He can intuit what the boy means, but still he asks, "What kind of trouble?"

"Like he…" He stays facing the hearth, but he doesn't move to keep making the fire. "He's… he was sick. Had a fever. I was outside, taking care of a few things, and I saw him." He shoves the paper into the fireplace, picks up the box of matches. "Seemed to be in some kind of episode… or flashback… If I hadn't been there when I was, I'm not sure if he might've-"

It feels like getting socked in the stomach. "Are you sure?"

"He said something along the lines of, "I believe I was going to do something reckless." Which, considering how euphemistically you all talk… yeah, Even. I'm sure." His voice hitches a little. "Ienzo's with him. They're talking about stuff." He turns to face him, finally. Demyx's eyes are watering. "Every time I think I start to get it, shit gets a whole lot deeper and more complicated. You guys… all these weird power dynamics…" He shrugs and shakes his head.

"Don't I know it," Even says numbly. "I know the man has been avoiding everyone-I figured he wanted nothing to do with me. And rightfully so, all things considering."

Demyx strikes the match. Its hiss seems particularly loud in the room; Even can't help but flinch. He shoves it into the fireplace. "I feel so fucking weird," he says.

"As… as do I."

He turns. "Do you feel that way too?" he asks him. "Ienzo can't-I-"

"I am not… well. But I don't feel as though… that's my only option. I've put the boy through enough."

He takes a deep breath. He wipes at his eyes.

"The question is how to pull us all back together," Even says. His own body feels so heavy; he has to lean forward on his knees. "I've been pondering and pondering it. Do we… deserve to pick up the pieces? And yet… our lives, after so many permutations… are still ours. That can't be insignificant. We must… need to be here. But…" His mouth is so dry. "Boy, I've no idea why, or… what to do."

"It's gotta be pretty bad, for you to not even pretend to know something."

"...Quite."

Neither of them know what to say for a long time. Demyx continues to build the fire, to warm his hands; he's shaking.

"Your record is cleaner, as it were," Even says. "You have the excuse of your amnesia. We, on the other hand, very deliberately turned against all we stood for, in the name of… discovery. " He spits the last word. "A decision is much heavier than a choiceless choice."

"Aren't you trying to be better?"

"Desperately. With every fiber of my being. But I think Ansem… would believe we're not worth saving."

"Why not?"

"...I've no idea. Come sit over here, boy. Get off the cold floor."

After a moment, Demyx obeys. He perches next to Even. "I was there for part of it," he admits to his lap. "Ienzo said he felt… used."

Even sighs. "That makes sense," he says. "Xehanort certainly did use him, as a tool. His brilliance… a bargaining chip over me."

Demyx sniffles. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes. And then… all those years in the Organization… Zexion became very loyal. The validation he was given was much needed. Of course the boy would think, in the moment, he was doing the right thing. We all did. The darkness twisted us so. Now of course we know better. That knowledge had a price. While we're closer to who we once were than we are our Nobodies, we still all hurt each other, tossed one another aside. Trying to reconcile those feelings is… complicated. He was deprived of a normal life, his skills used to further someone else's agenda… not unlike you."

"He's gone through so much-"

"And you haven't? And we all haven't?"

Demyx sniffles. "Do you think we're not worth saving?"

"Either way… we've been saved."

Slowly, he nods. "Gotta make it worth it."

"...Indeed."

Hours later, Even waits. He watches, observes. Ienzo finally returns from Ansem's quarters, pale, drawn, eyes swollen and red-rimmed. He walks like it hurts. Demyx gently takes him into his arms, guides him into the kitchen.

Even gathers himself.

It's not a long walk, but it seems like it is. He's not sure how he feels; he just knows it's strong. Indignation? Disgust? Outrage? (Concern? Heartache?)

He doesn't bother knocking on Ansem's door; besides, it's cracked open. He takes a deep breath, and enters.

The accused is sitting by the fire, nursing some kind of warm beverage. He looks up at the sudden noise, shakes his head a little, and says, "I suppose my humiliation is complete, then."

Even cants his head a little to the side. Getting angry will not help at all; yet he feels it in his breast, hot and demanding. He tries to smother it. "Do you still feel ill?"

"I am physically back to normal. More or less. Demyx took good care of me. Sit, why don't you."

Even perches on one of the chintz chairs. "The boy says you were delirious. Is that true?"

"True enough. I'm afraid I have much less willpower than I used to. These things are so difficult to combat. Only now do I fully understand your frustration over Ienzo's mental health."

"From back then?"

"Quite. I know to a degree you feel it too."

