Disclaimer: Characters are copyright to Square Enix.

Warning: Rated T for now, later chapters will be M rated for language, violence, sex and disturbing themes.

A/N: Lea seems to be significantly harder to write than Isa and Saïx - grr! Anyway, please do enjoy, and thanks for the previous chapter's reviewers - love to you all!

BONE OF CONTENTION

LEA, THE BOY WHO'D DISAPPEAR

- eleven years before death -

The first Saturday after you got your cast removed, I dragged you along to the park so that we could play together. I was agile and unable to resist going out of my way to jump on crispy leaves; you were weak and quick to feel winded just from walking. I was immune to the cold and could escape in cargos, a tee and my dad's cashmere scarf; you were still shivering in a puffy blue coat two sizes too big.

I knew we were unbearably different. I also knew it didn't matter, because I was steadily learning how to accommodate both your disease and your eccentricities. We played light games of catch as opposed to the rough tackle football I was used to. You were nervous about jumping, so we log rolled into leafy mounds instead. I did gentle pushes when you were on the swing, so that you didn't strain to hold on, and could read out our horoscopes for the coming week or natter about an upcoming eclipse.

You were a little overzealous when it came to your interests and that trait, in combination with OI, did little for your social standing. I couldn't quite get my head round the logic, but I wasn't going to complain, not when such unfounded prejudice meant that I could have you all for myself. I never had myself down as the sharing sort of person and when you came along, I became dead certain of that.

I denied possessiveness on my part, and put it down to overreliance on yours. That was, perhaps, the first splinter of breaking wood; the millimetre wide fault line of an earthquake to come.

"I don't really care much for OI," I said to you, when you once tried to apologise for the compromises I had to make. "I don't really care that you can't cartwheel or jump or do half the stuff I can do. You're still my friend."

You smiled, teeth slightly crooked and cheeks a warm shade of pink. I knew you were worth every compromise and every blow – because some people did care that you had OI.

Your cousin wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew we were friends. When at home, he couldn't harm you under your uncle's watchful eye; and when at school, he had no time for a disabled loner, especially when any damage you took would be paid for right from his family's pocket. You were safe.

So that's why they went for me. I wouldn't have had it any other way. One lunchtime, they cornered me in the cloakroom and we got into a fight. Well, more of a beating, really. It was four against one, and I had my back turned for the first hit.

"Okay, listen to this, guys," your cousin said. "He meets up with 'flat pack' every day after school. And they meet up on Saturdays now. Sunday's a miss though, because 'flat pack' has physiotherapy appointments. He's a cripple. But hey, at least he has a disease to blame for his weirdness. Can't say the same for you, fire crotch."

One of them emptied my school bag over my head, but I didn't mind.

Another yanked off my dad's blue cashmere scarf and vandalised it with a felt tip pen, and I didn't mind that either.

"We'll break you the same way he breaks, if you carry on being friends with him." A foot came crashing down on my hand as I went to retrieve my books.

"Time out," I said between blows and shoves. I kept my bag and belongings close to my chest, then bent down and pretended to pick something up. "Whoa, what's this? Some of my brain cells! Guys, you should've told me your stupidity was contagious. Gotta go, see you later!"

I didn't mind taking the hits. Better me than you. In some way, I was channelling my dad and how he too, routinely stood up on someone's behalf, though he had more grace to the art.

I was doing something right, and every kick, insult, joke, punch, vandalising act – each one just reaffirmed my suspicions: that you made me matter, and that was worth protecting.

-x-

We never saw each other during school hours. You were two years older than me and all of your lessons were in a different part of school. You once said you used your lunchtimes to work in the library by yourself – and wanted to keep it that way.

I was really surprised when one day during break, you burst into my classroom and looked round – rather crazily at that – for me.

