20.

Zexion

It took time to earn Xehanort's trust-perhaps too much. But then again, considering Ienzo had suffered "twelve years of indoctrination with propaganda", it was surprising the man began to trust him at all.

Two weeks after his initial arrival at the castle, his milk dried up completely, an ache so intense he felt it inside of his still-deadened magic. Amalia would be six weeks old. His arms felt so empty without her. He hoped that she was safe, healthy, that Demyx was with her. He had to believe this for his sanity.

Ienzo had to be clever. He was shocked at how easily deception came to him-deception that had never been used to do anything more than hide when Even sought him. He pretended to take an intense interest in "Ansem"'s research. And to be honest, he was interested, but not in the way he let on.

"Darkness is intrinsic in every heart," the man told him. Ienzo was joining them for meals now. "If we can draw out that darkness… we can give people power. Help them shed their bonds of tyranny."

"But it seems there's some kind of transmutative property to darkness which is mostly unpredictable," Ienzo said carefully. "How do you plan on controlling that?"

"I have several tests running which may illuminate such things," Ansem said, and elaborated no more.

Ienzo swallowed. "I see. Perhaps you may… let me see some of this research. I wonder if my power might provide some sort of… insight." He continued to eat, as casually as possible.

"Perhaps," he said. "I'm sure its absence must make you feel blind. You do understand why we had to do things this way, yes?"

Ienzo smiled. "Of course. Were I in your shoes I'm sure I would've done the same." He decided to take the risk. "What… did you do, if you don't mind my asking?"

Ansem grinned back. "Placed a limiter upon you," he said. "A self-replicating injectable. Given time… I'm sure my father would consent for you to receive its antidote."

Ienzo tried not to show his horror. "Quite."

Once a week or so, Xehanort requested an "audience" with Ienzo. He seemed to be selecting places he thought would be most important to Ienzo; the gardens, the main library, his father's study. And they were; seeing how they had been perverted seemed like a personal slight. But Ienzo had to be cordial, polite, accommodating. Instead he forced himself to thank him for allowing him this much "freedom."

They were being served tea in the rose garden one afternoon. It was a bit too cold to be outside, and Ienzo hadn't been given a coat, just a sweater. There were two heaters hovering around, but they didn't do much.

"I must thank you for your patience," Xehanort said smoothly. "I know this must not be easy for you, to be treated a prisoner in your own home."

"I thought I was a…" He took a deliberate pause here. "Guest."

Xehanort chuckled. "A guest in a locked, warded walk-in closet?"

"...Your words, not mine."

He picked up his cup. True to Lydia's word, all of his family preferred things dark, sour, and bitter; Ienzo wondered if they could not taste well due to the darkness. "I would like nothing more than to allow you run of the castle, to give you quarters more… suitable for someone of your status."

"But you don't trust me."

"My sons don't trust you," Xehanort said. " I think you were a little boy misled by people who supposedly cared about you. No. You have been nothing but tolerant of how we've treated you, questioning nothing."

"Over the intervening years… I've been treated worse," he said pleasantly. It was time to lie, and lie big.

This got his attention. "Have you, my dear prince?"

"Oh, yes. Quite often we've stayed in… places of ill repute, in cities crawling with danger. My guardians… coddled me endlessly, would not allow me the freedom to make my own choices. They said it was for my safety." He tutted. "But do they truly wish for me to be king, if I am not allowed to make choices? Or am I… a puppet?"

Xehanort's face organized itself into something he must've thought pity. "What would you have chosen, then?" he asked. "Xemnas said you were rather distraught, that night, when Even was injured."

"Isn't any child distraught when seeing violence for the first time? I did care about him then, I won't lie."

"Do you, now?"

Ienzo sighed. "I'm sure your son must have told you stories of their years working together. Even is… hard to read. It's hard to tell what he wants, what his intentions truly are. He is quite a master manipulator, Xehanort. I don't know what I should believe."

Xehanort smiled widely. "I think you're allowed to decide what you believe now, child."

Hook, line, sinker.

