Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.

XVII.

Work

The next few weeks became a bleary slog between work and training. He didn't even have time to try and fix the guitar, but even if he did, he doubted he could. The weather got hotter and drier. He got sorer and sorer, but found that, after a while, those mortar bags weren't so heavy, and he could get through a day without feeling like death.

And he wasn't great with the knife, maybe, but he could at least block things now. The first time he disarmed Lea came as a surprise to both of them. He was finally starting to pick up on the whole "holes in the guard" thing. It was in the timing. There was always a brief break in defense after Lea attacked, of course, when he normally sprang back. Only this time, Demyx was actually able to slip in a solid kick to the stomach and knock Lea off balance. After so many weeks of getting beat up, it was satisfying.

"Well," Lea said, coughing, "It's about fucking time."

"…You don't remember your parents, do you?"

Talking to Yuffie was still like treading a minefield. However tentative their interactions were—even friendly at times—the wrong thing could make her mad. "Only my mom a little," he admitted. They'd built quite a bit of the aqueduct at that point. The goal was to finish it by summer, so the dry season wouldn't be so straining. "I don't think I ever had a dad."

"My mom died when she gave birth to me." There was pink sunburn across her nose and she scratched at it, getting gray mortar onto her face. "We didn't exactly have an Aerith at that point."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I never really knew her to miss her."

"Sometimes it feels like I came out of thin air. Or an act of will."

She laughed. "I know how that is. Even my dad, when faced with a kid, was like, what the hell is this? I think that looks pretty good."

The compliment took him off guard. "Uh, thanks. Once I had to watch these guys build a stone wall for days. I had to get into this noble's palace to steal a scroll. Those dark corridors work, but they're pretty conspicuous, so I couldn't just teleport my way in. I guess I picked something up then. I picked up a lot of skills that way. I'm not a half bad potter. I can weave pretty well."

"A lot of marketable skills."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. "Hello mister job man? Here's my résumé. I know it says I was part of an evil organization, but I'm experienced, I promise." Shit. How am I supposed to get a job if we get through all this?"

She sighed. "Hell if I know. They always make it sound like we're fucked."

"We kind of are."

"I don't want to believe that." She heaved down a stone. "We've always fought. We probably always will fight. We'll pull through."

"What if we don't?" Demyx put down his trowel.

She turned. "What do you mean, if we don't?"

"If we lose."

"Weren't you all just "hey I want to fight with you guys!" a few days ago? You can't think like that." Her cheeks were turning red. "You're not allowed."

Here we go. "I'm allowed to feel however I want."

"Fuck that." She brushed the dust off of her legs. "Let's go eat. I'm starving."

Sometimes Demyx would wonder if following through with his drunken epiphany was a good idea. All the evidence pointed to the fact that they would absolutely get crushed. Sora's uncertainty, mounting reports that worlds were flooding with Xehanort's darkness… It didn't look good. And every time he even allowed himself to consider what being a double agent might mean, his heart started to race and he couldn't breathe and the room around him seemed dizzy.

Yuffie was right about some things, though. There wasn't really any way to sit idly by, as tempting as it was. If he bailed now, he'd still be surrounded by the plan making and the statistics and the-this and the-that. There was no escape, literally or figuratively; he didn't have any control over the dark corridors anymore. And where would he go?

Besides… he very nearly had friends. At the end of the day the committee would ask him along to dinner, and they would just… hang out. No talking about the war, or Xehanort… they talked about normal people things. It was a bizarre sensation.

Cid liked to play cards. He had a battered old deck that Demyx was positive he'd marked. Mostly they played—funnily enough—Hearts. It was the only card game that Demyx was competent at.

"You know you're the only one to beat me," Cid said. He tapped out a cigarette and lit another. Cid's smoking was getting heavier and heavier. Demyx didn't know how he afforded it.

"I don't believe that."

"Leon's sick of it and Yuffie's terrible."

He shuffled the deck again. "21?"

"…I guess."

"Where'd you learn all this stuff, kid?"

He shrugged. "Ten. Mostly." Luxord hadn't frequently invited him along to the card parties, but any time he had had certainly been an experience.

