A/N: Hey, everyone, and welcome to episode three of Solitare! Or, well, chapter three, but you get my point. It's Axel's POV again, and he's kind of OOC, but I'm not used to writing not-my-own characters, so hopefully I'll be able to even him out some in the time to come. Just as a side note, I really, really hate this chapter. I've rewritten the beginning twice, and it still came out forced. I guess it's cuz there's a lot of information all at one time, huh. Well, anyways, I apologize for the inane chapter, I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Oh, and I decided I'm just going to reply to the reviews instead of just posting an answer up here, because that seems like the much nicer, better, and all around cooler thing to do.
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Hinna
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Disclaimer: Axel, Roxas, Xigbar, Zexion, Demyx and other Kingdom Hearts related characters belong to their respectful owners, Square Enix and Disney, of which I am neither.
And then, the unthinkable happened...
Chapter Three: Grunt Work
The soft moonlight shown through a half shuttered window, the faint rays barely illuminating a pale face lying sideways on a wooden desk, frown across its features as its owner murmured in his sleep. Papers were scattered haphazardly across the hard surface, some loose documents knocked askew and on the floor. A small voice was heard, echoing in the darkness, whispering, "Rox…don't leave. I'll protect you, just…don't leave." And all was silent.
A . x . e . l
I groggily opened my eyes, struggling against the crusty covering between my lids as I slowly became more aware of my surroundings. Stretching slightly, I arched my back over the chair, feeling rather than hearing the sharps cracks it made. I raised a hand to cover an enormous yawn, my still sleep-clouded brain trying half-heartedly to figure out where I was.
I retraced my step from the night before. Let's see- arrived at the Southern Neurological Ailments Research Center, or SNARC, at seven to start work, worked, ate an apple for lunch, worked, ate a nine o'clock dinner consisting of reheated Chick-fil-a, worked, ten…ah crap. My head hit the desk again, scattering a few of the papers I had apparently work all night to finish and fallen asleep on top of. I picked a couple up, checking for damage, and was relieved to see they were only slightly smudged. Shuffling the report back into its previous order, I put it in the 'Finished' box, feeling proud of myself. Proud, that is, until I turned around and saw the much-higher-than-the-other stack in the 'To Do' box.
I groaned loudly and stood up, feeling as though I had been mauled with bloodhounds, pulled through a steam roller, then dragged across the country backwards. Working out a crick in my neck, I decided that falling asleep on a desk at three a.m. was not good for your health. I staggered over to the window, wondering what time it was, and pulled the blinds. I was instantly hit with an incredibly bright blast of light, my eyes shutting automatically as they tried to block out the harsh sun. Eventually I was able to open my eyes again, and I judged from the sun's position that it was about eight. Five whole hours of sleep- a new record! It was only four last night.
Half limping over to the door, I glanced back inside the room, bits of bright, warm light shining through the window, rays creating thin strips of yellow on my desk in a prison bar pattern. I turned and shook my head, wondering if a prison was still a prison if you went in willingly.
Barely suppressing another yawn, I cradled a coffee cup in my hands, staring into the murky depths of the black liquid as if they might contain the secret of life. Or the secret of getting enough sleep. Hey, whatever works, right?
Suddenly, I heard the door to the kitchen, where I was sitting, creak open behind me. Soft footfalls echoed quietly throughout the room, coming to a confused stop a few seconds later. I finally looked up once I heard the chair next to me rattle backwards, and was surprised to see someone I recognized.
"Mornin'," he drawled. "Finish those reports yet, kid?"
The man had neat black and white hair pulled back into a crisp ponytail, not letting any strands escape. He wore a Cheshire Cat grin that matched bright, golden eyes that constantly seemed to twinkle at some unknown joke. The most peculiar thing about him (out of the many), though, was the eye patch over his right eye, where he was said to have lost an eye in a lab accident—something about fake Pyrex glass. (1)
"Good morning, Doctor Xigbar Nakamura," I said softly, returning his greeting with his full title, unlike he did with me. Then again, as the vice president and the actual president's son-in-law, I guess he has the right to call everyone 'kid'. "And no, I haven't. Still, I'm half way through Multiple Sclerosis, and after that I'll be done."