"H-hello," you said, breathless. You were clutching a small cardboard box. "My teacher got us making pinhole cameras." You spat out the words, disgusted. I remembered with a sudden jolt that there was going to be an eclipse today. You had been unable to stop talking about it for the last week. "It's not the same with a pinhole camera," you complained. "I wouldn't even be looking at the eclipse, it doesn't work like that. It just uses the light available to project an image of an eclipse using shadows, that's all. I-it's not the same. I brought in my eclipse viewer – look, see?" you shook a pair of chunky glasses in front of my face "—but I can't use it because it's not fair on the rest of the class. I've been waiting ages to see an eclipse and—"

"Isa." I patted your arm, because you were starting to look quite deranged now. "Calm down."

You trailed off, and took in a sharp breath when you realised you had an audience. Some of my classmates were giggling; others had their eyebrows raised. You were someone who spent most of his time looking up, and with your head in the clouds so often, I could let you off for getting a little dizzy. Others were not so forgiving.

"…Sorry," you muttered, awkward.

"That's all right." I shrugged, swinging myself off the desk. "What time's the eclipse again?"

"Just before eleven. I'm sorry," you said again, not quite able to ignore the sniggers, "I shouldn't have come here."

"No, I'm glad you did," I answered, and I meant it. I was the only one in my class who had a friend in the upper years. It was pretty cool. "Listen, at quarter to eleven, why don't you leave class – say you need the toilet or something – and fetch your stuff, then meet me by the lunch hall?"

"Um…all right then." I handed back your offensive pinhole camera, which you had thrown onto the table in frustration, and you took it as a sign to leave. As soon as you did, my class erupted into a clashing chorus of gossip and snickering. That much I could let go. But when one boy shouted, "He's a lunatic," I had to react.

I didn't like how people opted to tease and insult, because it was easier than attempting to understand. So I gave him what he deserved and punched him, just as my teacher came back in to witness it and give me a detention.

-x-

At quarter to eleven, I packed up and snuck out of class. You were already at the lunch hall, pale and jumpy. You looked, in all honesty, ready to faint.

"Lea, I don't know what came over me," you began, unable to let the matter go. "I can't believe how stupid I am."

"Don't say that. Come on, we don't have time to waste." I led you through the school kitchen, guiding you round the counters and rows of sinks. I kicked open the back door, looped round the school block and jimmied the side door.

"What are you doing?" you asked, and you glanced back at the way we came.

"You've never bunked school before?"

You shook your head, and I grinned at what would later become the second splinter, the two millimetre wide fault line – that I was the one destined to show you the ropes, and heaven forbid if anyone else tried.

"Well, this is how you do it." And I opened the door, crossed the alleyway and kicked open the gate to a small house. "It's easy to escape school by using the caretaker's back garden and coming out the front."

"Won't he see us?"

"Nope. He's busy caretaking the school – duh!" I didn't turn round in time to catch your flushed cheeks, but it wouldn't have stopped me anyway. Once I had an idea, I wasn't going to let it go, and I suppose the same principle applied to my hold on you.

I half-led half-dragged you out the caretaker's, down the road and up a hill to the park. The wind was biting and bitter, but I was quite certain it wasn't to blame for your shaking.

"Wait, Lea," you panted, not because you were having second thoughts. You stopped to catch your breath and grip your side. I now felt guilty for the trouble I was putting you through (because I only thought of these things when it was too late), but you glanced at your watch and persisted.

"It'll be a great view from the top of this hill, I promise," I said. You nodded fiercely, clamped down on your bottom lip and picked up the pace. At some point, you had stopped clinging onto my coat sleeve, because when we reached a good spot and were about to sit down, I realised that your spindly fingers were gripping my hand like a vice.

I didn't think anything of it, and neither did you, to an extent. You just let go to fumble with your eclipse viewer, and though you never resumed the gesture, you didn't apologise for it either. My mum always held hands with me and my sisters, and even my dad. You held hands with someone when you wanted to keep them close; it only made sense that we too, held hands.

