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

***This chapter features depictions of an interrogation that, while not necessarily bloody or violent, may be disturbing.***

XXXI.

The Interrogation

"…We used to do things the old-fashioned way," Braig said conversationally. "But you remember Larxene. Things got out of hand, fast. Nobody we're questioning is good to us dead. Now, I don't mind a mess, but it's hard to get a stain out of white tile. Doesn't improve morale during questioning. So they sent Vexen to work in his labs. How do we get what we want while still making sure our victim stays young and pretty? This was the answer."

Demyx didn't know how long it had been, but it must have been hours, because now a creeping fatigue was blotting out the remnants of the pain. And he was so thirsty. The air was so dry in here; it was like it was sucking the moisture right out of him. A headache dimly pounded in the back of his skull. It took him a while to realize Braig was no longer holding him down. He propped himself up. His elbows were shaking too much to take his weight.

"Your job was to come here and lie, right?" Braig began. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, like he was about to join a drum circle. "Was any of what they fed you completely true?"

Again he was struggling against his own tongue. The pain was fading, but the rest of the effects remained like glue. He grit his teeth. He would just have to stay quiet. He could do that. It was the easy way out.

Braig sighed. "What do you really owe these people? All they did was lie to you. You tell me now, you might be able to help them, in the long run."

Demyx didn't want to believe him.

He took out the needle again. "It's a yes or no question, Demyx."

His name made him jump.

"Wouldn't you like to know your name? And the truth? We don't have to keep playing like this. It could be easy. No more nasty man. Let's go back to being friends." Demyx saw the fresh vial and his eyes watered. "Tell me."

He looked away. His mind was racing.

"If you think one CC hurt, I don't think you'll like two," Braig said.

One felt like nothing compared to two. He didn't think he was physically capable of holding this much pain. It spread out through him like water, shredding every cell and locking every muscle into a spasm. It gnawed his organs. For the first time, he felt something jabbing into his heart and his hand went to his chest automatically.

"It'll just keep pushing you from here," he said. "The effects don't wear off after two CCs. Your heart's already pretty damaged. You probably can't take three. Why risk it?"

The committee said they wouldn't blame him if he ended up speaking. Was it his fault if he were physically unable to lie? Even if he survived this, the beginning, what would this Organization tell him? They couldn't trust him. They knew why he was here now. There had to be some way to salvage this. But he couldn't think with his head pounding.

The agony continued for an indefinite and infinite amount of time. Every breath felt like fire. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. His mind was muddled and everything was blurry. All the while the ache around his heart deepened. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the truth left him alongside a jagged noise. "No."

Braig digested this. "Man, you guys were stupid," he said. "How desperate do you have to be? They just don't want to fight. Now tell me the truth. With all that you know, do you think that the committee has any chance of surviving this?"

Another struggle, another answer. "No."

"How much of coming here was a quick way to bite it? You don't have to answer that."

His vision was swimming. Thin, brittle tears ran down his face. He gagged on the pain.

"So they sent you here to get information on us because they have none," Braig continued. "Now, Demyx. What do you remember? Do you remember anything? Think hard. Be a good little boy. What do you remember before the Organization?"

He trembled and spat more blood. "There was a desert, and…" It was taking all of his strength to form complete sentences. "You turned me. You turned me twice."

"Not the word I'd use, but more or less on the nose," Braig said. "You were from a real shithole. That place made some pretty good Heartless though, I won't lie. All the people who hurt you… they're Heartless. And what happened to you? Your will somehow pulled you through, whole, as a child." Braig leaned down next to him. "What do you remember from when you woke up?"

"…When I…" He could barely comprehend just what Braig was saying. Fog and pain seeped through him in equal parts.

"After you fought Sora."

A pulse of pain shot through his chest. "…I… It was dark… and… it rained…" He hadn't really been conscious until Ienzo began bandaging his wounds that day long ago. "I saw… your face… You said something." The pain in his chest surged and he fought hard against the words. "You told me to…" Blackness washed over his mind. When he came to he could feel his heart racing. "Kill…"

"Kill who? Sorry. Whom."

