Author's Note: If you like any of the Nobodies, there is something for you here. Probably.
Roxas, Xaldin, 'spar'
The Library was almost the last place Roxas looked, but all the same he couldn't say he was surprised to find Xaldin there. Axel had told him once when he had first arrived that the Others of original six members of the Organization had been scientists, and though he knew Axel to be a masterful liar, that didn't mean Number Eight lied all the time. And if Axel had been telling the truth, it made sense that former scientists would find refuge among the greatest collection of books in the Castle That Never Was, even if Roxas himself couldn't see the attraction.
Xaldin glanced up as Roxas appeared in front of him through a darkness rift, but besides nodding in acknowledgement, Number Three paid him no further attention before returning his focus to the book in front of him.
Roxas frowned. Such encounters with the Whirlwind Lancer were, in his experience, all too common. And just this once Roxas would like his attention for more than five seconds at a stretch.
It would be a lie to say that Roxas disliked Xaldin. In truth, out of all of Organization XIII, Roxas found Number Three to be one of the more tolerable members, if only because Xaldin rarely bothered him and didn't say anything snide about his height whenever they ran across each other.
No, it wasn't that Roxas disliked Xaldin. If he did, he wouldn't have sought him out. "Number Three."
Xaldin looked up again, his expression courteous, if slightly irritated. "Yes?"
"I want to spar with you."
Xaldin blinked at him. "Really?" The question was of the polite sort, as if Number Three was asking because of manners' sake and not because he was truly curious.
Still, Roxas responded. "Yes."
Xaldin smiled. "Thank you for the offer, Thirteen, but I don't think so." Then he looked back down at the book, obviously believing that the conversation was over.
Roxas felt his frown intensify. It wasn't that Roxas disliked Xaldin. It was just that he didn't understand him.
Roxas knew that Three, unlike Five, was actually capable of talking at length. He had watched the other Nobody engage in hour long conversations with the Superior and on occasion exchange banter with Number Two. On one of the rare missions when he and Three worked together, he had seen Xaldin influence people, whisper misdirection into their ears behind the scenes and watch them destroy their own worlds without the Nobodies needing to do much of anything at all (Number Three was almost as effective as Axel in that way). He had observed Xaldin giving speeches, for heart's sake, speeches that were so grandiose and overall dramatic that Roxas would have suspected the other Nobody of practicing them beforehand if he didn't know that circumstances dictated that Xaldin make them up on the spot. As it was, he still suspected Number Three of reading the same help books on communication as the Superior.
That being said, Xaldin had never said more than ten words at a stretch to Roxas, for whatever reason, and Roxas was beginning to find it irritating. Mostly because he hadn't expected to search all over the castle just to be turned down flat. "Why won't you?"
While Roxas appreciated Xaldin finally putting the book away, the sigh really was just unnecessarily theatrical. "Because, Thirteen, I am not stupid. After what you did to Seven last week, do you honestly think anyone in the entire castle will want to spar with you?"
Roxas crossed his arms. "You're better than Saix. And Saix doesn't know when to quit." Both statements were true. Roxas had seen Xaldin sparring with the Superior often enough to have a fair idea of his combat prowess (which was, roughly, better than anyone else to the point Roxas knew Three was the only member of the Organization who could possibly offer up a decent challenge as far as a fight was concerned), and Roxas wouldn't have needed to break both of the Luna Diviner's arms if Saix had just stopped fighting the first time Roxas had put a keyblade to his throat, the prideful fool.
Xaldin nodded, smiling faintly. "I suppose so, Thirteen, but all the same, I don't believe it is a very good idea."
Roxas scowled. "Elaborate."
Xaldin shrugged. "What is there to say? You are an excellent warrior, and yes, a spar between us might be of interest to me, if it weren't for the fact that you have never sparred with anyone in your life."
Roxas blinked. "What are you talking about? Of course I have."
