Disclaimer: This be not mine, never has been mine, never shall be mine, regretfully.

Author's Notes: …So I'm a terrible person who can't write things in a timely manner? And I'm super sorry about that because it's totally unfair to you guys, but when life sorta… pummels you into submission, you don't always have the option of saying no. But to make up for it, this chapter's longer than the rest.

Dedications: To Evil-Pixie-Dust, because she is wonderful and gorgeous and the light of my everything.

Chapter 7 – Baby, Baby, Please

Standing in front of the window that views the parking lot, the blond nurse presses his fingers mutely to the glass once more, closing his eyes and seeing the pale flash of Zexion's face as the man looked back up at him. (A vague sense of unease builds in his stomach, but he remembers his resolution of earlier that he doesn't need Zexion.)

He doesn't.

And that resolution settles in his skin, in his blood, because he's survived this far, hasn't he? Hasn't he made it all this way on his own, no help whatsoever? The sun, breaking through the overcast clouds, shines in his eyes in a brief blaze of red glory; he closes them, bows his head slightly.

He doesn't need anybody. Not to hold his hand. Not to help him through this.

Demyx is fine on his own.

He has been for years, and nothing's changed now.

"Are you okay?"

Demyx jolts out of his internal reverie at the soft voice, fingers curling back in towards his palm, brushing cold and numbed against his skin. He turns, meets Aerith's concerned green eyes, and bites down the urge to sneer something rude back. With a sigh, he shrugs one shoulder awkwardly. "Headache, you know."

She studies him, a concerned frown curving her mouth. "You haven't looked too well recently, Demyx. Is everything alright?"

His anger flares (and he pretends to not notice how she sort of shifts backwards and shakes her head, like something harsh just buzzed in her ears), and his words are mocking as he says, "Oh, yeah, everything is just fine. My coworkers respect me and ask me if there's anything wrong instead of just muttering behind my back about when I'm going to fucking drop."

Without waiting for any sort of response, because he feels twinge of shock tinged with guilt from Aerith and that's all the answer he needs, Demyx strides off, flexing his hands tightly.

"…what in the world has gotten into him?" he hears behind him. Demyx's fingers twitch. And he keeps walking.

He slides into one of the patient's rooms before Aerith can catch him (because of course she has to follow him, can't just leave him alone), smiling at the tiny redhead –Kairi, he reads on the sheet– as he adjusts her IV. She smiles back up at him, shows him the little seashell sculptures she made, and he admires them appropriately, remarking on their beauty the way all kids her age want adults to do.

"D'you want one?" Kairi asks him, blue eyes large and earnest, and Demyx laughs.

Tapping on the largest one, a five-pointed star that has a face painted on one spire, he says, "Only if you make one like this for me. It looks lucky, and I need all the luck I can get."

"Sure!" And with that, she just buries her hand in a bucket of seashells that her parents must have brought her, pulls out shells in the most brilliant blues and purples that he's ever seen and sets to work as he finishes his tests. Kairi suffers him occupying one of her hands with the pulse monitor, but she still fidgets impatiently until she's fully mobile again.

The entire time, Demyx makes sure her fingers never touch his bare skin, makes sure the spines protruding through his skin never touch Kairi's soft, unformed psyche because right now, even he can admit that he's dangerous to her.

(She doesn't deserve his frustration.)

In little to no time, after many promises to come back later, he slides out of her room, down to Denzel's room, where he checks the boy for any discomfort from the strange bruises the boy forms so easily. He makes sure that he's comfortable, adjusts his lights for better reading. Time seems to jitter and jolt, at one point speeding by and at another point crawling until he can barely stand it. Demyx feels like the world has moved a few feet to the left without him noticing, and, fuck, that's just aggravating.

Denzel looks up at him while his IV is being changed out, hazel eyes serious and curious. "Are you okay?"

Demyx reflects on the irony of being called out by a kid and smiles weakly. "I'm fine, Denzel. Thank you for the worry thought, but let's just concentrate on getting you well first, okay?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be well again," Denzel murmurs as he always does, and Demyx, feeling the empty, listless ache of hopelessness radiate from the boy, closes his eyes, because he knows that feeling. God, does he know that feeling.

But still he smiles softly for Denzel, ruffles the kid's curls before he leaves just to see the answering smile it brings to his face.

