16.

But this determination doesn't make it easy. There are nightmares now, memories. It's still hard to be around fires, to strike his Bunsen burners. Any noise resembling a snap incapacitates him; Demyx unknowingly does it once in casual conversation and unexpectedly finds himself caring for a distraught Even.

Humanity's sharpened things, good and bad. He feels more and less able. But at least there's consistency. At least he can get himself out of bed.

He assists Ienzo as much as he can with the boy's memorial work. Offers advice, counsels about acidity of soil, gives whatever he can. He helps Aeleus too, in his repairs. It is soothing, to do things with his hands, even though he's mostly useless in that regard.

He tries to mend things with Dilan.

It's hard to say what the man does. Unlike the others, he's not quite so transparent. He disappears for hours at a time, claims it's guard duty: "someone has to do it." But is it?

So Even looks for him. He does not bother trying Dilan's phone; he knows he will not answer. He finds him in a covered courtyard, surrounded by beheaded training dummies, but he's actually sitting, meditating. Even turns to leave.

"You've already disrupted the peace," Dilan says, his eyes shut. "What is it you want, Even?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"I can recognize the sound of your gait at fifty meters. Any of yours, actually." He opens his eyes and smirks. "I did receive extensive training, you know."

"I suppose I... would like to hash things out. As it were."

"Must you?"

"I'm afraid so. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future. I'd rather there not be more tension than is necessary."

He scowls.

"Is this really about that impact statement?"

Dilan sighs. He points to the ground in front of him. It's rather unbecoming, but Even sits in the dirt, folding his legs under him. "We've all prattled on in our own ways about guilt," he says. "No point going into it further."

"Yet?"

"...Yet." His lip curls. "I spend a lot of time in this town. Cataloging, observing. I know Ienzo means well, and yes, a memorial is only right. But… the psychological wounds of this town… have scarred unevenly. Things need to rip open, to heal well. I fear in that pain… we might get more than we bargained for. Revenge. Ostracization. I like to believe it's not myself I'm worried about."

"...The boys?"

"...Quite." He knots his fingers. "Funny. I never thought I would give a wit about Demyx."

"Me either. But here we are."

"He's changed. Gives me hope that perhaps I can too. A vain hope, but hope nonetheless."

"If he can, anyone can."

He chuckles. Then, sobering. "Tell me something, Even."

"Of course."

"How did you decide to go against the New Organization?"

He bides his time a little. Picks some lint off of the knee of his slacks. "Guilt. Simply. I saw Ienzo-whole, human, reeling-and it all came crashing in. Without the darkness, the pull on my mind was not so absolute. As I was recovering… Xigbar came to me. Offered me the job. How could I say no? After all, I was nothing but loyal in the past. Isa caught wind of it and helped me plan."

"So simply?"

"So simply." He smiles. "Dilan, I love convolution as much as the next person, but it's not always the best choice."

"All I did was sit here."

"You were incredibly injured. As I've heard."

His jaw twitches. "Sora is a brutal adversary. That's all I care to say on the matter. My bones still ache when it rains."

There's a few moments of silence. Even looks at the tile floor, the dirt. "Dilan, I… wish things were not so difficult between us. But I've no insight into what you've been thinking, or feeling. I don't know how to fix it. We're alike, you and I. Prideful. Furious at the drop of a hat."

"But your love for Ienzo helped you through. I'm afraid I have no such bonds. I love the boy, of course, but I had no patience for him when it mattered. Even before I was a Nobody… well. He was a pet. A very intelligent one, but still. I don't think I saw him as human."

He blinks. "No?"

"Well, a person of no consequence. A thing I could set aside when I was done with him. But you once had something outside of your career. I never did."

This is news to him. "Never? No family? No… beloved?"

"One tends to be ostracized when one is different," Dilan says simply.

Even wants to ask him what he means; but he also fears this is too personal. Yet, they've known each other twenty-some years. What is too personal? "Unfortunately."

"I never made the time for anything other than the most brief affair. And I thought I understood love." He chuckles. "We all thought we knew everything."