Xaldin steepled his fingers and leaned forward slightly in his chair, though fortunately not so forward that Roxas felt the least urge to step back to remove Three from his personal space, as was often necessary with Demyx or Axel (or Marluxia on the rare occasions that Eleven got it in his head that Roxas would now be interested in the drivel the Graceful Assassin was so fond of preaching). "A spar is a mock fight, Thirteen. Not a fight to the death. Yet you've treated every supposed spar you've been in since your arrival as if it were a life or death struggle. I would just as soon avoid such situations when I am not on a mission, if you don't mind." He leaned back, then, and picked up his book where he'd placed it on the nearby table.
Xaldin flipped through the pages to find the place where he had left off while Roxas stood by and considered. "What do I have to do to get you to spar with me?"
This time, Xaldin didn't bother looking up. "Learn how to spar, Thirteen, and I might consider it."
Roxas left, then, knowing he should be more annoyed than he was, but he supposed that he should at least take a moral victory out of the fact that at least he had managed to get Xaldin to say consecutive sentences this time.
Not that any of Roxas's frustration had been alleviated in the least, but if Xaldin was going to take some convincing as far as a fight was concerned, Axel had said something about coming to see him if he didn't get what he wanted out of Three. And even if Eight couldn't fight worth a damn, perhaps Roxas would start investigating one of those other ways Axel was always talking about to relieve tension. It wasn't as if he now had anything better to do.
Demyx, Lexaeus, 'audience'
It wasn't that Lexaeus was that great of an audience. Demyx could remember- in that halfway, dreamlike way he remembered everything from the life of his Other- huge crowds of people who watched him in rapt awe as he performed, and the thundering applause that followed. That was a great audience.
However, in the Castle That Never Was, any audience at all was a commodity. Unlike… well, pretty much everyone else except for the rare times Xigbar was in an exceptionally good mood, Lexaeus didn't mind when Demyx played his sitar. Number Five didn't stop what he was doing when Demyx walked into the room and starting tuning his instrument, but neither did he tell Demyx to go away.
For that, Demyx was grateful. He didn't need an audience to play, but for some reason everything seemed to come out better when he did. If he had a heart (or even if Lexaeus had one), Demyx would have thought it was because their energies fed off each other and made the music flow better, but since they were both Nobodies (which according the Xemnas meant that they didn't have hearts, even if Demyx wasn't exactly sure how that'd work), whenever he thought about it, Demyx always ended chalking it up to fear of failing in front of someone else and then forgot about it.
That wasn't it, really, but it was the best Demyx could come up with. It was peaceful, playing for Lexaeus, because Lexaeus never really paid attention and so Demyx never felt very self-conscious when he screwed up. Less self-conscious than he did playing for himself, because Lexaeus's presence didn't criticize him the way the silence did.
But at the same time, Lexaeus was there, and even when Demyx closed his eyes he knew Lexaeus was there, because Lexaeus never left in the middle of a performance. Sometimes Demyx could even pretend the other Nobody was actually listening, if he lied to himself hard enough. Lexaeus was there when Demyx finished, so Demyx never had the feeling that he sometimes did after playing well, brilliantly, sometimes, when he was alone, only to realize that he might be getting better, but it was all useless, all for nothing, because what was an artist if there was no one to appreciate his work.
Lexaeus hadn't once looked away from the pad of paper he was writing on while Demyx played that day in the hall, didn't glance up when Demyx plucked the last note, triumphant, because he had finally gotten through the entire finale of that piece without making a mistake or hesitating over a chord. He was getting better, and even if it wasn't quite as good as it had been as when he'd had a heart, even if it would never be that good until he had his heart again, it still left him feeling happier (and he could feel happy, no matter what some of the others said) than he'd felt in a long time. Even if Lexaeus hadn't heard a single note.
He was gathering up his sheet notes, already planning what song to play next time now that he'd mastered this one, when Lexaeus's voice quite unexpectedly intruded into his thoughts. "Are you going to play a new song tomorrow?"
Demyx stared at the other Nobody, who still hadn't looked up from the pad of paper. Lexaeus had never said anything before. "Uh… what?"