"But I'm not about to do anything about it."

"I'm not sure I would've. Equally as uncertain what would've happened had the boy not been there. He believes I'm here for a reason."

"Aren't we?" He scoffs a little. "Ansem, if the universe truly wanted us dead, truly believed us irredeemable, we'd have been long gone."

"I thought you didn't believe in fate."

"I do now. I've been handed so many clues, guided so carefully by such forces. That isn't for nothing. As much as I would like to… curl into the science, into the known, that simply isn't the case."

He nods once. He stares into the flames. "I wasn't hopeless for a long while," he admits. "I had my rage to sustain me-then once I arrived, I had the thought of Ienzo, of atonement and you all. But…"

"Where to begin?" Even offers. He exhales. "I believe I know exactly what you mean. I was never good at kindness, as much as my heart wanted me to be. Any way I've helped the boy- those boys-has resulted in pain."

"You've given Ienzo peace, Even. That's not for nothing."

"Well, he still has a long, long way to go. All that compartmentalizing is bound to begin unpacking itself now that he's more stable."

"But peace is the first… piece. As it were."

Even adjusts his collar. "What would it take for you to find peace, Ansem?"

"...The ability to forgive. If I could find forgiveness, the rest would follow."

"Do you want to forgive, or be forgiven?"

Ansem is silent.

Even tries a different track. "Ienzo was in here with you. What is it you spoke about?"

"He doesn't trust me. I don't know why that was surprising. Why should he? I abandoned him."

"You didn't ask to be-"

"Before that."

The sharpness of his tone throws Even off for a moment. Ansem sets the empty cup aside and knots his fingers. "Things were getting dark, even before I knew it was completely atrocious," he says. "Yet I… did not once think of how it impacted him, what was happening to him. You said you tried once to get him out. Why didn't I?"

"You were the king. Where could you have gone?"

"I had the power to stop these things and I simply didn't."

Even leans back a little. He tries to keep his face open, neutral. It's an uphill battle. "Why not?" he asks gently.

"Part of me… I believe… also wanted to know what it was you were discovering. I hid myself behind false ideas of trust in you, of honor. But deep down? I am just as complicit."

For a moment all that is audible is the crackle of the fire, the soft tick of a clock. "Guilt is just as intoxicating as darkness," Even says slowly. "But unlike darkness… it can be useful."

"I hardly call this useful."

"It reveals the weaknesses in one's character… things that can, theoretically, be fixed. This isn't going to be easy." His hair falls over his shoulder. "I've been doing the same thing… it might just be the most impossible research project. But it must be done. No need to waste myself when I still have so much to offer."

"Like what?"

Even doesn't know what to read into that question. "I'm educated. I've learned so much-true, I've used most of it for ill, but now I can undo the damage, or at the least… ensure it never happens again." When Ansem says nothing, he adds, "The people running this city are children , Ienzo's age. They have no experience, little knowledge. I may have only been a paltry scientist, but I can help them along their way. You could too. They don't really know how things were. Yes, it was flawed, but it was better-than this."

"Do you truly believe that would help?"

"Better than hiding, and rotting." He bites the bullet. "That young man Leon asked if you wanted power again. I had no answer."

Ansem laughs, but there's no warmth in the sound. "And-what, wreck what they've built?"

"You were king for close to ten years. There were hardly ever more human rights. You cared for these people. You brought unprecedented change."

"Change which was then taken advantage of."

"I am trying, Ansem. I am trying to help you."

"Maybe you shouldn't."

Even feels the blood in his face.

"As you said. All the good you've tried only ends in pain. Pain I do not need."

His hands are trembling. "Very well. If that's how you feel." He stands; he's so angry he's dizzy, and in his periphery, something far darker and heavier than anger. Even leaves, willing himself not to look back, not to say anything, not to feel-

It takes work, to seal up one's emotions. He's forgotten. He hides himself behind his newest project, staying out of the way, saying little, again incapable of being any use. It's hide himself away or fall apart; neither seems like a good idea. It's summer now, hot and impermanent, but his lab somehow feels cold. His hair has become longer and more unmanageable until finally he caves and cuts off the dead (singed?) ends.

He doesn't isolate himself completely. No point further worrying the boy when he seems his happiest. When necessary, he socializes, but keeps the conversation as surface level as possible. He pushes through it. Facades are so much harder now. It is a relief, to see Ienzo doing so well, all things considering. A relief and somewhat of a novelty to witness the boy in love. It suits him, and for all intents and purposes Demyx seems to be a good partner. He would know; Dilan gossips about it endlessly. (Even supposes the man needs some way to fill his days.) Apparently the boy's been caught going to and from Ienzo's room. Even doesn't particularly care; they're both human adults in a romantic relationship, these things are bound to happen. More power to them. But to Dilan you'd think it's the most scandalous thing; so much for him claiming to not care, either. Even puts up with the gossip, because at least it means the man is talking to him.