Even smiles. "The older I get, the less I feel I know."

His smirk fades, though. "When we all returned, I found the notion of you challenging Ansem to be frankly absurd. But I should've listened to what you had to say. You've grown; he rots. You've taken an active role, he waffles. He'll give the boys meaningless words and pats on the head, and true, words were never your strong suit. But it's you they feel comfortable coming to, in the middle of the night."

"No need to stroke my ego."

"As if I would?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I need to impress you, Even? You no longer have power over me."

"It is liberating, to let go of such meaningless things," he admits.

"I've been doing more than beheading sacks of sand," he says slowly.

"Like?"

"I'm surveying the town. Seeing what needs to be fixed, drafting plans as to how that might be possible. I hope to present such work to whoever might be in charge-whether it's that cursed committee, or an actual leader." Dilan meets Even's eyes. "Radiant Garden might look pretty, but it's all rather rough. Cobbled together. Won't exist in the long term unless infrastructure is in place."

"That is very humble work."

"It is nice, to use this part of myself again. Reminds me of who I used to be." A small smile. "That report… made me realize all I've done to this town, and many others. I'd kept that guilt at an arm's length."

"And you became defensive." Even nods. "A natural response."

"A foolish one." He scoffs. He points at Even. "Easier to blame you than to actually deal with it."

He laughs a little.

"In which case, I should be thanking you. A needed wakeup call. Along with Ansem's… difficulties. We've spoken a little, since then. It is hard to be gracious with him."

"You were never the submissive type. But… help must be wanted."

"...Yes." He looks down. "Even, I do believe we have more in common than we thought."

"I should hope so."

But all that happens isn't completely good.

He's elbow-deep in distillation when his phone rings, deep in his pocket. Usually when someone calls him instead of merely messaging, it's all business. (In fact, he can't remember ever receiving a call just to chit-chat.) He sees it's Demyx. "Boy, I'm in the middle of something. What do you want?"

His voice on the line is very strained when he says, "I think I've been poisoned."

Even freezes, almost dropping the test tube he has in clamps. He sets it down delicately. "Describe your symptoms to me."

"It just feels…" He's slurring a little, and if Even doesn't know better he'd say the boy is drunk. "Burning, my muscles are all tight. It feels like…"

"Come down here at once. No, better yet, I'll have Dilan get you. Turn on your location." A handy, if unsettling, feature of the phones. His heart is starting to beat fast and hard. He can't have the boy collapsing on him-not again. As soon as he convinces Dilan to go intercept him, he digs through his stores for antidote, and then further compounds to build one, should he need to.

They've just been talking about revenge.

Why Demyx? But then, Even realizes he's something of the public face of the castle, doing what he does. The townsfolk must not realize he was never an apprentice.

Before he can consider this further, he sees Dilan sidling in with the boy in his arms. He gestures to the cot. "Here. Set him over here."

Demyx's eyes are rolling a bit. "He's been slipping in and out of consciousness," Dilan explains. "Has been for about ten minutes."

Never good. He takes the antidote, rolls up Demyx's sleeve, and stabs the boy. No time to fuss with prepping if he's that far gone. His eyes seem to come into better focus. "There you are." He starts an IV, properly this time. "How do you feel?"

He's dazed, and sweaty, and from the touch alone Even can feel the fever. His heartbeat is erratic. "Hurts," he says.

"Where?" Can this help?

"Everywhere," he mumbles.

Not lucid enough to recount what's going on. Well. Even can solve problems. The generic antidote will keep him alive, negate the worst damage. He simply has to act fast. "I'm sorry, I'm hesitant to give you anything while we're trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I'm going to take some blood, alright? Let's see if I can't figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip."

"'Kay," he says. The word is barely intelligible. He's shivering, rather violently. Likely had they found him much later he would've fallen into convulsions. Even has trouble getting a vein, but manages to get some blood at last. He wraps the boy in a blanket and rushes everything over to his workstation.

"I should tell Ienzo," he says. If that doesn't get Demyx's attention, nothing will.