Lexaeus clarified as he scribbled something down, "You played perfectly today. Are you going to start practicing a new song?"
Demyx scratched the back of his head. "Uh…" He hadn't thought Lexaeus was even listening, much less paying enough attention to realize that over the past few weeks he'd been playing different parts of the same ballad. "… yeah, I guess."
"Good." And then Lexaeus stopped talking. Just like that.
Demyx ended up packing his sheet notes and sitar much more quietly than he usually did. Lexaeus had been listening…
Well, that still didn't make him the greatest audience. He hadn't clapped or anything. But Demyx still found himself smiling in what he knew Axel would label his 'moron grin' as he walked back to his quarters, his sitar case dangling from one hand and his sitar (his real sitar, not the one he used to fight people with) protected safely inside. At least Lexaeus had said something. They could totally build up to the clapping thing later.
Larxene, Luxord, 'argument'
Just by virtue of not being one of the original six, the Gambler of Fate should have been tolerable. Neither was he a fanatical sycophant like Seven or a whining coward like Nine, or anywhere near as standoffish as Thirteen.
Larxene couldn't help but want to hurt him anyway. Such confidence didn't belong on any Nobody with as little status in the Organization as Luxord, someone who couldn't pull rank on anyone but Nine if he wanted to exert some authority.
Perhaps that was the problem. Merely holding onto his human form after he lost his heart guaranteed that Ten wasn't weak, but Luxord had yet to show the least desire to command. To rule. To dominate his inferiors. Even his Gamblers were used mostly as fellow players in the games Ten played, or perhaps dealers if needed, but never for their intended purpose. Canon fodder. Minions. Expendable subordinates to send against enemies and wear them down (though Xemnas at least possessed the sense to not send Luxord on any mission that required anything like force; Larxene was pretty sure Ten didn't even know how to fight).
Luxord wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a useful spy, or assassin, or even a scientist like the original six. He was a gambler, and that was all. A player of useless games that spent the Organization meetings toying with his card deck, flipping the cards through his fingers, never even bothering to take sides when arguments broke out. At most he observed, a half-amused smile on his face as if he was watching a prize fight that he hadn't bothered to place a bet on.
Once, Larxene confronted him about it, after one particularly trying meeting in which Marluxia had spent half an hour trying to point out the flaws in Xemnas's plan of the week and Xemnas had spent that half hour politely ignoring him. Marluxia had left immediately after, not even bothering to chat with Larxene for a few minutes on his way out as he usually did, so Larxene felt few compunctions about not following the Graceful Assassin to his quarters, choosing instead to linger by the door until Luxord passed. The fact that he nodded to her, the picture of a perfect gentleman, as he walked through the doorway didn't help matters much. Being polite to your betters was one thing, but it was obvious that for all the Gambler of Fate's uselessness, he didn't consider himself in the least less than she.
"Are you so pathetic, Ten, that you don't even have any opinions to voice?"
Luxord stopped, then. He was the last to leave the audience hall, so there was no around to witness their conversation. Larxene preferred it that way. She was sick of the higher ranked Nobodies constant interference in matters that didn't concern them.
When Luxord finally turned to face her, there was no anger in his expression, as if no insult had passed her lips. He was even smiling slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean, Twelve."
Larxene tilted her head to one side and returned his smile, though hers had an edge that his distinctly lacked. "You stand by and watch as decisions are made, but never participate. Even Demyx speaks more than you do. I find it pathetic that though you somehow managed to hold onto your human form after you lost your heart, you failed to keep anything resembling willpower along with it. Do you just find it easier to let others dictate how your life will go?"
At that, Luxord looked thoughtful. "I suppose you have a point, Twelve, if that was indeed the case. But as it is, I happen to agree somewhat with both arguments. As such, I find it difficult to care which side wins in the end. Either way it suits my purpose fine."
Larxene felt her eyes narrow. "And what purpose may that be?"