He didn't fully realize how serious things are between the two young men (though aren't they? Ienzo risked his life to save Demyx). All of a sudden one of these days he notices that Ienzo's possessions are slowly disappearing from his room, piece by piece. Dilan, ever the glutton for drama, faithfully reports that they have cleaned up an apartment several floors below. One day when they are both preoccupied by their work, Even sneaks down to examine it for himself. The door's been left open, and sure enough there their things are lying; pairs of shoes, jackets, odd little trinkets and books. It evokes in him something deep and bittersweet. The boy's finally been allowed to properly grow up.

Soon after that, he's returning to his own quarters after a fruitless day of working when he sees Ienzo rummaging around in his old room's drawers. He opens the cracked door. It's beyond strange to see this room so emptied. All of the posters have been taken down, the bookshelf stripped, even the mattress is bare. He realizes that Ienzo's essentially leaving as soon as Even got used to his presence again. "So that's it then," he says.

Ienzo looks up at him. He's not embarrassed, exactly, but there's a shyness when he says, "Yes."

Even goes over to the bed, smooths the quilt a little. "It will be odd to not have you around."

"I'm not far. Just downstairs."

"Even so. I only just got used to being in this place again. I feel I am growing much more slowly than you." He isn't sure why he admits this. But isn't it the truth? He's so stagnant.

"It isn't a race," he says, and offers a small smile.

"No." He sits, considering the young man. "You know, when Ansem first decided to bring you here, we reacted poorly. How on earth could we expect a child to thrive in this environment? Moreover, how could we care for one? But I think you brought a life into this place. An ambition. You were a reminder of the future we sought to create. You still are." How's that for earnest? But he means it.

Ienzo sits down near him. He looks at his hands, the clothing in his lap. "Our relationship has been… strained. Yours and mine."

"I'm aware."

"We reformed… and you were gone. I know now, of course, why you did it. But things were overwhelming enough that I… I worried I'd lost the Even I'd known for good." It feels like he's wanted to say this for some time.

Even drops his eyes. "It is… tempting to blame it all on the thrall of darkness, but that is reductive. This whole process has revealed flaws in me that I once valued as strengths. I was selfish, devious, cruel. And I had no way of stomaching the emotional rot it would dredge up. Ienzo." He takes his hand. "I am proud of the person you've become. Even though I cannot flatter myself and take credit for it."

He blushes a little. "That is very kind."

"I'm glad the cards have fallen the way they did. We have all played our parts to perfection, including those of us who are surprises. Only now there is no more script." Even brushes a strand of hair out of Ienzo's face. "I do so wish you would let me cut your bangs."

A small smile. "I'm afraid you must get over it."

He laughs a little. "I suppose. You're grown now, making your own decisions." He takes a breath. He can't help himself. The boy is just so young . "Are you sure this is what you want?"

His turn to look away. "Yes," he says. "I… I do love him. And I want a future with him. This is part of that."

Even knows it's the truth, but still it's odd to hear him say it out loud. "Better him than a stranger, I suppose."

"A stranger would not be able to understand."

The boy has a point. Nobody else will be able to grasp the convoluted past of his. "No. You're right. I'm glad you've found what happiness you could."

His blush reddens further. "Thank you. I am too. I will still be around."

"And I should like to see this place sometime." More than covert spying.

"Of course." He picks up his things. "I should head back. We have plans for lunch." He's almost at the threshold.

"Ienzo?"

He turns. "Yes?"

"Is it very strange, to be in love?"

He barely hesitates. "No. It is as natural as breathing."

Even finds himself considering what that means.

Loving is supposedly natural-regardless of what kind of love it is.

Why does he find it difficult?

(Is he worth loving? A desiccated wretch like him? What can he possibly give to anyone in any capacity?)

He thinks about his late spouse, if that was a real love. Of his biological son. Surely he must've loved them-their departure wrecked him so. He must love Ienzo similarly, right? A sort of paternity? What of the others? The webs between them are all so complicated-Demyx is right, the power dynamics at play are so strange.

Is it possible to make amends? Is he worthy?

He recalls the conversation with Ansem. How the man claims he only causes pain.

(Isn't he right?)

He feels stuck.