It works; he comes around, partially. "No. I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days." He examines the sample. Even isn't sure whether or not to be relieved that he can see the issue right away. "Nasty business" doesn't quite cover it; it's frankly a miracle that Demyx is as stable as he is. Neurotoxins are always frightening. As quickly as he can, he starts building onto the base antidote.

"That bad?" he asks. Good. Keeping him talking is good.

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did." He digs into his toxicology thesaurus, searching for the molecule; he knows he's seen it before. It takes much too long before he has something workable, something body safe. In the midst of all this, he hears, "Even?"

His head snaps up. "Yes?"

He's still breathing hard, but it's not quite as labored as before. Good signs. "Will I die if I go to sleep?"

"No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

He's just distilling it all down when Dilan returns from notifying the cavalry.

"How'd he take it?" Even asks.

"About as well as you'd think. Looked like I'd kicked him in the groin. I had to all but restrain him from coming down here himself."

"Ienzo's knowledge of chemistry is not nearly up to par for something like this." He watches, tense, to see how the serum will react to the poison on the plate. "His anxiety is much too potent."

"And Demyx?"

"Holding steady. Asleep." It's all breaking down; what Even needs to see. He draws a couple of milliliters into a syringe. "It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us." He takes Demyx's hand and injects the serum into the port; the boy blinks stiffly.

"What…"

"A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

He seems more aware now, though still slightly drunk. "What was it?"

Even sits next to him. It's his body; he has a right to know. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Even can't read the expression on his face. "She must've known."

The perpetrator? "Who?"

"The person who did this. About my old powers-" He tries to sit up and flinches in pain; Even pushes him back down.

"Don't move. I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

His stress level seems to be rising. Even needs to de-escalate; he doesn't want to risk giving Demyx anything else while his liver grapples with all this poison. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?" he repeats. A name, a description-

"The woman, the one who-" He goes very pale, his eyes watering. "I'm going to throw up."

Even gives him a wastebasket to be sick into; Dilan flinches just the slightest. This is actually a good thing. He's getting rid of it.

Wearily, Demyx looks up. "She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird-"

He sighs. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He pauses. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

He lays back down. It takes a moment, but finally he begins telling them; Dilan writes it all down in a text, committee-bound. There's a chilling detail in it; the boy must be reflexively calling upon his reconnaissance training. He describes a home in the residential district, one that's slowly being repopulated. He actually talks himself to sleep. Even gives him more of the serum. Even rechecks his vitals, notes that he's stabilizing well. "He'll pull through just fine," he says. "But it's going to be a tough few days. We may as well put him in his own bed."

"We?" Dilan mutters. "Leon got back to me. They're investigating." Dilan hefts the boy back in his arms, carefully managing all the fluid. Even takes more of the medicine with them. It does give him a level of anxiety, to give him so much of something literally untested, but the boy seems to be responding well. The regular stuff won't cut it.

When they arrive to the apartment, Ienzo's frantic. He's actually unable to speak, for the first time Even's witnessed in a long while. It takes a beat to adjust. "He's recovering well," Even assures him. "It'll be… unpleasant, for a while, but he should pull through without much trouble."

He nods once. They settle Demyx into bed, let him rest. Even makes Ienzo some tea. The whole place is neat as a pin, the selection of brews rather… eclectic, most of them Even's never heard of. He looks over his shoulder, towards the bed, and sees Ienzo hovering over Demyx, his hand outstretched-

"Don't touch him without gloves," Even says. "He's sweating bullets and I'm not sure if it's communicable that way."

He looks startled.

"You wittering over him won't help. Come sit down."

Ienzo obeys. He's utterly defeated. Something about this all has broken his spirit, not that Even can blame him. He gives the boy the mug, which has an odd orangey smell; Ienzo wrinkles his nose a little.

"Well I've no idea what you wanted. Doesn't help you fancy yourself a gourmand."

The joke doesn't faze him. He takes out his phone. Do they know who did it?

"Not yet. They're investigating. Despite it all, Demyx actually provided a fair amount of detail. Not sure what could take that child out."