We sat cross legged with our backs against a tree stump, and the sun framed by two oaks and a misty horizon. I asked you – despite knowing the answer – if you were excited.

"Yes," you said, fitting on your viewer. "I've never seen an eclipse before. And this one is particularly significant because it's in Capricorn, so the eclipse, which obviously signifies new beginnings by itself, also indicates that now is a good time to start planning what we want to build or accomplish. Because you know, that's what Capricorn is connected to."

"So for a few minutes, it's going to go pitch black at daytime? That's pretty cool."

"Not pitch black. It's only partial, so you'll just see the moon crossing some of the sun. And you're right, by the way," you added. "This is a much nicer spot."

"Yeah, much nicer than back at school in the crowd, with a tacky pinhole camera."

You gave me a grateful smile, looking twice as odd with those chunky glasses on. However, you suddenly whipped them off and before I could stop you, you snapped the viewer in half. "Here." You passed one of the halves. "Watch with me?"

To this day, I still feel incredibly guilty for having made you break your expensive eclipse gear that your mum (presumably) had bought for you – because I never actually used it. Eclipses didn't interest me, being in Capricorn wasn't 'significant' to me, and I sure wasn't going to start planning or building because some conveniently aligned objects were telling me to. I did like, however, the enthrallment that befell you once you got started on your hobby. I could listen to you prattle on all day about Nodes, cardinal signs and Ascendants, and while I failed to follow, I always came out feeling great.

I knew you couldn't be yourself around anyone but me, and that privilege was the third splinter and the third millimetre.

I grinned as I watched you witness the eclipse, your face mirroring the phenomenon with clear transitions. You went from edgy and anticipated, to utterly captivated, and then to horribly disappointed when it came to a finish. You had been waiting so long for the eclipse, and now that it was over, what else did you have to look forward to?

You wore a dark look, darker than the eclipse's climax had ever rendered you, as you perhaps thought along the same lines as me.

"Hey, Isa," I said, and lightly nudged your ribs. I was still very afraid of physical contact, given your bone fragility and the fact that every time I did do such a thing, I felt inexplicably giddy. "It's not as great as seeing an eclipse, but do you want to come round my house this weekend?"

I fiddled with my dad's watch, channelling my awkwardness into it so that when you looked up at me, you couldn't spot my nerves. I wasn't about to tell you any time soon, but when I invited friends over, the answer had only ever been no. I had always asked too early, been too eager to assume that I finally had a friend. That was why I had waited out the weeks, staying round yours until it was 'safe' and I wouldn't have another burn of rejection to add to my ever-growing collection.

"You're all right with that?" you asked me, packing away your eclipse viewer. "You don't keep me away because I'm embarrassing?"

"Actually, it's more my family that's embarrassing," I countered, somewhat pleased at my response which, in its quick delivery, stomped over any doubts you had. "We could even do a sleepover! Or go camping in the garden. That way, we can eat over a fire and you don't have to listen to my mum whinge at dinnertime."

I listed off more ideas to persuade and encourage you. You relented in a few minutes, giving a tiny nod and as polite as ever, saying you'd very much like to come round mine.

"…But I'm quite high maintenance," you said nervously. "I have a special mattress. I have to sleep in a certain position because my joints often slip out of place."

"Not a problem," I exclaimed, not really comprehending your concern. (If it took twenty fluffed up pillows to lure you over, so be it.) You grinned – and it was fast becoming a sight I loved and longed to see – and stretched out your legs to move your feet in circles.

You surveyed the sun through the trees. You looked perplexed, as though you couldn't quite believe that this was post-eclipse, and nothing was different at all. "I don't really feel like going back to class now," you said.

"Then don't."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. You didn't want to leave; I didn't want you to, either. I wanted to hang onto you for as long as I could, because every minute I was without you, you were surely with someone else; and that very thought made me sick to the core, like I was being torn apart, made me want to throttle something, made me feel like I was being denied the right to breathe.