Cid dealt them each a few cards. "Say we make this more interesting."

"Good luck with that. I'm broke."

"Say if I win… you buy me a cigarette."

He laughed. "Alright, fine. And if I win… you give me yours."

Cid smirked. "Hit or sit?"

He looked at the two cards on the table in front of him—ace and eight. It was a shame he was never this lucky in real life. "…Sit."

Cid turned over his other card; cool sixteen. With an expression Demyx guessed was supposed to be calm and confident, he pulled another card. A six. "…Motherfucker. All right. A deal's a deal. Though joke's on you, I only have three left." He handed over the pack. "Remind me to never play with you again."

He lit up one of his prizes. "Oh, don't be a sore loser."

Cid grimaced when the smoke hit his face.

June ended without much comment. Three days of rain trapped them all within their respective houses. This was apparently a sign of the dry season coming. Demyx helped Dilan set up a rain collection tank on the roof.

"Haven't seen hide or hair of you in days," Dilan said gruffly. They both hefted the tank into place on one of the drains.

"Well. We wanted to get most of the aqueduct done to get this rain."

""We."" He gave the tank a solid kick. "Is that connected?"

"Feels like it."

"I'm glad you're at least following your convictions." His tone was bitter.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm merely surprised."

For a moment he could only stand there, speechless, as rain pattered off of their jackets.

"The situation gets grimmer by the day," Dilan continued. "I figured you, of all people, would be long gone. I admit it gets tempting."

"I can't leave," he said.

"What on earth is holding you here?"

"I can't use the corridors. I don't want to. Isn't this your home? Don't you care about it?"

Dilan shook his head. "I'm afraid I have nothing left from what made this place home."

In the distance, thunder boomed.

"I don't want you to make any mistakes," Dilan said. "You'll as good as get yourself killed."

Demyx's hands shook.

"Goodness, you needn't listen to me. If this is how you want to waste your life, go ahead." He shook his head and started towards the door.

"I am so sick of people telling me how I should feel or what I should do." His voice was barely audible. "This… sage advice…"

Dilan didn't look impressed.

"I don't want to hear it anymore. From anyone. I'm… I'm going for a walk."

Dilan shook his head and started towards the door. "Very well."

His clothes were nearly soaking by the time he was down by the ground. He crammed his hands deeper into his pockets. It was raining so hard he could barely see. Cold drops snaked down his neck. His eyes were hot.

He wasn't sure this was the right choice. Not really. But he was doing something good, he was being almost normal. Better than sitting holed up in that castle, bored and alone and stewing in his own memories, conscious of the pressing quiet around him…

The sound of the rain sharpened. The air was humid and hard to breathe.

Ahead he saw a shadow, blobby and black, below the archway leading towards the marketplace. He figured it was some sort of Heartless and drew the knife, but it disappeared.

A human arm tightened around his neck. He floundered and tried to remember what Lea had taught him, but sharp panic clouded his head. Demyx flailed and tried to yell, but a bony hand in a leather glove covered his mouth. He bit one of the fingers hard, but the figure didn't relent. He dropped like a rock, figuring that maybe his weight would take them off guard, but they countered with a sharp kick to his groin. He crumpled and saw stars. He heard them pick up his useless knife and struggled to move, but he hadn't yet caught his breath.

He heard the cut more than he felt it, right into his belly. The figure twisted the handle. Demyx tried to scream but the shock had paralyzed him; he could only exhale sharply.

He was forced onto his back. The figure grabbed at his face. Demyx could only see the maw of the black hood. The figure pulled back his eyelids, took a good look, yanked out the knife, and was gone.

For a moment he lay on his side. Blood spooled out of him, quickly diluted by the rain. He struggled to sit up. He had to yell, to make some sort of noise; he couldn't breathe. The rain seemed squiggly and the wound inside him burned. He sat up and immediately fell as pain crashed through him.

He wasn't going to die like this. He refused.

Darkness encroached his vision and he saw another blur, in violet, coming towards him. He started shivering. He tried to call for help but was too busy passing out.

Trembling and feverishness all over. The room was blurry and dim. Something sticky and cool clung to his chest and side. His head pounded.