He hiccupped. Sweat oozed out of every pore. "Leon?"

"Well. That's what was supposed to happen," Braig said. "You got your foot in the door with the committee. It would have been great; complete destruction of Sora's entire support system. And it would have made him distrust the rest of the old Organization instantly. But it didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

The question was directed at him. "I don't know, I…" He felt sick. He'd never even had so much as a negative thought about Leon. Not to mention, how it would make the other members of the committee feel…

Braig seized his collar. "Tell me."

"I don't know! I swear!"

"I think you do. I think, in your heart of hearts, you know the answer." Braig chuckled. "Nothing pisses me off more when people I trust lie. Wouldn't you agree?" He took out the syringe again.

"No!" His voice was hoarse. Braig crumpled the space around Demyx again and he collapsed.

"If this won't get you to tell the truth, nothing will," Braig said. This time, the needle pierced his spine. "You better hope you live through it first."

Every bit of him imploded. Brightness throttled his cells, eating though his extremities before concentrating on his organs. It slithered into his heart, melding with the faint fracture lines he could really feel for the first time.

"Something healed you enough so we couldn't use you," Braig said. "I see it in your eyes now. It was… the girl." He shook his head. "For fuck's sake. You converts to good are all the same. That shit's really good and inside you now, isn't it?" He nudged Demyx's leg.

The pain seemed distant at this point, leaving behind a drowning numbness that was slowly creeping over him. Only the piercing in his heart remained. He forced his fingers into a fist. Pushed through the thinning fog in his head. Braig hadn't seen the need to give him a second dose to anesthetize his powers.

"What are you—" Braig asked, but before he could so much as react Demyx snapped the largest blood vessel he could find in Braig's brain. He hit the ground.

The corridor took the rest of his strength and then some, and for a few minutes he was sure he was going to keel over in the realm of darkness. The pain in his heart tightened around his throat. His hands touched the smooth stone outside the corridor and he fell in a heap. It was hard to breathe, so he didn't try. He shut his eyes. Maybe sleep wouldn't be so bad.

EPILOGUE

Waking up. Again.

Cold and numb and white.

Cold and numb and white and pain and breath—

Binding a consciousness takes time. It took him a while to even realize that time existed and was passing. It must have been, because the white gave way to gray and then black, then gray then white again.

After a while, color. After that, dreams.

When he was a kid sometimes he and his mother would leave the village and head towards the horizon. She would pack a lunch, always the same rice balls, seasoned with jasmine. They would walk until the dry grasses of the plains gave way to total sand. One day, she reached down into this sand and dug for close to a minute. She held up something round and white. "Look, little fish." That was her name for him, because when she was pregnant she could feel him flopping in her belly like a fish. "You know what this is?"

He touched it. It was ridged, and smooth, about the size of his thumb.

"It's a seashell," she said. "Long ago, all this used to be an ocean. But the spirits were angry with humans, for their violence and their cruelty, and they took the ocean away with a song. They say if you listen well on a windy night, you can still hear that sound on the breeze." She smiled. "It's a story. But this is something that's true. You love music, little fish. Sometimes I swore you'd bring the ocean back. Remember this song for me."

She sang something low and soft and simple in a language he did not understand. It shook him to the core, bringing tears to his eyes.

"My mother gave it to me, now I give it to you," she said. "When you think of it, that's me loving you."

He slept for a long time.

He didn't wake up all at once, but in pieces. His body was a sprawling, aching thing that needed to be taken care of. A heart that beat. Lungs that needed air. Also, the fact that he existed was sort of boggling.

The memories took their time arriving. The years and pain came boiling in, but he was at a safe distance from it. The more things came, the more he was aware he was missing part of the puzzle. A lot of parts, actually. There were whole expanses unaccounted for, gaping in his mind.