The dread and jittery nerves have settled now, leaving behind a tired film that coats his actions with a slow, insidious poison, slowing his steps until he's barely shuffling back to the center of the ward. With a rough exhalation, he rubs his face. Demyx leans against the counter at the nurses' station wearily, his entire frame deflating until it's just his hip against the wood and his elbow braced on the counter top holding him up.

"Demyx?" Aerith again, her voice gone crisp and cold and still worried after his words earlier. "Are you okay?"

Demyx opens his mouth. And realizes that he doesn't really have an answer for her, the weight of everyone's thoughts and emotions dragging at his muscles, weighing him down.

He's just … tired.

He's so tired of fighting.

And the pain that never really seems to lessen wears on him more and more every day, and god, he just wants to be normal.

But still he turns to face her, and he can feel the falter in the upset thrum that resonates out from her when she sees him. "I'm fine," he says, voice soft and raspy. "I'm just… tired. I don't think I got enough sleep."

"We're all concerned about you, Demyx. It's okay to let us help you, if you need it." Aerith's eyes plead with him, large and green. And from the depths of his being, Demyx manages somehow to muster up a smile for her worry. It's nice that she pretends –and very well, too- that she cares. Almost sweet of her, really. "We're here for you."

"And you need to take a few days off anyway."

Demyx turns around to see Lexaeus shuffle out of his office with the half-steps of a person too large for the space they are in. The imposing man straightens up, fixing Demyx in place with steel-blue eyes.

Almost gently, he says, "You've been working a lot recently, and you've built up a fair amount of paid time off. Take it. Get some rest. We'll keep you on call in case we need you. But if you need rest, then you need to go home."

Demyx wordlessly looks between Lexaeus and Aerith, blue and green staring him down. There's really nothing he can say to them. Already it's obvious that they won't listen to him, that they don't get that he just wants to be trusted to know what's best for him. (But his traitorous mind reminds him that the bar is being strange and that he's feeling a little raw right now and maybe some rest would do him good.)

'I can take care of myself.'

And maybe if he repeats it enough, Demyx thinks bitterly, he'll even start to believe it.

A massive hand claps down on his shoulder, drawing Demyx's attention up to Lexaeus' serene, concerned face. "Finish today and stay home for the rest of the week. We have people who can cover your shifts."

Demyx sighs, knowing that when Lexaeus speaks like that, like there's no thought of any other outcome, he is completely implacable. "Alright," he concedes grumpily. "I'll go home in an hour. I'll restart my work again on Monday."

Aerith smiles.

And that seems like that's it. Lexaeus nods and sidles back into his office, Aerith gets called to one of the rooms, and Demyx is left alone at the nurses' desk, ears filled with the ever-present white noise that pervades the hospital. Footsteps, air conditioners, the constant whine and beep of machinery, and Demyx stands through it all, adrift and helpless.

No work for a week.

He's not sure if the empty echoing he feels is excitement or just dread.

The decision had been made before he even entered the room, he tries to console himself. Nothing he did could have changed it. He can handle a week with nothing to do. A week with only his own mind for company.

(He is going to go insane, but Demyx has to ignore that voice.)

Demyx pushes himself up, starts walking aimlessly down the hallways, fingertips brushing against the walls. The solid feeling is his only grounding point, the rest of the world swaying unevenly. Turns and twists and the scent of disinfectant and Demyx pays no heed to anything other than his own musings, just goes where it feels right.

It should really be no surprise that he ends up inside of Sora's deserted room.

Bits and pieces of Zexion linger in the plastic and metal furniture, pockets of residual calm that Demyx traces his fingers over. They catch and pull the sense-memory of Zexion in sticky tendrils that slowly, so slowly, sink into him. As the residue seeps into him, the queasy twisting in Demyx's stomach settles. Better. That's better. Now if only-

If only it was like this all of the time.

It should be like this all of the time.

It's not fair that it's not, that everyone else gets to feel so unburdened and so ignorant, but he, he has to suffer, has to feel everyone else, wouldn't it just be easier if he didn't feel at all, god, just fuck this noise, this constant pressure and bombardment of emotions. He wants to rend, to destroy, to eviscerate this world with his bare hands, wants to feel it give under his nails, that pinpoint of pressure just before the tear.

But Zexion can make it better, he can, he has, so why isn't he here? Why isn't he here to make Demyx feel better, to take the pressure off, to soothe the static noise? Why isn't Zexion here right now so Demyx doesn't have to feel this? When Zexion's around, he can submerge himself in the stream of Zexion's emotions and drown in the safe bubble of water, the rest of the world seeming distant except for the glowing letter-lotus.

