Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its subsidiaries. This is a not-for-profit fanwork.

XXV.

Dust

The air was dark and thick and choking. He couldn't see in front of him; he practically had to wade through the humidity.

"Ienzo?" He called. "Ienzo—where—"

No response. Demyx froze and hoped that if he stayed still long enough, he would wake up. He wouldn't think about what this meant. Not yet. This was just another mission, just another thing to get through.

His body felt strange and numb, and each breath made the roof of his mouth tingle. It had no smell; no dust, no smoke, nothing. He wished he had a flashlight. He reached to his side for the knife and drew it, though he wouldn't be able to see anything coming at him. He couldn't hear much of anything either, other than his own panicked breathing, which only heightened the pain tightening around his throat.

He squinted. Maybe his eyes were adjusting, but he thought he saw—or imagined—something in the distance, a faint yellowish light. Maybe it was Ienzo, trying to get his attention with that stupid pen light. He took trembling step forward. The ground was very hard, and dry; he knelt to touch it and came up with a handful of sand that was surprisingly blistering to the touch. Below the dirt, he swore he felt glass, or something similar, and he probed at it desperately. The surface was warped and slightly stippled. He wondered for half a second where he might be, before realizing that he probably didn't want to know.

He treaded through the dust towards the light. His hand ached against the bone handle of the knife, but he didn't dare let go. The ground was flat, and for that he was grateful. The light didn't seem to grow much brighter, or much bigger, but remained a pinprick. He couldn't feel his own heartbeat, and fumbled for a pulse, only to find none.

"Ienzo!" His own voice carried off into the darkness. "Ienzo!"

He listened hard, hand cupped against his ear. In the distance, barely audible, he heard the response. "Nine?"

"Thank god," he said. "Thank god. I'm over here!"

"Nine?"

He hadn't heard him. Demyx ran faster towards the light. It had to be him; he'd had that light shown in his eyes too many times not to recognize it.

The ground pitched forward, catching his shins and pitching him instantly into ice cold fluid. It dragged him under, and no matter how hard he kicked at it, he couldn't seem to get his head above the surface. His lungs burned sharply, and he fought harder, dropping the knife in the abyss. He opened his eyes. There was some light here, and color, a deep soporific blue. It seemed to have no beginning or end.

If he had no pulse here, was he even capable of drowning? He was already so fucked; he didn't know what else could be worse. He waited for the water to sear through his lungs, but nothing happened. It felt like stale air.

For a moment he treaded in the fluid, struck by a bitter and hysterical urge to laugh. On the ground, he saw the knife glinting slightly in the weird blue glow, and swam towards it to have something concrete to do.

It got colder the deeper he went, searing into his bones and making it hard to move. Breathing started to hurt. Only a few more feet, and then he could turn back. And then what? Stay here forever?

He was starting to seize up from the cold. He stuck out a hand. His fingertips brushed up against the sharpness of the blade and everything disappeared in a sharp swirl of brightness.

Bright, dazzling heat. Too much of it. It crowded his lungs. Demyx shivered. His skin was tacky with sweat. Something was warm and wet; with a painful jolt of anxiety he realized he'd wet himself.

"The fuck," he spat. He dragged the hair out of his eyes and pulled his knees towards his chest to try and hide the stain. He grappled for his neck and felt his pulse, fast and erratic. He was still on the floor of the library, on the musty old carpet. He tasted blood; he'd also bitten the inside of his cheek. "Ienzo?" He called weakly. "Where—" He tried to sit up all the way, but his limbs were burning. He lay there on his side, and wondered if it was worth sacrificing the rest of his dignity to cry for help. The knife, in its holster, pressed against his hip. Maybe he was so sick he'd crossed fully over into delirium, but he swore that felt hot too, like a brand—

He wasn't sure how long he was there before they found him. Even and Aeleus this time. Even fretted, feeling at his vitals, and Demyx barely listened to his usual litany of what they'd done wrong.

"Where's Ienzo?" He asked hoarsely.

"He came to get help. He's all right," Aeleus told him.

"What do you feel?" Even asked. "What happened?" The same accursed light in the eyes.

"It's so hot," he said. "Why is it so hot?"

"You've got a pretty high fever," he said in that voice that was supposed to be reassuring. The light froze, and so did his expression. He grabbed Demyx's chin and stared, again. "Take him. We have to go."

Aeleus gently pulled Demyx's knees away and for a moment he struggled, not wanting them to see. Aeleus paused for a moment, but just slightly.

"I'm sorry," Demyx said.

"Never you mind," Even said briskly. "It could have been much worse."

Between that and being carried like an infant, he felt small and weak and incompetent. Even made him take an ice bath. Demyx heard them, through the cracked door in the kitchen, whispering conspiratorially. He thought-briefly and with an intensity that scared him-that he might like to die right then. It was hard to remember that barely a day before he'd been happy with Yuffie.