Who was he? There was no name, only that slight numbness, a pinch in the chest. There was the alias, the fake name, the one he'd clung to for so long. It was tight and didn't fit. He waited a while but the rest of it never showed up, and he knew he'd have to wake up for good. So he did.

This room was blue, not white. A soft bed. Tubes stuck in his hands. Dank, damp, frigid air. He tried to sit up, only to immediately feel every muscle complain. The second try was a little more successful. Someone had put him in a linen nightshirt and it was coarse against his skin.

He asked himself the question mostly because he had to. Was he dead?

He hurt too much to be dead, but his luck was rotten enough that it was hard to be sure.

Something wasn't adding up.

He stretched. He could tell he'd lost a lot of time. Weeks, maybe longer; he was borderline atrophied. He could see the veins in his forearms. He'd lost more weight. How was this possible? How was he here?

He took a deep breath. Something like a strange laugh came out of his throat.

A door he hadn't previously noticed opened and in came Ienzo.

"Yes," Ienzo said. "Luxord said you would wake up one of these days. Demyx."

He shivered and tried to speak, but he was too hoarse.

"I'm sure you must have a lot of questions." Ienzo approached him and checked his pulse with a cold hand. "Your vitals are already so much more stable."

He swallowed in an attempt to get more moisture into his mouth. "H-how—"

"About three months," Ienzo said. "It's the tail end of December. Xehanort is dead. You, on the other hand, are very much alive."

Demyx shook his head. He couldn't believe this. It was a dream, a hallucination, something—

"For quite a few weeks we weren't sure you would make it," Ienzo said. He sat at the foot of the bed. "A living body, but a lack of consciousness—we figured your heart had shattered. But when I tried to reach your mind, your consciousness was repairing itself, albeit very slowly. Do you follow?"

He nodded. The cold in the room was incredible. Ienzo helped him tuck the blanket around his shoulders.

"Things started to make sense to me," Ienzo said. "Your lack of memories. Your instability. These were the same things Even and Dilan experienced the first few days after their reformation. And I realized something crucial. Your reformation was never tampered with because it was never fully allowed to happen in the first place. They were able to stop it, somehow. What you've experienced these past few months—that was the real reformation, triggered by an apparent cessation of life. Perhaps Lea and the others knew this, or figured it was possible, which is why they pushed so hard for you to go on the mission. But if that's the case they did a very good job keeping it from me."

When Demyx didn't respond, he continued.

"The damage done to your Nobody's growing heart was irreversibly woven into your psyche. It's healed, but it's left behind scars, so to speak. You might still have trouble recalling things. I'm sorry. But the good news is that you will be healthy."

It was hard to process this. This room was so painfully bright.

"Do you understand me? Demyx? Of course this must be all so very overwhelming."

He nodded. He was feeling dizzy now. Ienzo took his hand. "Yuffie?"

"Yuffie's alive and well and very worried about you."

"This can't be real," he whispered.

"I assure you it is," Ienzo said.

His eyes watered. These emotions seemed even bigger and even harder to keep track of. Ienzo hugged him, solid and warm, while he cried.

It was clear that this recovery would take longer than all the rest. Not just physically—though that in itself was staggering—but emotionally. Most of his memories were still gone, but less so than before. Old ones, awful ones, would stab him while he slept; and considering how weak he was, he slept upwards of twelve hours a day. There was no sedative that could keep the dreams at bay.

Even and Ienzo took to counseling him. At first sharing such traumatic things with them made it even worse, because there was the added humiliation of having to describe it. But sometimes Ienzo would walk with him through the memories, talk him through it, and while the pain was still awful, at least he knew he was justified in how he felt.

They didn't let him see Yuffie until two days after he woke up, because they were concerned about him getting too overwhelmed at once. But when she did come, he barely saw her before she was pulling him into her arms. "You came back," she said. She was shaking all over. "You really did."