The inviolable, gently glowing letter-lotus.

There's a loud crash, and Demyx blinks, his body shuddering to a halt (Had he been moving? He must have been), and he stares at the tray table on the floor.

What…

What is he doing?

'Destroying everything', whispers one particularly nasty corner of his mind. 'Just like always.'

Demyx breathes out hard, puts the voice out of his head, his entire body feeling weak. Looking around at the minor destruction surrounding him, (trays on the floor, sheets thrown around, he's just glad nothing broke) he swallows. This isn't… This isn't who he is. He doesn't do this just because one person has a life not centered around him. He's not this person.

And for the first time, he silently admits that maybe he does need the time off.

He slides out the door after righting everything in a numb haze, grabs his jacket and heads home, barely bothering to let Lexaeus know he's leaving. The constant bite and slide ofpeople barely even rouses him, as caught up in his own thoughts as he is.

What was he doing?

What was that?

That isn't him. Can't be. Demyx doesn't get upset because one person in the line of so many leaves him. Zexion doesn't matter. He doesn't. Demyx won't let him matter. There are other people who should matter more. His patients, Lexaeus, Axel, Axel, his parents (who never call him, so maybe they shouldn't…)

Burying his face further into his scarf, Demyx sighs, the breath misting and floating off in front of him. Damn this. Damn Zexion and his calm mind. Damn Demyx and his inability to be normal. Damn-

-Damn this weather, fuck too cold, not going to class toda-

-girl, leading her on only to find out oh she has a boyfriend, imagine tha-

-his boss, riding up everyone's ass, can't he just-

Demyx shakes his head again and again and again. No no. No. He's Demyx. He's walking home from his work at the hospital, he's not – a student an angry hurt lesbian a corporate worker- anyone other than 's Demyx. Just. Demyx. The slick ice and slurry on the sidewalks squelch under his feet as he hurries home in the fading light. His rickety staircase does its typical screeching and shaking, reverberations shaking up his legs.

(Later, he'll barely remember collapsing onto his bed and falling asleep.)

(But he does remember the countless dreams he has of water and drowning and Zexion's eyes and pain and when he wakes the next morning, his pillow and face are wet with tears.)

A few days later, he is roused by someone knocking on his door, the noise making Demyx's low-level headache flare. He shambles to the door, reaches out to open it, an anticipatory heat radiating from the other side. With a creak, the door opens, and Demyx looks up at Axel.

"Hey, Dem. I know you're off from work today, so I was thinking we could chill and relax." The redhead's mouth stretches into a large grin and his hands are tucked into his pockets, all easy self-assurance and barely contained snapping energy. "Weather's nice, so I was thinking a picnic?"

Demyx thinks about it for a second, thinks about the sunlight on his skin and the breeze that is nice and cool outside, and a bone-deep longing wells up in him. "Yes, god, that sounds fantastic, let's go."

Axel laughs. "Get dressed then, lazybones, c'mon, we've got a spot at the lake-park with our name on it!"

"Alright, alright, hold on for just a second!" Demyx says as he scrambles to pull on a pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, grabbing a jacket only as an afterthought. "Is it going to be warm enough out there?"

"Snow's all melted or I wouldn't be going outside for so long. You know that."

Demyx nudges Axel playfully (and regrets it an instant later, the fierce burn of his friend's happiness just a little too much to handle at such close range) as he puts on his jacket anyway. "Don't blame me if you get too cold, Axel," he forces out through his smile.

"Eh, if it's too bad, I'll just pull the blanket up over my shoulders. C'mon, I got a proper setup going on in the car. Basket, blanket, food to eat, it's all there."

"Aw, Axel, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were taking me out on a date!"

Axel laughs, head thrown back to expose the long line of his throat, and he slings an arm across Demyx's shoulders. His feelings are warm against him, and Demyx tries the same thing he does with Zexion's skin, sliding a layer of … something between him and Axel's burning amusement. It tamps down the heat to bearable levels. "Come on, Dem," Axel's voice says, and Demyx has to snap his attention back onto Axel's face before the words make any sense, "Let's just go and enjoy ourselves, okay?"

"Y-Yeah," Demyx finally answers. Smiling, he drags Axel out of his apartment. "Let's just enjoy ourselves."