This is the wrong thing to say; Ienzo's eyes narrow.

"That was… tactless. Excuse me." He clears his throat. "So this still happens to you, then?"

He exhales, a heavy sound. Less so since I've grown, but needless to say I was NOT expecting Dilan to show up and tell me my partner was poisoned. It will pass. In time. He pauses, his thumbs hesitating over the bright screen. Dilan mentioned people seeking revenge-I was far too naive. I thought everyone would just want to move on- His eyes are watering as he types, and he makes some spelling errors. If anyone should be targeted, it's me. He's innocent in this.

"They don't know that." Even squeezes his knee. "Perhaps this is just one lunatic, and it's a coincidence."

Despite the fact that he's crying, Ienzo's eyes flash. He begins typing-Do you really fucking believe that-before deleting it, though Even has always been good at reading upside down or backwards.

"Child, I guess not. You know comforting does not come naturally to me."

Another sigh. I suppose I should thank you.

"As if I would let him die?"

Sometimes I feel I rather take you for granted.

Even rolls his eyes. "Don't flatter me. Least I could do."

I-a significant pause here. Forgot what the real you was like.

Even blinks. "You mean-"

You were Vexen most of my life. Hard, calculating.

He scoffs. "And now?"

You care again.

"I am working very hard on that. As you all blather on-it is difficult, to be vulnerable, to allow tenderness. I'm afraid my pride had to take a mighty beating before I began to accept the change."

He smiles tiredly. Well I nearly died resisting mine.

"Ah. Don't remind me." He gets up. "I'm going to dose your miscreant again. You still want him around, yes?"

His turn to roll his eyes. Even puts his gloves back on and approaches Demyx. His color is a bit better, but he still looks quite ill, and is still sweating. He gives him another push of the antidote.

For a few hours he and Ienzo sit, waiting. The little cat, barely bigger than Even's palm, hops up and kneads Ienzo's lap. Ienzo pets it idly. They both answer some messages from the committee, from the others. Demyx seems dead to the world, but best not to disturb him. Even drafts a report of what's happened; in all this, Aerith arrives, likely informed by the committee. She seems sad; but not at all surprised. Wordlessly, she crosses over to him and begins her own examination. After a few minutes of this, she joins them at the couch.

"He's breaking it down," she says in a low voice. "Whatever you made is working about as well as anything I could've done. Just keep him hydrated. He'll feel like shit, but he'll be fine." She crosses her arms. "It's still all… so disturbing to me."

"No news?" Ienzo asks hoarsely.

"Nothing yet." She nods once. "I'm going to go see what I can do. This is kind of personal now. He's my student. I'm supposed to be responsible for him."

"Like you could've guessed what would happen," Ienzo mumbles.

"This has all been rather surprising," Even adds. "Our lives are simply not allowed to be peaceful."

She shrugs. "Let me know how he's doing, okay?"

After what seems like ages, Demyx finally stirs. Ienzo races over to him and, completely ignoring Even's last warning, pulls him into an embrace. He knows the truth of their relationship, but it's odd to see it in motion, to see the actual touch, innocent as it may be. "You scared a few years off my life. Easily. How do you feel?"

His voice is scratchy when he speaks. Even is unsure if he should give them space, or intervene. "Oh, wonderful. I could run a marathon."

Even appraises the boy, finds his pulse stable. They get him cleaned up, change the sheets, get him back in bed. He's certain from here Ienzo can handle the basics, and so he tactfully leaves. If he's being honest, he's also reeling.

It could've been any of them-Ienzo. And it could've been so much worse.

This has all exhausted him. He tries to eat the dinner Aeleus made. "...Revenge," is all Even says when the man enters the room without turning. "What do you think of it?"

But it isn't Aeleus's voice that speaks. "Not nearly worth what it costs one."

Even's head snaps up. There's Ansem, his ragged red scarf around his neck, but at least he's finally trimmed his beard. "I thought you were Aeleus."

"Not quite."