Luxord smiled again. A calm, enigmatic smile that managed to reveal absolutely nothing at all, even whether or not the expression was genuine. Larxene felt her eyes narrow. Did he honestly think… "To get my heart back, of course. The same purpose as everyone else." He bowed, then. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. It was a pleasure speaking with you." The odd thing was, Larxene mused as the Gambler walked out the door, that Ten almost sounded like he meant it.
He was not as overbearing as the original six, perhaps. Not as unbending or inflexible. But Larxene felt her smile sharpen all the same as she watched Luxord go. In a war, there was no place for a neutral party, one who sat by and waited to see which side would gain victory. Someone such as Luxord could speak all he liked about finding both sides equally to his liking, but he would regret those words someday.
He would not be destroyed like the fools whose Others had caused the darkness to descend upon the worlds, dooming them all to nonexistence. But when the war was over… Larxene licked her lips. When the war was over, when Larxene taught him the magnitude of his mistake in not choosing the winning side, they would see how much of Ten's misplaced confidence managed to preserve itself then.
Vexen, Marluxia, 'edge'
Ever since he had first joined the Organization, Number Eleven had grated on Vexen's nerves, but at least back in the Castle That Never Was the Graceful Assassin had possessed the courtesy to stay out of Vexen's rooms. Unfortunately, such courtesy didn't extend to Castle Oblivion.
Because of this, there was no question in Vexen's mind who was standing at his back when he heard the door to his laboratory open and close without the sound of someone knocking preceding it. As such, he didn't bother with politeness when he spoke to the intruder. It would be wasted on someone who didn't extend it in return. "Your duties don't require you to go below the first level, Number Eleven. I suggest you stay where you are wanted."
He didn't need to turn around to hear the smirk in Marluxia's voice. "As the master of this castle, Vexen," and Vexen felt his lips thin inadvertently; despite his attempts to distance himself from Organization politics it still rankled that Xemnas would put a neophyte in charge of this project, "My duties require me to go wherever I wish them to take me." It was then that an edge entered Marluxia's voice. "And as your superior on this project, you will look at me when I am speaking to you, Vexen."
Vexen stiffened. A brief debate of who he wanted to kill more at that moment (Xemnas was still edging Eleven out for giving Marluxia command to begin with, though the way things were going the Superior's lead wouldn't last long) flashed through his mind, but it didn't do much to distract him from the fact that though Marluxia's order was little more than Eleven power tripping, not only was he in charge of Castle Oblivion but the Graceful Assassin also possessed the strength to back up his commands.
It was almost physically painful to put down his pen and turn to face Marluxia. It actually was physically painful to see the smirk on Eleven's face, though that was probably because he always took off his gloves when writing and his nails were biting into his palms from the effort of restraining himself from throwing an ice spell at the deserving neophyte and his stupid, stupid smirk.
Marluxia's voice when he spoke next practically dripped condescension. "That wasn't so hard, now was it, Vexen?" Then he went over the line. "After all, it always pays to show manners towards your superiors."
Vexen's eyes widened (the nerve of the fool was unbelievable), but narrowed almost immediately. "Superiors?" He spat, unable to keep himself from taking a step towards Marluxia, "The only thing superior about you is your incredible arrogance and the way you persist in believing yourself-"
Vexen didn't even see Eleven move. All he felt was a rush of wind and someone yanking his arm behind his back and slamming him face-first into the wall. There was an audible crack, though it took a few seconds for the pain to hit. Inwardly, Vexen cursed. By the feel of it, the blasted neophyte had broken his cheekbone, and those were impossible to set.
Despite the startling violence he had just enacted, Marluxia's voice was pleasant. "Now, Vexen, you know that insubordination isn't acceptable. When underlings start to rebel against their commanding officers, the natural order of things is disrupted and nothing works correctly, and I know how much you hate disorder.
"As such, normally I would just leave you to Larxene to straighten out about your place here, but as this is your first offense I am completely willing to accept an apology and let you off with a warning."
Vexen jerked, but all that resulted in was Marluxia pulling his arm up further, and the ensuing pain in his shoulder momentarily spiked enough to make his vision darken. The sheer audacity… "You want me to apologize to you?"