He chuckled. "A tad slow, aren't you?"
"Maybe. Depends on your view of things." I responded, getting miffed his needling. Usually, one hint of condescension and I'd snap like a rubber band under too much pressure. Short fuse and anger issues, remember? Not good to have in a workplace.
"Sure, sure, whatever. Just make sure and give them to me by the end of the day. We have a new patient coming in tomorrow, never seen anything like it, and we need everyone ready."
"What is it?" Anger gave way to curiosity, and I raised an eyebrow.
Xigbar laughed in that all-powerful way of his, and held up the file he was holding. Stamped sloppily across the cover in large red letters was the word 'Confidential'.
"You aren't high enough up the food chain yet." He said, smirking.
"It's not like you're giving me a chance to be," I told him, working to make my voice soft, though sparks of anger were shooting through. "This grunt work isn't exactly the greatest way to prove yourself."
Xigbar arched an elegant eyebrow, looking at me with irritation, delight, and… was that respect?
"Grunt work?" He repeated, his tone both curious and amused.
"You probably have ten different reports on Multiple Sclerosis," I said, telling him what he already knew, "each of them containing the same information. You have to know people to get anywhere here, that's the cold, ugly truth. You can fancy it up, tie a gold ribbon on it, say that everyone has to work their way up, but that's what it boils down to, isn't it, Dr. Xigbar?" My eyebrows snapped down, and I glared at him, cool exterior vanished, finally broken by his nonchalant attitude.
Out of all the things I expected Xigbar to do, he did none of them. Instead, he just grinned that wicked grin of his, eyes lighting up in clear amusement, as though life was a game, and I had just thrown a wild card onto the field. "I like you, kid. I liked you in your resume, I liked you in your interview, and I like you here. You've got spunk, and you're right. You sure figure things out fast. Now, if you keep that up, boyo, I might be able to, say, land you in this new experiment we've got going…"
"You're the Vice President and the boss's son-in-law. I don't doubt you can pull a few strings," I said, getting right to the point, but still wondering just how far I could take this, and how long Xigbar's glee with me would last.
Xigbar laughed again. "Depends on your view of things," he said mockingly. The black-haired man turned and waved the manila folder in his hands at me again. "Seven a.m. sharp, Room 813 (A/N: Oh, you know I had to), West Wing, don't be late."
"A test," I said, finally realizing what was going on. That's why he had come in here, he had expected me to snap. Xigbar stopped in the middle of the doorway, then paused and looked back to me, grinning.
"Damn straight. I'm putting you on this to see if you'll sink or swim here in the big leagues. Don't disappoint."
"I won't," I reassured him, but he was already gone.
I arrived the next day filled with the strangest medley of excitement, anxiety, and sleep deprivation. Go figure, huh? I'd come early, 6 o'clock, actually, just in case I got lost. Which, of course, I invariably did, lucky me. It's not my fault every bleached-white hallway looked exactly the same. I blundered around for twenty minutes before ending up right where I started, which was, in fact, the right place.
I walked stealthily through the hallway towards my destination, trying not to get caught by any other personnel. I made it into the chalky white waiting room with no mishaps, stopping a few times to pretend like I was doing something important whenever a random person in a white scrub looked at me funny from outside the room. Glancing at my watch and noting I had thirty minutes to kill, I reached down to grab one of the ancient magazines on the glass coffee table. Seriously, you could donate these to the Smithsonian they were so old.
Suddenly, I felt someone watching me. With a frown, I looked up from the fascinating article on the bad effects of eraser dust and straight into the golden eyes, no, eye of Xigbar. It sparkled humorously as I jumped back with a shout, half falling off the couch. The edges of his face crinkling slightly, and he extended a hand to help me stand up.
"You're early, I see," Xigbar said as a greeting, motioning for me to follow him with one perfectly manicured hand. I gulped, and came with him out of the room. "Just as well, really. So are we."