He tries to straighten his spine. "If he hadn't had the foresight to realize what was happening to him, he likely would've perished."

"You complain, but I think you care for the boy." He smiles. There's an emptiness to it.

Even turns. "You said you sought revenge on us. On the Organization. Did you mean it so literally?"

"You know me. Ever afraid to get my hands dirty." He shrugs. "If I had been faced with one of you in the flesh… I'm not sure what would have happened."

"Do you still feel angry?" Even isn't sure why he asks.

"I do not get to slowly come into my own like all of you," he says. "Rather… my self is linear."

"I'm afraid you're not making much sense."

"Being a Nobody cuts one off from the world. I tried to do so voluntarily, with little success. Undoing all that is not nearly so… seamless."

Even tuts. "It isn't seamless for me either."

"...No."

"You used to be so certain."

"As were you. Odd how it happens. All humanity does is make things less clear."

Even frowns. "You think so?"

"...That's my hypothesis, anyway."

He snorts. "Some sound science you have there."

Ansem shrugs. "What do you think of it?"

"Since I've been human…" It takes work to find the words. "The word that comes to mind is "determined." It is a wholeness. Not to say I haven't been suffering the… psychological consequence of it all. Ienzo says I care again. I suppose that is apt. But it all takes some practice."

"...I see. Did you… feel anything?"

"As a Nobody?" He snorts. "Hardly. As you said. Cut off from the world, and all in it." He feels as though he's not saying anything of substance. "Self-forgiveness is… a process. To put it mildly."

Ansem nods slowly. "And have you begun?"

Even blinks. "I… like to think so." It's a realization. "If I don't-"

"What is the point?"

"Precisely." The air is oddly tender. He swallows. "And yourself?"

"It's all so nebulous-"

"What holds you back?" He's not angry, he's just tired. "Your son adores you, and you have three men falling over themselves for your forgiveness. If that isn't external validation, I don't know what is."

Ansem seems startled by this.

Even stands. "I should like to go check on Demyx."

Where to go from here?

Nothing he says will have an effect on Ansem. That much is clear. The fool is stuck in his own head despite the hands reaching for him. Ienzo, Even, Demyx. But yet… the thought of giving up on him makes Even vaguely nauseous. Why? Ansem surely gave up on him, on them.

He sits writing a report about Demyx's poisoning. Admittedly it feels good to know this serum helped him, did some good. One life saved. Hundreds to go before he gets back to zero. Thousands.

It doesn't work like that, does it?

He's considering this when he hears a knock at his door. "Enter," he says wearily.

Ansem. "Are you busy?"

Even considers his notebook. "That depends if you have anything interesting to say. Waffling exhausts me."

He nods once. He still looks a bit grizzled. "May I sit?"

"If you must."

He does. "I considered what you said."

"Oh, thank you."

The sarcasm is ignored. "You feel you are who you're meant to be?"

"...Getting there. I suppose. Better than I was." He sets the notebook aside. "What would it take for you to forgive yourself? Emotionally, materially."

"You truly want to know? It's not a barb?"

He nods.

For a moment his eyes flicker back and forth in the middle distance, thinking. "I wish I could be proven wrong."

"About what?"

"Myself. All this. I suppose I want to be told it's not my fault." A frustrated sigh. "But is it? Who gets to decide?"

"Not us, surely," Even says. It's odd to realize. Of course they can't make these decisions; they can barely determine right from wrong. "So why waste your time thinking about it?"

"Not us." He bobs his head.

"One supposes it could all be fate," he adds.

"That we're still alive?"

Even nods.

"You mentioned this before." He shakes his head and then leans forward on his knees. His body seems to be weighing him down. "Where did you begin?"

"I tried to start with others. But this change didn't take until I decided to begin with myself. Do you want that? Don't consider what everyone else thinks. What do you think? Do you want to change?"

A tremulous silence. Then, "Yes."

"That's the first step, then."

He nods once. "Even?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

The phrase is so absurd; he snorts. "Right. Fat lot of good I ever did you."

"You want to save me. That means something now."

"...Don't make me regret it."