Soon after, Ienzo was moved from that small, enclosed room to his old bedroom. Seeing it was like a small gut-punch of memory. Had this space always been so open, the bed so exposed? It was smaller than he remembered, but larger than anywhere else he'd stayed in all this time. The bed was a king, four-poster, neatly made in violet silk, thin curtains tied back to each post. There was a large white marble fireplace with flowers carved all along it, a small chaise nearby. A sitting room adjoined this space, with a writing desk, a table to take his meals, three of the walls lined with bookshelves and storage; the fourth was mostly windowed. The bathroom, too, seemed large and exposed, too much light. Admittedly it was much more comfortable to wait in these rooms. At least he had the luxury of pacing, of books.

As much as he could, Ienzo researched. It seemed like a lot of the textbooks his father had given him had been removed, leaving spaces like missing teeth. Books about the science and theory behind magic… the fairy tales.

Time was passing.

His longing for his daughter and Demyx only seemed to be getting stronger. He knew he was missing the small moments, the important ones, moments crucial to her development. He didn't even have the peace of his pendant, considering he'd taken it off that evening before bed. Being polite, kind to them-especially the youngest-was wearing. More than once he cried in the shower, and now and again there was the fleeting thought of what it might feel like to "fall" out the window. But it was never more than a passing impulse. He would see Amalia again, even if it killed him. He repeated it to himself, constantly, a manta. He would hold her, smell her. Play with her.

But Ienzo played into their palms wonderfully. He expressed curiosity about darkness, he yes'ed them to death when it came to their ideals. He complimented "Ansem". When Xehanort offered him the new "name," he knew it was a major sign of trust. Still, hearing that clunky X thrown into the name he had chosen so carefully felt like another stab to the self.

He needed to get down to the lab, desperately, but the few times he asked he was so politely told no. Ienzo took vociferous notes of whatever he was told, carving them between the lines of his storybooks. He left thin pencil leads among the spines to see if anyone was snooping through his things; it seemed like they weren't, as they never broke.

He needed his power back. If he had his power, he could sneak down into the lab. There were no other computers connected to the OS that had Tron; he checked as soon as he was allowed to, but the computers Ienzo could access just had the basic office programs, editing programs, things of that ilk, as well as the Internet. Using that, too, was just about useless; he knew that Even had likely taken them off the grid again. And all social media was blocked, preventing him from getting any messages to any of his other friends. He wondered about physical letters. Maybe Lydia might pass something on for him? But he didn't quite trust her yet, either, despite the fact that she seemed to be his devoted maid, and she hadn't exposed the fact he'd had a child. If he had the power, he could sense her intentions. Everything hinged on performing well enough to get the magic back.

Fall deepened into winter. He'd forgotten what these coastal winters were like, wind howling against the windows, making every room freezing despite the double-paned windows and the fireplaces.

Every now and again Xehanort, or one of his sons, would not-so-subtly pry for information about Ansem, about the resistance. Ienzo told them the rare truth in this case; he had no idea where Ansem was or what he was up to. He also said that Even had refused to tell him anything about the resistance. He kept his answers as consistent as possible, fully aware this was why they kept asking.

It seemed that several things happened in quick succession. "Ansem" deigned to give him his power back; Xehanort wanted to reintroduce him to the public; and someone else he'd nearly forgotten entered his life.

"You've been gracious," Ansem told him. "My father agrees that there's no point in suppressing your power further, lest we cause it undue harm."

So Ienzo was led downstairs, so temptingly close to that lab, was laid onto a narrow gurney and strapped down. "What are-"

Ansem started an IV. "The serum works theoretically . But I don't know for sure how it reacts inside a human body. This is… mostly for your own safety. Can't have you falling and hitting that precious head of yours."

Was that sarcasm?

"Don't you trust me, Zexion?" Ansem purred. "There. Now be a good boy and try not to move."

Something cold and stinging entered the port Ansem had placed in his hand; it felt like ice water being injected inside Ienzo's veins. He jerked without meaning to.