He breathed in her warm, slightly salty smell, and let himself be relieved for the first time that he'd survived.

It took weeks, then months. He had to put back on the weight he'd lost in the coma, then go through physical therapy to try and get some of his strength back. Yuffie was with him most of the time, and so were Ienzo and the others. After about a month he could manage most things on his own, even if walking the length of the town still tired him.

But he wouldn't find out what really happened with Xehanort until nearly spring. The battle had happened after all, but under different circumstances. There was no thirteen darknesses versus seven lights. Mostly, it turns out, because one of the darknesses had already been killed in action.

"It was you all along," Lea told him. He was looking haggard and tired still, but Demyx could sense the relief weighing heavily on him. "So it wasn't in vain. Luxord. That bastard. When you killed Braig… you set the whole thing off. We started picking them off, one by one, like Sora did with us in the Organization. So when we finally faced Xehanort… it was tough, but it was easier than it would have been."

"He was right about some things," Demyx said. It was snowing in town today, a late winter snow, and it caught in the wool of their hats and scarves. "I did die. Even said I was technically dead for ten minutes, and that's when they found me. But then the reformation started. I was actually a Nobody the whole time." He shook his head. "If somebody had told me that all I had to do to get fixed was to get myself killed, I probably would have done it a long time ago."

Lea laughed. "Believe it or not, you did your part in saving the world. Congrats. How does it feel?"

"Unreal," Demyx said.

"Yeah. You've got me there." Lea took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Ienzo said they might actually try that, with the others. A controlled way to heal them, as well. We'll actually all be okay. I can't believe it."

"I know. No more Heartless. Soon, no more Nobodies. The darkness probably won't rise to the same degree again, at least, not for a while. We're… free. As free as we can be, anyway. Thing is… what do we do now?"

"Whatever we want," Demyx said.

When spring came he was just about healthy. Without Heartless, the committee could actually turn towards improving the town fully. Of course, every now and again they'd find a pureblood they'd missed, but all the artificial types had been destroyed or vanished. Soon, there would be no more than the natural kinds, and hopefully none of those would be created in Radiant Garden.

The committee work gave him something to look forward to, even when his mind would torment him with the memories. Especially now that he was fully a part of it. He helped Aerith build an irrigation system for the new gardens. When he was stronger, he started helping Yuffie, Leon, and Cid with the construction.

"I thought of a project you might be good for," Leon said one April afternoon when they finished their work for the day. "Now that the infrastructure's getting up to speed, we can start thinking long term. We used to have such a rich artistic history. It was something Ansem the Wise was very proud of. I was thinking maybe you could go around and talk to people, get them to tell you Radiant Garden's legends. Or to sing you the folk songs, so you can write them down. It's your history now, too. What do you say?"

How could he say no?

When summer came, he'd been in Radiant Garden a year. Despite the horrible dryness, it was peaceful.

He spent most of these nights with Yuffie. Walking, mostly, now that it was safe to.

"I forgot how much I missed being out at night," she said. She breathed deeply. "It's so quiet. And calm."

"I thought you were an agent of chaos," he teased.

"Oh, I absolutely am," she said. "Still, sometimes I like peace and quiet. Now that I have time to think about stuff."

"What do you think about?" Now that they had all this time, they were learning so much about each other. He realized that she had a thoughtful, tender side she usually kept guarded, though he had no idea why.

"I've been thinking long term," she said. "About the town. I get so excited about what we can do that I can't sleep. But then, you know, eventually it'll be nice again, like how it used to be. Then what do I do? I don't know who I am without the committee. I'm not like you. I'm not an artist, I don't have anything I'm really passionate about. The only other thing I'm good at is fighting, and that's almost completely useless now."

"Well, you can learn," he said.

"I didn't think I ever would be able to," she said. "That's the thing."

He kissed her hand. "We can do it together."

Towards the end of August Ienzo volunteered himself to be the first one to purposefully trigger the reformation, or "re-reformation" as Demyx was calling it.