Were ten year olds ever meant to think like that?

AXEL, THE FLURRY OF DANCING FLAMES

- nine days after birth -

My whole life – since Sports Day with the wish jar and the forlorn face that so reflected my own – has been dedicated to keeping you. I grew up knowing exactly what I wanted, knowing that it was a one way route to destruction.

I have hugged you, held hands with you, made out with you (drunkenly) in alleyways, slept with you so many times that I have memorised every contour of your body. I have upset you, hurt you, pleased you and loved you. Nothing measured my accomplishment better than your scowls and shivers and smiles and tears – all of which could be traced back to me.

You sit opposite me now, one hundred times more beautiful than anyone else and yet one hundred miles off Isa, and I realise that I have to start all over again.

I have to claim you and keep you, make you mine, before someone else does.

You play with your breakfast, twirling your fork and cutting your pancakes into tiny pieces. You seem undecided and at odds with yourself which, Xigbar explains, is why your progress is being hindered.

In some way, I feel guilty in running ahead of you, establishing my position as Number Eight. It's not right that I have it so easy, because I know exactly who I want to be. It's not exactly fair that I'm so in denial that that certainty burns me through their tasks and training and analysis. Xigbar once joked that my element of fire stems from my inability to be controlled, to listen. It's not like that, though. It's more that fire has no sympathy for what it touches – just a desire to taint and consequently, claim.

You learned that the hard way.

In stark contrast to my progress, you have nothing to show for your eight days of recovery, just a book of riddles (so I'm told – I've never seen it) of you desperately trying to make sense. You're just trying to remember who you are.

"That is so my field," I remind you. I create a tiny dot of fire, a flickering dash of scarlet that coerces you to look up. You swat it away lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "What are you thinking about?"

"Stairs," you answer. "Do I have…I don't know, a history with stairs?"

"Well," I say slowly, "there was this one time when the stairs, they dissed you real bad, and after that, you couldn't really make amends and had to sever ties."

You laugh, and the very sound makes the other six look up from their meals. I wonder if they too, feel their breath hitch in their throats and their thoughts clog up like a traffic jam behind fuck, I love that sound when your laughter – more like a comforted sigh, really – reaches their ears. You rest a cheek on your hand and pull a face, the same despairing look you always adopt when you silently plead for me to slow down and let you catch up.

"You don't remember?" I ask, and you shake your head. "You had an accident once. It was serious, pretty much scarred you for life." I recall the horror of seeing you tumble down the ridged concrete, the ear shattering sound of your leg bone snapping, the one second silence where you just lay there, stunned.

"The Superior says I have a form of dissociative amnesia," you explain.

"Because I really know what that means."

And you laugh again, and everyone looks up again, and I smile inwardly because I'm the only one who can make you laugh like that.

"It means my brain shuts off certain memories."

"Which ones?"

"The ones that hurt. Defence mechanism." You push your tray away and I notice that you've only had one bite. "I thought I'd let you know. I don't want you to be offended."

"Offended?" I repeat, and I can't quite hold back the derisive snort. You've never upset me; it's always been the other way round. "Why would I be offended?"

You lift your eyes to meet mine and I notice they're perfectly shaped and lacking strength, like a statue's eternally blank stare. "Because I don't actually know who you are."

-x-

"All right, here's what I have devised for you. Hey, Vexen! Give the neophytes a round of applause. They're going on their first mission today."

"I'll give them a round of applause if they return in one piece," Vexen answers. Xigbar rolls his eye and turns back to us. He's not too bad a guy – quite funny, amicable, a little snarky for my liking – but you seem to clash with him right off the bat. He tends to dig at your uselessness; you like to ignore him and talk through me instead.

