Sorry for the long absence (wow, almost a year, that's rather scary), I have had quite the writer's block. Hope this chapter as well as other updates will make up for my long down time! As always any feedback would be most appreciated.

Also, I apologize in advance for the slightly different tone, as well as change in tenses, that are included in this chapter; hopefully it will not be too jarring. Enjoy!

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Specimens and Snowflakes

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The sun had crept along the horizon toting the invisible weight of its brilliant glory along with the new day. Summer birds ruffling their feathers and practicing their early choirs could be heard among the vast plain of mingling sunflowers and unchecked tall grass. Eventually this herald of good-mornings and its accompanying sunlight became more vivid as the sun reached a higher angle of its hike through the sky, beams shining all too happily upon a well-kept, homely, but rather alone abode.

From the scantily open windows, loud creaking and abhorrence for the very daylight existing could be heard from Vexen as he emerged from his respective bed. He gave a grouchy glare to the lazy shutters that had failed to keep out the assailing gift and with contradicting annoyance, resolved to just throw open the windows the rest of the way so that the powerful rays could surge into the otherwise dark room. Horrible ball of burning gases…

Although he hissed in tight recoil at the light, he brushed off the ache in his eyes and mind as he readied himself in demure ritual for the heavy work-day ahead of him. With a heavy sigh his mind raked over dozens of trivial calculations of what would be most efficient as well as excuses to put off the task for another day.

However, his perchance to tidiness overruled his tendency to shrug off menial labor despite the reluctance that still lingered in his decision. He was about to finally tackle the bane of whenever someone moved to another locale, unpacking the rest of the house.

Damn whoever thought it was brilliant that moving pieces was easier than moving whole buildings. He scrunched up his nose as he thought who could have possibly invented the notion, only to scathingly realize: Ah yes, the laws of reality, physics and modern inconveniences.

He cast a fleeting glance to his unmade bed and decided to tend to it later, head too muggy to deal with certain morning practices in their usual order.

He made the short journey to his rather clean bathroom and turned the small tap, the rest of his mind only snapping to full alert as he splashed deathly cool water over his face. As he rubbed the water out of his eyes he recalled the day before and the events that had happened in it; he decided it was worth the risk to look at himself in the mirror above his humble sink.

He'd never been one to care or pay careful attention to his outer appearance, but he had to see for himself if he really had changed at all. Unsurprised or relieved that he was still the same man, if not healthier looking, and predictably, not as prim hair as usual, he reached for a striped washcloth off the nearby rail to dry off his face. What was I expecting? He berated himself. The only difference is internal, why would the external be affected at all?

Despite his mental confidence he still tossed the washcloth angrily back onto the brass rail. Without another furtive glance or thought, he proceeded to do the rest of his daily hygienic routine, by the time he had emerged back from his bathroom he was dressed in a fresh set of clothes and a towel was lying atop his soaked head; and as expected, the day had now taken up its never missed humidity of the summer norm.

The scientist spent few moments actually making his bed this time, his other mission was searching for something to tie his hair back with. He'd managed to find an elastic band which miraculously emerged from within the mattress but didn't think to question further as to why it was lodged there. Vexen bound his hair behind his head into a neat but comfortable ponytail as he trudged barefoot down the barren hall to the smaller but just as empty guest room Niseno slept in.

Not much to Vexen's surprise the boy was still sleeping in a curled but sloppy ball on top of his sheets with an uncomplimentary line of sleep going down the corner of his mouth. He gave one curt, "Niseno, time to wake up," as warning, and as per usual, the boy scrunched up into a more condensed fetal position, air of drowsiness indicating that he wasn't about to leave his bed.

Typical. He mentally sighed to himself.

Vexen then proceeded to do something his inner parental-sadist secretly enjoyed, nudging Niseno off the bed just enough so that he'd teeter on the edge of falling off. And just as expected the results were as amusing as they were effective: A quick yelp, thud and an indignant set of childish complaints about how 9am was an ungodly hour to wake up at.

He nonchalantly stroked the side of his chin as he watched Niseno flail messily on the floor in a tangle of his own bed sheets, voice cooler than his entertained stare, "I told you that we'd have a heavy work day ahead of us Niseno. You should know by now that when I say things they are either true or I make them true."

The boy straightened up in as intimidating manner as he could manage in clothing that dwarfed him. He scowling in vain as he squinted his eyes against the light beaming into the room. He whined at the older man, "That doesn't matter! Can't you be just a little less tight? Jeez, you're not my mom or something."

Vexen frowned without malice, tone taking on a horrific, sugary air, "Oh but my wittle smookums gummy-whummy Niseno needs to get up," he took a breath and his voice turned chillingly frigid, "or else mommy Even might just decide that Niseno needs to camp outside just to appreciate the value of three square meals a day and a bed to sleep on-"

He stopped himself as he caught sight of the dread on Niseno's face, what caused it he wasn't sure of if it was the way he had spoken or what he had spoken about, but it had certainly worked in scaring the entire color palette out of the boy. He smirked at his handiwork and mentally congratulated himself for being a brilliant orator.