Marluxia's tone didn't shift as he leaned in and put his mouth near Vexen's left ear. "That's right. I deserve an apology, and I'm not letting you go until I get it."
Vexen didn't reply, so Eleven drew his arm up another inch. Vexen was unable to restrain a hiss from escaping his mouth. For heart's sake, his shoulder felt like it was on fire…
"Vexen." Vexen swore he could feel the vicious satisfaction radiating from the Graceful Assassin. "I'm waiting."
It took a few deep breaths, and even then Vexen nearly choked on the words. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Could Marluxia possibly make this any more difficult?
Probably not. The other Nobody was an unrepentant sadist. "For insulting you."
"Very good," Marluxia said, as if he was congratulating a not very intelligent child on finally tying his shoes correctly. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
There was no way Vexen was going to answer that. "Now let me go." He had to grit his teeth to get the last word out. "Please."
Marluxia did so, taking a step back and smiling indulgently as Vexen resisted the urge to touch his cheek and shoulder to check on the extent of the damage. "Better, Vexen, though your tone could still use some improvement, but I suppose we can work on that later. As it is, just continue sending up your reports on your memory research and I won't have to come down here very often to check up on your progress. That is what you want, isn't it?"
Vexen, after a long, drawn out pause in which he argued with himself the pros and cons of not answering, gave a jerky nod. Marluxia smiled. "Good. Until then," and he walked out the door, leaving Vexen (finally) alone.
As his shoulder and cheek continued to burn with pain, there was no doubt in Vexen's mind who he hated the most now. Marluxia would pay for this.
Axel, Xigbar, 'prank'
The last person Axel expected to come across when he walked into the Superior's study that evening was the Freeshooter, flipping idly through one of Xemnas's numerous academic journals as he stood by the bookshelf nearest to the Superior's fireplace.
Of course, Axel hadn't expected to run into anybody at all, as the whole castle was in lockdown after a horde of Heartless somehow managed to make it through the walls and infest most of the three bottom floors, plus the basement. Everyone was supposed to be in their quarters while Xemnas sorted everything out (aka ordered the Dusks to destroy all the Heartless then investigate whether any of the Nobodies had deliberately caused the protections to fail). Everyone included Axel, of course, but it was supposed to include Xigbar as well.
For a brief, paralyzing moment, Axel considered the possibility that Number Two was here on Xemnas's request. Fire and brimstone and a hell of a lot of pain flashed in front of his eyes, but that quickly faded in light of the way Xigbar turned to stare at him in return, the journal momentarily forgotten.
"What in heart's name are you doing here, Eight?"
Axel smirked. The Freeshooter holding all the cards was one thing, but an even playing field he could handle. Mostly because he was a faster talker than the rest of the Organization combined. "I could ask the same question. The Superior know you're going through his stuff?"
By the expression on Xigbar's face, the answer was a definite 'no.' "Well, I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'know,' really…"
Axel spread his hands in what he vaguely remembered from his Other's life as being a placating gesture. "Tell you what. I won't tell if you won't."
If he had used the line on any of the numbers Nine through Twelve, it probably would have worked (Roxas, unfortunately, wasn't one of those people who would even think of sneaking into the Superior's study, so such a line would never even come up. More was the pity. It would have been a great come-on opportunity). Unfortunately, Axel had forgotten one of the most important unspoken rules of Organization XIII; namely, no matter how much the original six bickered amongst each other, it was pretty much impossible to turn them against each other, and it was stupid to try.
Axel only remembered this when he watched the Freeshooter's habitually open expression shut down. "If you think I'll let you look around Number One's study just so I can steal one of the journals he's been holding out on me, you've got another thing coming, Eight."
Axel snorted, quite neatly hiding his momentary flash of dismay (Number Two looked kind of creepy when he was pissed off), if he did say so himself. "Please, Two, give me some credit. I'm not an idiot." It was then that he snapped his fingers, pulled a metal canister out of the miniature darkness rift he had just summoned (that conveniently led to the kitchen), and started shaking it. "Still, I didn't much like the way he made me go on that mission to the place with the singing tubas just to get back at me for putting too many peppers in the chili when it was my turn to make dinner. Everyone knows that should have been Demyx's job. So… you know. I thought I might get a little payback."