He gave me a grin that would've sent a lesser man running, then stopped outside the appointed ICU room. Three men in black suits, two with blonde hair and one with hair of the strangest mixture of purple, grey, and blue, were already waiting for us. Xigbar quickly introduced me to each of them.
"This is Dr. Zexion Dakocel," he said, gesturing to the, oh, let's call it gwurple haired man, who stared at me impassively. "Dr. Vexen Mecadaci." That was the man with long blonde hair, who seemed as though he had lived under a rock his whole life. "And Dr. Demyx Tenurcon. (2)" The last man gave me a jaunty wave, his strange Mullet/Mohawk hybrid bouncing. These people sure had strange hair, though, I guess, not as strange as my own red spikes. "They'll be helping me in trying to discover the source of our new patient's…dilemma. Esteemed doctors, this is my latest apprentice, Axel Aiden."
My eyes widened. Apprentice? Before I could question his statement, however, he winked at me, as though saying, "Play along." And play along I did, not that I had much choice. Everything I did lately seemed completely expected, like even though it was my own choice, everything had been orchestrated from the beginning. For now, I would just take the short pieces of script they give me, and figure everything out later. Improvising always was one of my strong points.
I shook myself out of my thoughts in time to see one of the men frown –Vexen Mecadaci, was it?- and step forward, knitting his fingers together in front of him.
"Dr. Nakamura—"
"Dr. Nakamura is my father," interrupted Xigbar with a slightly bitter edge to his voice. "Please call me Xigbar."
"Dr. Xigbar," Vexen began again as Xigbar nodded, seemingly appeased. "We did not receive adequate information regarding the subject, so we are not quite as prepared as we would like to be. Might you enlighten us?"
Xigbar smirked his trademark smirk and maneuvered himself in front of the door, blocking our entry as though to make it more dramatic.
"Gentlemen, what you are about to see is possibly a completely unique situation, nothing like it has been seen in the history of neurology. Because of this, we have only our wit and intelligence to fight our way through, no manual on this one."
I took a moment to look at the others, wondering what they thought. Zexion and Demyx had an eyebrow raised, inspecting Xigbar with curiosity, while Vexen seemed completely unmoved.
"Get to your point, Dr. Nakamura." I winced. Note to self: don't get on Vexen's bad side. Glancing up, I saw Xigbar's eyes narrow before a smirk crossed his face once again.
"Now, now, let's not get hasty. And remember, dear Vexen, that you are on this team at my discretion. I can take you off just as easily as I put you on," Xigbar said softly in a dangerous tone, authority simply radiating from him. Wow, Xigbar was whipping out the big guns. And boy did he have big ones, too.
Vexen blinked, temporarily thrown, then bowed his head. "My sincerest apologies, doctor. I did not mean it in that way."
Xigbar cocked his head. "I see. Am I to take it that you were merely expressing impatience for information?" Whoa, it's like he can turn the 'I'm professional, here me roar' face on at any time; it's getting scary how fast he changes. "Very well, I'll take a few seconds to debrief you. The subject in the next room is in a deep state of unconsciousness (A/N: yes it's a word). He is completely comatose, and cannot be wakened by any means."
"But there are plenty of people in comas, what makes this one so special?" So Dr. Demyx finally speaks. Nice voice, kind of bell-like. Xigbar, of course, didn't stop to appreciate the finer qualities of his voice, and rubbed his hands together gleefully, as though he had been waiting for this question.
"That, Demyx, is exactly the reason I called you here. See, our patient today has put himself in the coma. Not by physical means, either, mind you. Instead, he retreated inside his mind to, we believe, escape the world around him, creating what we see as his own reality, from which he either will not, or cannot, escape. It was psychological, a defense mechanism to repress either mental or physical abuse. He seems to be wandering through what he has created with no purpose, not interacting too much with anything we send his way."
"Wait, doctor," I interrupted, speaking out for once. "You say that you have observed him in his 'reality'. How you are doing this?"
Xigbar chuckled at me, reaching out to ruffle my hair as though I was some five year old. "Good question, and I'm sure my other guests are wondering the same. We have, through careful study of the human brain, been able to create a machine that, in essence, allows us to delve into the thought process. However, his brain recognizes us as intruders, and immediately starts attacking the person looking for him."