"It's almost completely certain that I'll pull through, but still I'm… hesitant," Ienzo told him the night before. Demyx realized that all their recent confidence in one another had resulted in something genuine; without meaning to, Ienzo had become his best friend.

"Well, yeah, I would be too," Demyx said. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Even said it will be painless. He'll put me to sleep, then trigger an overdose with opiates. And then… well, hopefully things will go according to plan. It has to be me first, before the others. We need to know this works." He nodded to himself, but he looked terrified.

"I'll wait for you," Demyx said.

Ienzo smiled. "If somebody had told me, back when I was in the Organization, how things would turn out, I wouldn't have believed them. It's simply impossible."

"Tell me about it," Demyx said.

And he was there for all of it. He was with Ienzo when Even injected the drugs. He was there when Ienzo's heart stopped, when he stopped breathing.

Even had so far been cool and collected, but sweat was beading along his forehead. "It takes minutes. Minutes," he muttered to himself.

Demyx couldn't help but worry too. It seemed to go against the grain, killing yourself to be alive. Seeing Ienzo there, motionless, brought tears to his eyes.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Even quite suddenly left the room. Demyx took Ienzo's hand.

"Come on," he said. "Please."

Demyx sat there, numb, for a long time. It was just taking a while, that was all. Any minute now and it would kick in and everything would be fine. He wouldn't let himself cry because there was no reason to. Ienzo's skin was still warm, he kept telling himself that.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke with a jolt, his neck at a harsh angle. The body next to him was breathing sharply and harshly and Demyx's fear gave way to relief.

Days passed, then weeks. Unlike when he had been going through it, there was no way to monitor Ienzo's progress, just to keep him alive long enough for him to wake up. Demyx hadn't realized how much work it took, weeks of tubes and bags and medicines and vitals and needles. After a while he asked Even to teach him. Sometimes Demyx would read to Ienzo, or play him songs. He hoped that it helped.

Ienzo woke up in October, disoriented and pale but whole.

"Welcome back," Demyx said tiredly.

"Demyx," Ienzo said hoarsely. "Have you been here the whole time?" He spoke slowly, with difficulty. "I thought I heard music. I figured it was a memory."

"It's not right for us to struggle along alone," Demyx repeated.

He wasn't quite sure he would ever believe that this was real. He was rebuilding his life; the town was rebuilding, too. Every day he was learning more what it meant to be human, to grow, to create. While now and again the pain would come unbidden, he knew it would pass, that he would be fine.

Well into that second year, he and Yuffie sat at the overlook, leaning into one another on a blanket. There were more than just ruins here now. The gardens had once just been for food, but now flowers were starting to grow again.

"So Even was fine?" Yuffie asked.

"Yes, he's recovering now," Demyx said. "He's the last one. It's all over. Finally. You know, it's kind of weird. Some days I actually miss that. Must be the sadomasochist in me."

"Tell me you're not actually into that."

He flinched. "Oh, god, no."

"Sucks. It'd be kind of hot."

He rolled his eyes. "No, I miss the traveling," he said. "Theoretically, I could still do it, but I'm not ready to try the corridors. That darkness scares the shit out of me."

"Maybe someday we could do it together," she said. "You know, I'd actually like to get out there and see what this has all been about." She sat up suddenly and snapped her fingers. "I think I figured out what I want to be when I grow up."

"What's that?"

"I was already thinking about opening a shop in the marketplace. What if we found cool things out in the world, and brought them back here? People'd love it. It'd really shake things up."

"You know, that doesn't sound too bad," he said.

"So what do you say? In a few months, or so, we go out there?"

"I'd say it's a deal," he said.

She kissed him softly, and there they sat, thinking about what could come next.

I'd just like to say thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed. It's been a fun ride. I hope you enjoyed my little story about Demyx. I enjoyed writing it. I'm considering doing a companion piece, but I'm not sure when/if that will happen, so keep on the lookout.