"Stillness, boy."

The cold crept down all along his body, a sharp shattering pain. Ienzo wondered briefly if he were simply being poisoned before he felt a heaviness in the pit of his being, something being lifted and dragged out of him. The serum made his muscles spasm, and he found himself grateful for the restraints. A pained noise left him.

"There, there, Zexion. Not much farther."

The coldness worsened. He felt as though he could barely breathe, his magic straining against the limiter in his body, breaking it apart. Ienzo could feel dampness and realized it was his own sweat. He felt a mask being placed against his face and jumped before he realized it was just oxygen.

He thought he might shatter, his back arching against the bed. The magic bled back into his body, nearly as painful as when Amalia had separated from him. The pain peaked suddenly, and he blacked out.

Ienzo woke slowly.

He was in the infirmary of the castle. Something felt… off, about his body, and he realized it was because the heavy dead wrongness he'd carried all these months was gone. The magic sat under his skin, pregnantly. The serum had worked. There was still an oxygen mask on his face, an IV in his hand. It hurt to move; every bit of him was sore.

"...Why don't you be a good little boy and rest?"

Ienzo jerked. He recognized the feel of this person, his voice. He tried to speak.

The man came into the range of his sighted eye. "Easy," he said softly. "Easy, Zexion. "

Ienzo swallowed. His mouth was so dry. In front of him was "...Braig." No more than a whisper.

"These days I go by Xigbar, but whatever floats your boat." He sat on the plastic chair near the bed.

"You look…"

He chuckled. "Like shit?"

"...Different." He did. His hair was much longer, half-streaked through with white; Ienzo could not tell if he'd aged prematurely, or if it were something else. But then he saw his gold eye, his pointed ears. The eyepatch. "This whole time you've been… here?"

"Past thirteen years, kiddo." He leaned back and crossed his legs. "Good help is hard to come by. All I had to do was swear allegiance to the old man. Would you believe he let me? But after all, I was around you, your old man for years. Figured I'd have to know something."

Xigbar was hard to read. "So you decided to pay my sickbed a visit?"

"Soon as I heard. They've kept word of you being here hush-hush. But there's a sweet little old lady who thought I'd like to know."

Lydia. Ienzo swallowed.

"Don't know what you're trying to get at. Don't know that I need to know, either." He leaned forward a little. "Aren't you handsome now? Just like your daddy." A pause. "I guard the old man too."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Come on, kid. You and me were always pot-stirrers." A laugh. "I don't believe that's changed. Not one bit."

"Why not sell me out, then?"

"Bluntly? Because I don't think anything's going to get accomplished here, in the long run. Not by him. I've heard that darkness is affecting the farmland. Meaning food. Meaning the planet itself." His expression became serious. "I don't know about you, but I like to eat."

Ienzo furrowed his brows.

"Look, if you need something, I can probably get it to you," he continued.

"Why should I trust you haven't been converted, too?"

"Come on, princey. Can't you feel I'm telling the truth, or whatever?"

He could.

"Besides, according to the old tales… too much darkness, and the planet cracks like an egg." He clutched his fist. "Don't want to be there for that, either."

"...I see."

A substantial pause. Ienzo knew his cover had been blown at this point. "There's something else."

"And that is?"

A slow smile. "A little birdie told me that your family's trying to find you. So I did some seeking of my own."

Ienzo tried to hide the surprise on his face.

"They were hard to find. It took me months. Even's still one clever bastard. I was playing poker one night in some dive bar when someone recognized me… and thought I might like to know you were still alive. He told me all about your little love story. Mazel tov, by the way. She's a cute kid."

The words exploded from him. "They're alive?"

"Alive and well."

A relief he hadn't quite let himself feel washed through him. "You'll help me?"

"I'd love to wipe the stupid smirk off Junior's face. It was his fault this happened to me." He pointed to his eye. "They used us as experiments."

"...They just used me as one. But it was necessary." He sat up slowly. "Could you tell my family…" He hesitated. "Tell them to trust me. "

Xigbar's grin was wicked.