The boy got up quickly and set his bed the neatest Vexen had ever seen him do, as the scientist paced about the room gathering up his thoughts for the work they were to accomplish.

As Niseno set about doing his own, albeit much sloppier task of getting ready, Vexen shuddered to himself at realizing in brutal hindsight just what he had said to Niseno.

He is not human, he is not my friend, he is a fake, a clone, a subject to be researched- His mind battered in quick session as it fleetingly tried to convince him that he was not trying to be friendly with something that was the sophisticated equal of a colony of Amoeba. He pressed his fingers to his brow as hard as he could without drawing blood.

A very sentient, sophisticated and endearing colony of Amoeba. His mind automatically supplemented much to his inner horror.

A chill ran down his spine as he recalled the lapse in him being himself and the exact uncharacteristic taunting that had emerged from his own lips.

Wittle smookums gummy-whummy?

Vexen shook his head, wanting to banish the memory from the fibers of time if not at least his memory, forever.

He cursed at himself. The only difference is internal. INTERNAL. His eyes glistened with extra wetness and he felt he ought to do something to assuage the pressure in his chest, but pride said he shouldn't show any sign of weakness, no more than he had already. It was a sensation much like the instance from the day before, but this time, he could swear he felt something like a spring of laughter bubbling in his heart instead.

The two eventually head downstairs, having a brief breakfast of milk and toast, with Niseno trying to draw out eating his own piece of then-cold toast until lunch. Vexen wound up having to encourage him to speed up at the threat of treating him to mushroom deluxe stew if he didn't hurry.

Even though a part of Vexen personally agreed with Niseno in putting off the unpacking in some minute degree, he didn't show it, rather put on the farce of prudent enthusiasm as they came face to face with the inordinate amount of cardboard boxes that sat in the neglected living room.

The scientist had decided the best way to organize the contents of the boxes was to go by "breakables" and "non-breakables" after failing in his many attempts (despite his best efforts) to explain to the boy what were the differences between things from Radiant Garden, The Castle That Never Was and The Other Place were. To Niseno all of the beakers, equipment and books looked about the same, the only differences in his opinion were how many pieces they might possibly break into if he were to drop them.

To be on the air of caution and the most efficient way Vexen saw it, was that he had to personally go through all of the boxes and hand the objects for Niseno to put X into Y order or in Z location.

Amazingly enough and despite Vexen's foreboding thoughts on progress, they had been able to go through about four boxes of books and random flasks and beakers before Niseno's curiosity started to get the better of his seemingly weak department of common sense.

"Well this looks pretty interesting," Niseno noted as he looked over the strange metal and cylindrical object. He seemed particularly keen on the shiny dial at the base of it and the look on upon his face was a perfect picture of how badly he wanted to find out just what would happen if he turned it.

Vexen irritably grabbed it from his hands, and figured the best way to satiate the boy's curiosity without getting something destroyed was to just tell him whatever object he gawked at the worst possible accident that could result from it. "This is a Bunsen burner," he explained slowly, "don't touch the dial, I'd prefer if I wasn't required to move again because of the house being turned into a heap of ash." Even if the necessary parts for the gruesome destruction missing, in the Bunsen burner's case, the source of gas, but the boy didn't need to know that.

"Oh." was the dead reply that came from Niseno, whose expression suggested he hadn't forgotten the incident with the tomato sauce, a certain pan and the stove.

The blond sighed and handed it back to him, "Take it over to the other beakers and flasks." And before Niseno could ask, added, "Also known as the 'funny glass shapes'."

They continued about their task, Niseno carrying the contents of the boxes to and fro. Soon yet another box was empty, and Vexen had began stripping off the tape of a new box as Niseno stretched during his small respite from organizing things he was totally ignorant about.

The older man saw him stretching from his peripheral, noted how much even his own muscles ached from being hunched over the boxes and wanted desperately to have a break, but stubbornness kept him at his task. But nonetheless, he did seem to be working slower despite not being fatigued…

Niseno looked about the living room and how it was now filled with glimmering containers both empty and filled and covered with words he could only fathom how to pronounce or try to understand. He was quietly in awe of all of the strange things Vexen possessed and even though he did not enjoy or really ponder why he knew how to write without having read a single book in his life, his interest in the tomes they unpacked piqued the latent parts of his oblivious mind.

Aware of the strange silence that had creeped up in the room, Niseno cast a glance at Vexen who appeared to be having trouble with the contents of the new box. One thought was that he should walk over to see what the trouble was, another thought told him to stay put, a third thought suggested a happy medium, where he could just ask Vexen what to do next.

Vexen himself stared down into the depths of the box, anger, terror and sick gratitude of what the contents reminded him of. The entire box was simply filled with the little multi-colored cards with numbers in one corner and a crown-prong cut design along the tops of all of them. He partly wanted to reach in to pull the cards out, but the greater part of him wanted to cast them into the deepest, darkest and most brimstone laden pit that was available to him on that world.

"Uhm, Vexen?" came Niseno's unsure voice.

"W-what?" came a more shaky than intended reply from the older man.

The boy just stared at him, confused about the sudden spike in vocal weakness. His foot twitching as his brain pondered what the sudden change of heart in Vexen meant.