Xigbar eyed the canister, the hostility on his face being quickly overridden by curiosity. "That… wouldn't happen to be whipped cream, would it?"
Axel grinned. "What do you think the chances are of Xemnas blaming it on the Heartless if he comes back here to find all his desk drawers filled up with this stuff?"
Xigbar grinned back, and flipped the journal shut, ever the voice of experience when it came to such things. "About zero. Still… it's worth a shot."
In the end, no one was pinned for the prank when Xemnas returned to his study to find his desk covered in whipped cream, even if Axel did catch the Superior eyeing him and Xigbar oddly on occasion over the next few weeks. Not that it really mattered. Axel didn't really care if he was found out. Better to be called out for that then have Xemnas finally realize that the research reports in his desk had not only been rearranged and smothered in whipped cream, but that one of the more important ones- the one detailing the effects of the heart on memory- was no longer in his possession.
Xigbar really should have noticed, but then, Axel thought with what might have resembled pity if he was still capable of feeling such an emotion, despite his considerable combat prowess, Number Two really was too much of a trusting soul for his own good.
Namine, Saix, 'vision'
Namine wasn't allowed to leave her room very often, but that didn't mean she couldn't see things. His sketch book was handy that way, and sometimes one of the Organization members during their turn to look after her would reveal a little more information about the goings on of the castle than they were technically supposed to.
Saix wasn't one of the members of the Organization that would sometimes talk to her- when it was his shift he barely said anything at all- but Namine knew about him, anyway.
She didn't like Saix. He was mean and snapped at her when she tried to ask him questions, but Namine could see the way he got edgy as the moon became full and the looks he would send the Superior when Xemnas was around. Saix wasn't a nice person, but that didn't mean Namine couldn't feel sorry for him. She really couldn't do much, but sometimes she could help. Like now.
"I could fix you," she told Seven, one day when it was Saix's turn to watch her.
Saix didn't reply, though his scowl at her was the usual message to shut up. This time, Namine ignored it. "You aren't the same person your Other was, and your physical chemistry shouldn't be making you lose control with the moon anymore. It's just your memories that affect you like that. You don't have to lose control in front of the Superior. I could-"
Saix responded then, interrupting her mid-sentence with a glare that made the words die in her throat. His voice practically vibrated with barely contained venom. "Stay away from my memories, witch, if you know what's good for you."
All of the Organization had been ordered to not hurt her, and Saix always obeyed Xemnas. However, Namine knew Seven meant it, all the same.
She never brought it up again.
Xemnas, Zexion, 'end'
Somehow, Xemnas had expected to feel something when he learned of Zexion's demise. Ienzo had been Xehanort's dearest companion, back in Radiant Garden. They had been the most intelligent of Ansem's apprentices, the most prone to leaps of intuition, entirely similar in their thought processes and chosen fields. Ienzo had been the closest to understanding why Xehanort so needed to understand the darkness. Ienzo had been the one to make the research to help Xehanort find his memories possible.
None of that had changed when they lost their hearts. Zexion had still been Xemnas's confidante, had helped come up with the plan to recover what the darkness had taken from them. But then Zexion had gone to Castle Oblivion with the others, and only Axel had come back alive.
Xemnas didn't even know who had been the one in the end to kill Zexion. Might have been one of the two traitors, or the keyblade bearer. Either way, he couldn't avenge the Cloaked Schemer, because the traitors were dead as well, and Sora had disappeared.
Xemnas was a Nobody, but somehow, he had still thought he was capable of grieving. He didn't know what to feel to find out he could not.
In the end, he felt nothing at all. Grief would have to wait until Kingdom Hearts had been completed. Perhaps in his heart he would find everything that was missing, and then… only then he would know what it felt like to lose his closest friend.