He didn't say anything and Even kept treating him. He took the pills offered without comment and didn't even flinch when Even slid the IV needle into his hand. "A precaution," Even said. "You were fairly dehydrated. Get some rest." He turned to leave the room.

So Demyx did. He slept so deeply he was sure he'd been drugged and woke up disoriented in the gray of early dawn. He took out the needle, again, and watched the blood pool for a moment before stoppering it. He got dressed on autopilot and tried to fix his hair, but it needed to be cut, hanging lank around his shoulders. For some reason this sign of time passing made him incredibly uncomfortable.

He did laundry in lukewarm water and dragged the basket up to the high turret where the clothesline was. Someone's anonymous white bedding hung here as well, snapping in a slight breeze.

Demyx looked over down at the town. He could see everything, from Villain's Vale to the residential district to the marketplace. He couldn't tell if he wanted a strong coffee or a drink or a cigarette, or some combination of the three. He looked at the clothesline, which was a rough accumulation of almost everything he owned: four shirts, five undershirts, three pairs of jeans, and a week's worth of underwear and linen pajamas. He could feel himself getting ready to go down the rabbit hole towards a nice hard cry when he heard footsteps.

"Need we watch you around heights now?" A deep voice asked.

Demyx sighed; it was only Dilan. His long dark braids were piled on top of his head. "Just doing laundry," he said.

Dilan surveyed Demyx's wardrobe. Even the bright yellow plaid shirt was starting to look washed out and faded. "We didn't always have to get everything secondhand," he said, and began to fold his sheets. "I detest all this patching, this reusing, this sense of desperation and scarcity. It's horrifically undignified."

Demyx thought immediately of the mostly empty shelves in the marketplace. Nobody was starving, of course, there were some imports from Traverse Town and the like; but you never could get what you really wanted. "…It could be worse."

"Yes, yes. Quite." Dilan frowned.

"Aerith said she and Cid are going to try and expand the gardens. So there are more fresh things to eat. I might help them. I could at least do the irrigation." He thought of the look on Even's face when he'd checked him yesterday, and wondered if it were even safe to use his powers.

"I bet you'd enjoy that," he said dryly.

Dilan was starting to piss him off. "Look, I'm sorry you hate it here, but I'm trying to make the best of things, at least while I'm still around. Okay?"

To his surprise, Dilan laughed. "Certainly you needn't defend yourself to me." He piled the rest of his things into his wicker basket and looked down at the path leading up to the castle. "Oh, look, is that stray here for you?"

Sure enough, he saw a small dark figure darting up towards the service entrance. What was Yuffie doing here so early? A deep twinge of anger towards Dilan dissolved the tears in his throat. "Don't call her that," he said.

Dilan smiled. "Right. Of course. My apologies."

It seemed like a very long walk down to meet her. He was strangely sore and every step seemed to jolt his whole skeleton. They ran into each other halfway up the stairs heading towards the rest of the rooms. His heart was racing. "Hey, Yuffie."

He evidently startled her, because she jumped. "Hey, you. I didn't think you'd be up."

"Yeah, I had… things to do."

A beat of silence. The space between them seemed wide and almost insurmountable. "I was going to surprise you," she said. "I was going to see if you wanted to go for a walk."

"Now?"

"Yeah, I know, it's early." She shrugged. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't worth it."

The words took a little too long to process. "Sure. Yeah. Let's go."

Another moment of stillness. "…You all right?" Yuffie asked.

"It's a bit of a long story." He smiled and wished it didn't feel forced. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she said.

They kissed quickly, awkwardly, because the stairs made their height difference even greater.

"So let's get going," she continued. "I want to get there before it gets light."

She took him down the path deep into the crystal fissures. "Even took me here once," he said. "When I was training my powers."

"It's a good place to do it. Lots of places to hide."

It was getting to be past light now, and the land was drenched in rose-gold light. She looked happy, excited, and he wished he could be, too, but he was in too much pain. The land seemed to be blurring against itself.

"We missed sunrise," she said. She frowned. "Well, no sense turning back now."

It was another curious hollow in the side of a monolith. He swore he heard running water. "How do you find these places?" Demyx asked her, feeling somewhat dizzy.

"It used to be full of Heartless," Yuffie said. "But Sora cleaned it out, and then not long after it became a spring. Sometimes when I'm on patrol, I end up wandering. And I find this stuff." The water was very clear, slightly illuminated by the crystals and the weak morning light. It was a small crater in the ground, about seven meters in diameter, with rough outcroppings every few paces. She went around the edge of the crater and took off her shoes. "You coming?"

It took some effort. He undid the holster of his weapon and sat down next to her at the edge. He rolled up his jeans and eased one toe in. Like the nightmare, the water was ice-cold, and he flinched.

She took his hand and touched the tiny red mark the needle had left. "This is from a butterfly needle. What happened?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't—" Heat built behind his eyes and he told her about what had happened. "I don't know what it means. I might be getting worse."