"Looking for him? I don't understand."
"The human brain has two parts, the actual neurons, axons, 5th grade biology stuff, right? Then, on a higher level, is what actually makes us alive, the conscience, you could say. Morals, beliefs, emotions. Life, really."
"That has not been proven, and emotions are said to come from the amygdala and the hypothalamus," interrupted Vexen.
"No, it has not, and you are partially right, but I have come to believe that my machine works on that higher level, for it does not have any effect on the actual material of the brain, yet allows my workers to interact with each other through it. It also makes it possible for us to tap into our patient's reality, though we have not been able to see his actual being. Every time we get close to it, a barrier attacks the prober. We have reason to believe it would have to be a family member, someone he trusts, someone his mind would not rebel against who could get through that barrier."
"Have you tried anyone? Has his family been alerted?" Demyx asked, concern in his sea colored eyes.
"That's the thing. He was brought to the previous hospital by a stranger who said that he had found him huddled by the side of the road, already deeply unconscious. He had cuts and bruises all over him, not to mention near-hypothermia from being out in the cold so long. Abuse seems likely, for no one has come to claim him, nor does he have a medical record on file. That's the problem we've got. Until we can find someone to go into his reality, we cannot find anyone close to him."
"Catch 22," I murmured under my breath, wondering how this particular mystery was going to be solved.
"Very well. Considering we can get nowhere by simply talking about this, how about we venture inside and take a look at your 'unique' patient, Dr. Naka-Xigbar?"
Xigbar smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "Yes, let's." He reached out one pale hand to grab the metal door handle, then took a deep breath and turned it, pushing the door open. He stepped to the side as the rest of us filed in. My gaze went straight to the screens above the bed, flashing with vital signs, then slowly wandered down to the patient himself. My eyes widened, and the blood drained from my face. I walked haltingly to the bedside, my hand gripping the rail so hard my knuckles were white. It…couldn't be…not…no…
On the pale stretcher, halfway hidden beneath a cotton blanket, lay Roxas, trapped in his own reality, completely oblivious to mine.
And then, no one guessed it, but...
References:
(1)- Pyrex glass is a special type of glass that can stand a sudden change from extremely hot to extremely cold, then back again. It's used in scientific experiments because where the test subject goes, the glass goes too, so you need glass every bit as tough as whatever you're experimenting on, and much more. If it was fake, then the glass would shatter, sending little glass pieces everywhere, including, say, someone's eyes. Note to reader: Always wear goggles.
(2)- Yeah, I was so totally unoriginal on their last names. Zexion's is just 'Cloaked' rearranged, Vexen's is just 'Academic' rearranged, and, yes, you guessed it, Demyx's is just 'Nocturne' rearranged. Heh, they turned out alright, though. I'll keep'm as they are. Xigbar got a whole new name, though, because he's just cool like that and rearranging Freeshooter would be far too long. ;) So did Axel, but his last name means 'fiery' and it sounds cool, even if it's two 'a's together P
End Note: Whoops, was that another cliffhanger I just put in there? Tsk tsk, hmmm? Anyway, I hate this chapter. The ending's alright, but I really had to force it out, and it seemed to drag because it was such a filler chapter. Pokes it with a stick I rewrote the beginning twice, and I'm thinking I should probably rewrite the middle now, too. I will later, just, I'm too tired now. Overall, I think I got my point across, though I'm not all that brain-emotion savvy, so correct any horrible spellings I made. I tried to look it up, but the internet kept disagreeing with itself. Interesting, eh? Anyway, sorry for the crap chapter. I'll do better next time, promise. Speaking of next time, in chapter four we go to Roxas to see what happened before he was comafied, and a few questions are answered. After that, it's just one more chapter, and the plot unfolds in all of it, erm, plottiness.
Anyway, please review, and thanks for reading! Reviews make me write faster, and then you get more chapters. Or, y'know, you could just review cause it makes me happy…anyone? No? Alright then. 'Til next time!
Love,
Misfit