The drive there is peaceful, the teasing back-and-forth that Demyx thought they had lost coming easily now with the pane of invisible glass between them. Sunlight warms the windows and the skin on the topside of Demyx's arm, and the blond leans his head against the seatbelt, feeling the headache's pressure slide down his neck and relax its claws, abating for now. It feels great. Relaxing like this, in the way that he hasn't managed in too long.

Since high school, now that he really thinks about it. Strange.

There's the crunch of the car grinding to a halt; Demyx rouses himself, opens the door to stumble into the sunlight. Grass and trees stretch out over the soft rolls of land, the buzz of cars, birds, and bugs filling the empty air. Lifting scents heavy with the smell of earth and growth, a breeze bends the grass, blowing Demyx's bangs back from his face.

Demyx breathes in the wind, feeling lighter than he has in the past few days, if he really wants to be honest with himself. He shakes off the clinging thought that Zexion has anything to do with it and follows Axel onto the green lawn, spreading out the blanket.

And for a while, that's all that matters. Just them, chatting back and forth, the fresh, cold air somehow making the sandwiches taste infinitely better, the glint of the sun off the water's surface. Demyx has his face constantly raised into the breeze, breathing it all in as deep as his lungs will let him. Wet earth, water, sunlight. Like this, with his hands buried in the soil, it's not so difficult to imagine that this is all plants need to survive.

Cracking one eyelid open to view Axel, who is talking animatedly with his hands about something that happened at work, his happiness buzzing and popping cheerily away, Demyx thinks that he would rather stay like this than disappear back into the strain of his life.

"-And then BOOM, and Reno shrieks like a little girl about his hair and just, oh man, you should've been there. I think Rude even smiled."

"Your family is crazy, man." After a moment of shared laughter, Demyx waves his hand, eyes closed to the warm light. His mind drifts pleasantly in the afternoon sunlight. "I don't have any funny stories, really, other than so there's that thing with Johnny, right, where he totally likes that skank Josephine, but I'm so mu-"

"Demyx, who are you talking about?" Axel asks, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Something you read online earlier or something on the TV in the break room? I told you to stop watching those soap-operas. They're bad for you, man."

Ice water shocks down his spine, a chill of fraying panic and dread because that's not the voice he expected to hear, too swaying and laced with sardonicism. "I-. No, I just…" He what? He what? What was he just? –but no, Johnny, god he was so fine, and Josephine was such a stupid little – What is he thinking? That doesn't- seriously, Josephine, so pretty and so ugh, but such a bitch stealing her man-

-her man-

-her-

Demyx swallows hard. He isn't her. He is… Demyx. Demyx is him. So who is she? –Josephine doesn't deserve half the shit she gets (anger anger, rage frustration, a knotted selfish little ball)- But he isn't her. Which means…

Turning his head, slowly, Demyx looks over his shoulder, eyes implacably drawn to the two girls jogging down the path behind them, ponytails swaying and bouncing with the rhythm of their steps, and the bundle of emotions blaring, like music, like the unmistakable powder smell of makeup. And they are chatting breathlessly as they run, the name Josephine falling from their lips in tones of derision as they pass Axel and Demyx.

Her.

Not him.

She had been him and he didn't…. He didn't even notice that his own mind wasn't his own anymore.

Suddenly, the ground doesn't seem as stable as it did earlier. "Axel?" he asks shakily, and Axel's head snaps up immediately at the tone of his voice.

"Yeah, Demyx?"

"Can you please take me home? I-I… I'm not feeling too good."

Axel stands up, starts grabbing everything, packing it all with a quick efficiency, shooting him worried glances all the while. Shaking, Demyx just tries to get himself vertical again, the world buzzing and whirling around him as he slowly levers himself up. They make it back to the car somehow, Demyx waving off Axel's offers of help on the way. As Axel starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, Demyx closes his eyes and leans forward, seeking the stability of his own body.

For a long time, the only noises are Demyx's heavy breathing and the purring of the car engine. The world spins around Demyx, heaving from one side to the other like a ship caught in the waves, and the bright flare of worry and fretting from Axel doesn't make it settle. Slowly, he sits up again, letting out a heavy breath that doesn't ease the tightness in his chest.

There's a pause before Axel speaks. "Demyx, you know you can tell me if something's wrong."