"Oh shit."

"I'm sorry," he said. The tears were hot against his face.

She tucked her arms around him and for a while he cried against her neck. The deep, paralyzing fear of deterioration he'd been staving off closed around his heart. By the time he stopped panicking the light coming into the hollow was strong and white.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You wanted to have fun, and I—"

"Don't worry about it," she said uneasily. She wiped the dampness off of her throat. "I figured you might like to get away for a little while."

"Yeah. I really did." He laughed awkwardly.

She kissed the wetness off his face, and then moved down to his mouth. For a moment everything was okay; everything was calm. He tightened his arms around her, feeling again warm and tingling.

She broke away before he was ready. She stood up and stripped, rather unembarrassed, down to her underwear. "Come on. I want to go swimming."

He looked away, face burning. "Think I'm good."

"Please? You always complain that it's hot."

His hands still shook in his lap. "You can go. I don't really feel up to it." He had never felt less like himself. Suddenly even his fake name was far too constraining. Was that why everything in his head had been so empty and dark?

Yuffie jumped into the pool and shrieked, spraying him with water. "Fuck, that's cold!"

She swam to the other edge, shivering slightly. "Come on," she said, splashing in his direction. "We can warm it up."

He smiled weakly. "Not ideal."

She swam over to him and leaned against the edge. "It'll be okay," she said.

He wasn't so sure. Instead he started unbuttoning his shirt and, finally, the jeans. He slid into the water. It jolted his whole system. He pushed himself down towards the bottom; it was probably close to six meters at the deepest. The water was very fresh and very clear, and for a moment he felt bad tainting it. He saw her blurry form not far above. He waited until his lungs started to burn, and then a little longer, but before he could brave himself into trying his powers she seized his hand and pulled him to the surface.

"What were you doing?" She asked.

"Just sitting there," he said breathlessly. "Trying my powers."

"Don't do that," she said.

"I'm not going to drown," he said. "I know what I'm doing." As he said it, it felt like a lie.

Yuffie swam back to a shallower part of the pool and floated on her back. Her expression was harsh and morose, and for a moment she looked like a different person. He treaded over to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she said. She straightened up. "I don't like thinking about you that way. As a Nobody, I mean."

"I know." Demyx floated too. The crystals, even without direct light, glinted slightly in the ceiling overhead. "Listen," he said to her. With his ears underwater he sounded strange, warped. "I—"

She put her hand in his. Her skin was already pickled from the water. He sat up against the ledge. The cold water in his hair trickled down his back. She touched his face as if to memorize it, across the bones and hollows. She laughed, slowly at first, then a little more hysterically. They clung to each other.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She kissed him. His heart still ached and he heard his breath catch. There was nobody around, not for at least a kilometer, but he felt… exposed. Despite body heat they both shivered. "Do you want to get out?" she asked.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Your lips are blue," she said. She touched them.

"You're not much better." They edged away from the pool. He wished he had a towel.

"I think I can do something about that."

It felt more desperate now, as though they were running out of time. He brought her down onto the ground alongside him. The floor of the hollow wasn't exactly smooth, or comfortable. Outside of the water, the air was warmer, and more feeling came back into his body. She pressed against him, slipping her legs around him and drawing their hips together. It wasn't dark here, it was bright, which meant he could see everything; which meant she could, too. For a second he stopped.

"What?" She asked. "You're okay."

He clutched at his sopping undershirt.

"Oh," she said. "I forget this is all sort of new for you."

"I want to," he said. "But—"

"I don't mind it," she said.

"I know."

"I don't think you do," she said. She peeled off the undershirt and a chill that had nothing to do with cold shot through him. "I've made my peace with who you are, all right? Demyx?" She held eye contact for just a second too long and he glanced away. "Don't be scared."

"I'm not." He wasn't, not of the act itself, but how he was feeling. "That was the first time you ever said my name." He hadn't heard it in so long; it was jarring.

"Oh." She thought about this, pale for a second, and looked around as though somebody might be listening. "I guess it was, wasn't it?"

The second time was a little easier in some ways, more difficult in others. His hands tightened in her hair and she eased the rest of their clothing all the way off. He could see her scar clearly for the first time. He touched it lightly and a felt something waking up inside of him, something that had been hidden by the fear. He was getting pulled to a million different places in his body even before they started. They touched each other sloppily. A bright, sharp need filled him and he didn't know how to deal with it. This was all so new. He was on the verge of tears again. "I—" Just say it. "I—"

"Don't," she said. "Please." She touched his face, with a strange expression, and brought them together loosely and messily. There was something less controlled than before, less restrained. The intensity of the ending shook him into silence and he was vaguely embarrassed.

After, she went back to the pool and dove in and was under so long he was concerned. He tried to catch his breath and crouched over the water, looking for her and trying to remember how to do CPR.

Her head poked through the surface. "Me too," she said. "All right?"