"Your mission is in Twilight Town. A nice secluded location where you can take out Heartless in peace. I'll portal you there and in one hour's time, I'll come and pick you guys up – or what's left of you," he adds with a shrug. "Axel, see if you can rein in that fire and have a degree of control over it. Saïx, the Superior seems convinced that watching Axel will prompt you into discovering your element. I know otherwise, so let's be realistic and assign you an easier task of serving as back up."

"I can back you up," you affirm, bypassing Xigbar's gaze completely and glancing up at me.

"Good luck, you two." Xigbar sends us off and closes the portal after us.

As soon as we arrive in Twilight Town, I round on you. I haven't seen a sunset in years or felt the warmth of the dying day, but I don't have time for those. Instead, I demand an explanation. "You really don't know who I am?"

"It was a bad choice of words."

"No, don't backpedal. You meant what you said."

You look unusually agitated and harassed. Your gaze – so eerie and unfamiliar – wanders around the terrace and zeroes in on the shadowy creatures that haunt the side streets, waiting for their sentence. "I went eight days without you. I've only had these scattered memories to fall back on. And now that I'm back with you, you're not much like how I perceived originally."

"You're distinguishing between Lea and Axel?" I translate correctly. You know what? Fuck this Twilight Town, it's too sunny for us. We ought to be back at the Castle, because your face will match its blank white walls so nicely. "There isn't a difference. We're one and the same."

"The Superior says there's a crucial difference." You look up, noticing the evening glow at last, but even that isn't enough to cut into your vacant expression.

"And what's this crucial difference?" I demand, and I give a derisive snort when you shrug and admit, "I don't know."

"…Perhaps the only difference is the name," I say after a few seconds. "The guys here seem very into names."

You're not convinced. "It doesn't feel right any more."

You don't elaborate. In all honesty, I'm not sure I want you to. It's bruising and upsetting to think that something doesn't sit right with us. There's an elephant in the room, but neither of us know what it is or how to get rid of it. "Is it because of your memory loss?" I try next, reaching out for you. Instead, a chakram materialises in my hand, and a feathered line of flames lick at its circumference.

You glance back at the creatures, remembering our mission. "Sorry, I shouldn't be distracting you but backing you up."

"If you want to stop distracting me, you have to do something about that face first."

You wince. So do I. I wonder if I'm just a stranger hitting on you. Quickly, before we lose track of our conversation, I swing the chakram to create a ring of fire at the alley's entrance, cutting off the shadowy creatures.

"Are you saying that you can't remember anything about me?"

"No. Everything up until Radiant Garden's fall is crystal clear. After that, things start to get hazy." You toe the ground, drawing circles and triangles.

"After we legged it to Traverse Town, you mean?" I neglect to add the significance of that point in our lives. It's nothing to be proud of. "Do you remember the escape? When I pulled you into the ship and we only had each other left?"

"I remember Lea pulling me," you answer, suddenly mulish, and this stabbing pain that starts at my ribs and cuts into my throat – this must be how it feels every time I let you down.

"We're one and the same," I repeat, because the more I say it, the truer it becomes.

"Lea and Isa are dead. They did something wrong, and we're receiving the punishment. I don't have a purpose, or a past, not even a full set of memories to fall back on. For now, the Organisation is all I have. The Superior knows the position I'm in; he understands why I struggle to be either Isa or Saïx. It's because who I am and who I want to be don't coincide. Yet," you add as an afterthought.

Two words stick out to me the most, like a black smudge on an otherwise white canvas. "You sound like a textbook," I spit at you. "And it's called Brainwashing 101. Listen to yourself, Isa. How many times are you starting your sentences with, 'The Superior'?"

You stare at me. Apparently, it takes a long time for words to sink in. "…I'm sorry." You rub the back of your head, eyebrows furrowed. "I had no idea I was doing it."

"And doesn't that frighten you?"

You continue rubbing, tugging at your long hair. It's as though you crave a bit of friction, a raw and direct sensation to remind you that you're here and not there.

"The Superior isn't your answer, Isa. If anything, he's part of the problem."