And for the barest instant, Demyx considers it. Considers telling him 'Oh, no reason really, other than the fact that I can feel everyone else's emotions' and 'I can't even tell who I am anymore' and 'there's a guy who can make it all stop but I can't keep him'.

A deep surge of twisting panic surfaces because no one would believe him. What is he, crazy? No one would believe him. He knows. He knows that, but it is still such a nice idea, to think that maybe Axel will understand now, after all these years. But then again…

It is Axel's fault that he's never told anyone anyway, isn't it?

So Demyx bites his lip, shrugs slightly, avoids Axel's eyes as he murmurs some vague answer about work and not eating enough. He goes back to staring out the window, not focusing on anything in particular. The silence between them is heavy with all the things Axel wants to say, and Demyx just closes his eyes and tries to ignore the oppressive blanket of heat that is Axel's frustration.

'Shut up shut up shut up,' he thinks desperately, swallowing his nausea, his shaking fear. 'I know you care, but you are not helping.'

"Whatever," he hears Axel mutter, and Demyx lets out a regretfully relieved sigh, keeping their tense silence until they get to his apartment.

As he slides out of the car, Demyx sees Axel lean over. "Hey."

Demyx looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Axel sighs slightly, something tired in the slant of his eyes, in the rough curve of his mouth. The redhead's long fingers twitch and clench as Demyx watches him decide on what to say. "I just want to make sure you're okay, alright?"

"I know, Axel," Demyx replies softly, and even he doesn't recognize his voice anymore. "But I'm fine."

I'm fine.

Axel stares at him for a moment longer before letting out a harsh breath and sitting up straight in the driver's seat. "Whatever, kid. Take care of yourself."

"You too." Demyx shuts the door on Axel's frustration and convoluted affection-pain and heads for his apartment, trudging up the icy stairs carefully. Once he reaches the top, keys cold in his hand, he turns around (and yep, there's Axel, idling on the street until Demyx raises his hand in goodbye).

At that, Axel drives away, and Demyx closes the door of the apartment behind him. Leaning against the door, he relaxes his muscles, shaking uncontrollably as he slides down to the floor. Breathe, he thinks desperately, hands over his ears as though that can block out the noise. Breathe. Must keep breathing. In, out. Simple movement, come on. Not too difficult.

The buzzing mess of people around him rises up, threatening to overwhelm him. He stands with jittery, uncertain movements and starts for the questionable safety of his room. The mess on the floor crowds his legs, though; the blond snarls, bends over, starts sorting things so he can fucking move, and once he starts, he can't bring himself to stop.

It's like the whole world is just wrong right now, and he shakes and paces back and forth across the floor of his apartment, picking things up and rearranging them to get some sense of order within his space. His brain is wheeling, bits of thought flaring into coherency before falling back into the uneasy waters of his mind.

"-Zexion isn't here anymore-"

"-God, this place is such a mess, how could he-"

"-How could they? Pretending that he's incompetent-"

"-Fuck everything, he should just go back to sleep-"

Just a deep sense of weariness and panic, pressing heavy on his mind and his heart, filling his lungs with useless, useless air.

"-Useless like him, Christ, why does he even bother-"

"-ion, Zexion, Zexion, he doesn't need him-"

"-but god, the quiet was wonderful, the quiet was amazing-"

Demyx cleans, the steady stream of thoughts bursting up past the calm these repetitive motions normally inspire. It just won't stop. His mind cannot shut up, and it is infuriating! A movie is happening transparently in front of his eyes and there is no connection between what he does and the whirl of his thoughts. Dishes are cleaned, clothes thrown in piles for the washer, and eventually, he runs out of things to do, the whirl of his thoughts never once slowing as he stands there, looks around the apartment.

He is shaking.

He is shaking, standing in the middle of a cleaned, almost immaculate apartment, and he feels… like crying. Like tearing it all apart again. Like becoming the whirlwind that infests his mind.

Like screaming.

(Like finding peace by finding Zexion.)

But all he does is turn, go into his room, slide under his sheets, and shake silently until he finally, finally falls asleep.

.end chapter 7.

Beta-d by: Evil-Pixie-Dust!

Once more, if you'd like to read a scene that happens later in the story, please, feel free to check out the story "Only Light You See"! It's set later in this story and may (or may not) increase your interest in the eventual plot of this story!

Notes for this chapter are... Demyx doesn't seem to be doing too well, hm? And Axel can only really take care of him for so long.

Reviews are appreciated, but not required, and all are responded to!