Vexen's mind churned with more uncertainty and haste than he'd rather not delve into. He pressed his fingers to his temple again. Best to bury that rather dark chapter of 'life'. His mind had to correct him about his unfavorable personal history. It'd be more accurate to call them 'chapters' wouldn't it?

"Is that a box of cards?" The innocent tenor of a question shook him from his introspections.

The scientist gritted his teeth and braced the top of the sides of box as if the inquiry itself made him queasy. The boy nonchalantly reached into the box and pulled out a card that appeared to have a rather stylized picture of an icy crystal printed on it. "Neat!" He reached his other hand in and fished out a full splay of random cards with images of the elements, bottles and leaves. From the mess he'd grabbed he was looking through them as a gambler would at a rather promising poker hand.

"I didn't know you liked cards this much!" Niseno kneeled down to the box, beginning to sift through them with greater earnest, as if they were cards with redeemable value rather than ill karma. He continued looking through them, eyes practically glowing with fascination. Vexen stared at him numbly if not with a hint of trauma glossing his features.

How can you smile at these damn things?

Vexen's mouth suddenly seems very dry as he tried to explain the horror and the memories those wretched pieces of paper represent and mean or at least berate the boy for being so careless around them. As luck would have it though, he was saved the trouble of needing to explain, or at least, saved from the moment of beginning a tirade.

The boy now held two cards that were exceptionally different from the others. They lacked the colorful border and number in the bottom-right corner. Another difference was that instead of them having simplistic pictures they had detailed portraits, specifically of himself and Vexen.

Niseno's eyes lingered on the cards for some time, jaw suddenly unable to work out proper words.

Theoretically, Vexen's mind began in bitter retrospect; he shouldn't have any memories of it. He somewhat envied the boy initially for this blessing of artificial amnesia, but at seeing his face, his reaction, the scientist suddenly didn't feel as burdened for having a recollection of what happened in Castle Oblivion. Things could have been far worse, he rationalized. Memories are how we create control, if by controlling your own memories you can have more control over your actions, the better off you are. Better than being a puppet with memories for strings like this poor boy.

An ill-suppressed memory of the wretched castle begins to crop up; Vexen's frown deepens as the brief slide-show flicks through the events in scratchy succession. Much to his ire he has to credit his survival to creating false memories.

"You're lucky that traitor didn't finish you off Vexen," came the cool voice from the side of his vision.

The blond turned fiercely and imitated a scowl at the younger member and the silent other member by his side. "Does it matter? With all the information I spilt to that keyblade wielder it's a matter of time before the OTHER neophyte tries to exterminate me!" He spat at the ground, a reflex at the disgust and darkness that had been drowning his tongue.

Zexion shrugged the shoulder not holding the black book. "I'd like to think my illusion of your death was convincing enough." He paused, and added with dead-pan sarcasm, "Where's the gratitude beloved Vexen?"

"If I needed your help I would have-" he attempted to badly justify his pride.

"What? Finished being burnt back into nothingness by the traitor? I thought you were the most academic of us." Vexen glared even harder into his cool grey-blue eye, Zexion immediately closed his book, deciding business would come before taunts.

"Anyway, no need to worry Vexen, we found the evidence needed against Axel. Besides, Marluxia was actually easier to convince after Larxene was distracted. Once Axel's gone the plan will proceed as normal, believe it or not."

Vexen growled at him, the prospect of being used as bait was one that ill-suited his ego.

"Oh, one other thing Vexen, we don't need to use the Replica anymore."

The white-haired boy finally began to recall how to speak. "Well, that's weird, I didn't know I was on a card brand." He turned over the cards in his hands, like he was looking for an emblem or some other indicator it's some sort of cheap trick.

The scientist visibly winced at how the boy rationalized it. Vexen took a deep breath, and gratingly, attempted to go with the weak justification, "I am… just as surprised." His eyelids end up sliding closed as he tries to suppress some freakish blend of relief and not wanting to deal with the cards.

"Hey V-, Even, can we keep these?"

Vexen eventually pried one of his eyes open to look at the child. Sprinkling on some selective lies for why the boy can't keep the cards would be suspicious and possibly create more instances of error on the redone memories. "…Certainly" he finally ended up saying, albeit with barely covering up his reluctance in doing so.

The boy didn't catch it, and hopped up from where his knees were aching with being in hard contact with the floor. There was strange enthusiasm in his voice, "Is this why you were so anxious to unpack today?" Niseno's face broke out into a broad and awkward smile for some reason.

The blond man stared, head half-tilted at him, somehow enunciating an audible question mark.

"We finally have photos!" Niseno comments happily.

"Photos?" Vexen echoed half in stupor.

The boy motioned with the cards in his hands, expression beaming as if it was the easiest action in the world, "Well every photo album needs to start somewhere."

The scientist immediately regained his emotional bearings, or in the least his cynicism. He snorted at the notion the boy was suggesting, "A photo album, for what?" The bitterness apparently had been filtered out by the boy's perception, he replied in the still-optimistic tone as he did the previous statement.

"For memories of course!"