He must have slipped in and out of consciousness. Shadows came into the room and left. He couldn't see well.

A memory smoothly unfurled. "Don't go." His own voice, to his mother, her lying there still in the bed. The air was freezing; a storm was coming. The water looked green. He was on some sort of boat, up high, looking down when the first shadow climbed across the horizon—

The stickiness on his body smelled like menthol. He couldn't focus his eyes but he could see now at least a little. The room was warm in color, dim, and a fire burned in a fireplace at the corner. A brown-haired figure hummed a little tune as she did something at a cabinet against the wall.

He tried to speak. His mouth was so dry. "…Aerith?"

Her head snapped up and she rushed over. "You're awake," she said. She checked his pulse.

"What… what…"

"Don't speak. I'm so glad Yuffie found you when she did…"

He felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. A gummy cloth clung to practically his whole torso. Rain still pattered against the roof. "What day is it?"

"It's only been about twenty-four hours."

"…Really?" He lay still. She poked at the gummy cloth. "What happened?" He vaguely remembered—the shadow, his own knife.

"A Heartless hurt you pretty badly. There's a new pureblood that's very stealthy. It poisoned you."

"…Heartless?"

"It punctured your side." He tried to sit up; she pushed him back down. "I only just was able to remove the poison."

"No, it wasn't a Heartless, it was… something else… A person. I saw them." He clutched at her sleeve.

"One of the symptoms of the poison is hallucinations. You more than likely made that up." She smiled.

"No." That couldn't be true. "No, I didn't. I swear. They—they stabbed me with my own knife—" So much for not being able to be poisoned. No wonder he'd been able to get drunk so easily.

"Your weapon was in its holster when Yuffie found you." She pointed to a small night table, where the holster lay on top of his shirt and jacket. "It happens. You're not the first person that thing attacked. How do you feel?"

Demyx half believed her. The fight already was distant and faded. He'd only seen the shadow… the maw of the head… how could he be sure…

He knew that beading and those zippers anywhere.

"My head is killing me."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't. Like a bad hangover, right?"

He shook his head dismissively. "What's this green stuff?"

"It's a healing tissue. I couldn't help but take a crack at those scars. I hope you don't mind. It seemed to help at least a little."

He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"I can probably take it off, actually. I know it's not that pleasant." She pulled at an end of the cloth and helped him sit up. It sounded sticky and wet when it came off his skin and made him shudder. "I know you must feel sick, but you healed well." Most of the stuff was off of him, other than a patch stuck to his side. "Not all patients are so good."

"Or so unconscious."

She shrugged. "How has this rain been treating you?"

"Well, other than getting stabbed—" She yanked at the patch and it came off painfully, causing him to swear.

"The medicine in this tends to fuse with the skin. Nobody likes it," she explained.

He looked at his side, amazed to find no wound, only a red patch. "This healing stuff sure is complicated. Aren't you supposed to just cast Cure and be done?" He remembered his weeks and weeks of recovery, and how he'd always felt like they were dragging it out.

"Cure is nothing but a temporary metabolic boost that'll make the tissue grow back without treating anything. You can get into real trouble that way. Not to mention, get into a serious caloric deficit." She handed him a glass of water. She'd put the green stuff back into a glass jar full of iridescent liquid. "I'm afraid I couldn't do much for these after all." She poked gently at some of the scars.

"It's… all right." He wished he had something to put on to cover himself up. At least she'd left on his underwear.

"You really have been through a lot," she said lightly.

"I guess so." He looked into the glass of water, which shimmered slightly in the poor lighting. "Aerith, how did you know you wanted to fight back?"

She thought about this, twisting the end of her braid. "I never really had any other option. I was… very young when this world fell. It impacted every part of me. I want to make sure that doesn't happen again."

"Is that why you took up healing?"

"Maybe." She drifted in thought for a moment. "I know it must feel different for you and the others."

He laughed awkwardly, sending a spasm of pain through his side. "Well. Some of this mess is our fault. How can we not clean it up?"

""We"? Or "I"?"

Demyx shrugged.

She stood. "Why don't you get some rest? I'll tell everyone that you're okay."