And I swear on my life – as worthless as it is – that something lifts from you. A veil, a shadow of doubt, a curse even. Colour floods back into your face and you pull what can easily be mistaken as an unconscious twitch of the mouth – if I haven't seen it dozens of times before to know its true meaning.

"Hey, don't worry." I cup your face in my hands, and screw it if I am a stranger hitting on you. "I'll make sense of things and find a way out of this mess. You can rely on me."

That's irony at its finest, and it hurts like hell. I push my luck and move to close the gap between us. It does little to comfort either party. You're right here and yet, you're so out of my grasp that until I feel your lips against mine, I would not have ruled you out as a ghost or an echo. You draw back first, fingers resting at my coat zip, forehead at my nose. You look round at the crawling ring of fire and ask, "…What am I going to do?"

"You get in tune. It's difficult to explain, but the way I see it, tearing yourself into two isn't going to help. You have to pick a side eventually. The Organisation's banking on your memory loss to make you decide to be their Saïx–" I spit out your new name, loathing the resounding hiss to it "–because it's an easy route, and letting them give you a name and a number is their way of claiming ownership. Be Isa," I persuade you, and bite down on the words, for my sake. "We'll work together – team up – until we find a way back home. Axel's a guise. Make Saïx just your guise and that's your side picked."

My side, I swallow back. I run my fingers through your hair which, despite its length, is so unruly and wild at the top of your head. You shut your eyes, not out of lazy comfort but from the need to think, to tip the scale of the balance you stand on.

It's your memory loss, I decide, that's to blame when you resent our proximity and take two steps back. "Your mission," you explain, but I smack it aside.

"Fuck it, it's nothing life threatening."

Losing you, however, is.

It's your memory loss, your fucking memory loss, that puts us on two separate pages of the same book, where we're adjacent when we're meant to be together. You can't get your head round it. You don't understand the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I have swallowed a ton of lava, whenever you talk about someone who isn't me. You have no idea how sickened I feel when I think that the Superior has laced himself into your thoughts, your mind, the very words you speak.

"Saïx is just the name you adopt when the Organisation wants you to play agent." I move forwards. My lips ghost the tip of your ear – it's the spot – and you find your way back to me. "We'll play along to their games, but on our agenda. Doesn't that sound more worthwhile than handing yourself over to them, letting them utilise your memory loss to their advantage?"

You nod, and you can't possibly imagine the weight that lifts off me when you do.

I have you back. I'm going to be 're going to be okay, because I'm not going to make the same mistakes. I know the potholes; I can't fall into them if I know they're there.

"Right," I say with finality. "Back to this mission."

You pull away from me, and that might be disappointment on your face. I summon my chakrams and make for the alleyway. I think that by running from you, I can outrun the nagging tugs inside of me.

Your lack of memory means I have a second chance. I can tamper with you, rewrite our story to cover my faults that caused our destruction.

I can redeem myself without you ever knowing you've forgiven me.

Who am I to criticise the Superior for manipulating you?

I'm doing exactly the same.

One chakram whirrs round my wrist, in time with my frazzled, conflicting thoughts.

"Hey," you suddenly call across from the terrace, and there's a pause before you say, "Lea?"

I stop. That you might be reading my mind fills me with dread. "What is it?"

You smile, raking back your hair. You have a voice that lingers. "I knew you'd be fire."

A/N: I had trouble padding out this chapter, but after a good few weeks of thought (hence the late update) I got some ideas and now it's the longest chapter to date XD So thanks for making it this far!

I will actually be away from writing this fic and Cooking Mama in November, as I will be doing NaNoWriMo (if you are too, give me a buzz - we can enjoy the madness together XD), so until late December, there won't be updates of any sort. Anyway, if you're missing me (yeah right) please do visit my LJ to see how I'm going with NaNo. Thanks for reading this chapter and as usual, reviews and comments are love