This chapter is horribly later than expected. The past year and a half has been both good and bad. And very, very busy. I hope that this chapter lives up to the expectations of those of you who are still reading.

Summary: Because humanity should have never asked for something it could never handle...

Rating: M for violence, but mostly as a precaution.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or Disney. All characters mentioned within this work belong to their respective creators. I do, however, own the plot and would appreciate not getting robbed. It's not on my to-do list at the moment- check back next month.

Thanks: I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. If it weren't for you, I would have never managed to finish this.

Also, this chapter is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. If you find anything, please let me know. I'll fix them as best as I can.

Happy reading!

November 17, 2011

Oceanic blue eyes swiveled from side to side, blinking away the crusted remnants of sleep, examining the way the faint morning light illuminated the pale yellow walls. Gently, their owner rolled to her side, slipping one pale foot over the edge of the bed, lithe little toes bending as she shifted her weight onto the cold, wooden floor. She smiled as she tried to straighten, one leg half bent over the mattress, the other trying to keep her from falling forward. There was a hand clutching at her nightgown— an oversized shirt that had once belonged to Demyx (she had stolen it from his closet so many times that he'd stopped trying to get it back)— and that hand didn't seem to want to let go, its slender fingers knotted around the bunched fabric. Quietly, smiling all the while, she untangled the digits, one by one, replacing her worn nightgown with the plush white comforter she'd recently been resting under. Kairi's face scrunched in response, her button nose crinkling, her lips falling into a light frown, but she simply rolled to her other side in something like defiance, burrowing further under the blankets, strands of thick red hair peeking out from underneath.

Naminé laughed quietly to herself, a strange sort of sound she muffled behind her palm as she tip-toed across the cold floor, goose bumps running up her legs and pulling at her navel. She stopped once she slid out the door, leaning back against the wooden frame, biting at her lower lip. The house was still around her, silent in the cool morning air, bits of sunlight reflecting off the pictures on the wall. It was homely and warm and impossibly inviting and—

She felt like an intruder.

When she had gotten to the Islands, she had been placed in a hotel with her classmates. It was bright and airy, but it wasn't permanent. No one lived there; no one called that place home. When chaos had broken out on the mainland, she had been placed in a high school with all the other refugees. It was full of student artwork, dusty trophy cases, and bulging lockers, but it wasn't a home. It wasn't a place where families gathered. It was just… a space. Nothing more than a place of learning, of talking with friends and teachers and— leaving. No one stayed there forever.

But this wasn't just a space. This was a home. This was someone's home. And she was just a guest. Someone that didn't know the island way of life. Someone that never should have been allowed here at all.

When Riku had extended the invitation to stay with him and Sora at his aunt and uncle's house, she had wanted to decline. She had wanted to grab Kairi's hand and smile her most apologetic smile, the one that always fooled her friends, her teachers— everyone. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the offer— or even want it deep down. It was that this made everything too permanent. If she and Kairi and everyone else were left in the school or the hotel, they were simply misplaced for a while. Naminé could pretend that everything would be okay, that there was merely a problem with the airlines or a mix-up with paperwork or… anything at all. She could hold on to the hope that this was all temporary. That she could still go home. That there was no reason for Demyx not to be okay, not to be alive and well and worried about her because she'd been gone for so long.

But that was a fool's hope. Things were different now. People were getting hurt. And she couldn't just grab Kairi and smile. She couldn't refuse.

The transport from the mainland had become a top priority among the Destiny Islands' meager body of government. All displaced persons taking refuge in the island's hotels and school buildings were ordered to evacuate and relocate elsewhere in preparation for the flood of people the transport would presumably be bringing onto the island. There were officials standing by to place them— starting with the younger children— into family-owned homes. It would have been foolish for her and Kairi to refuse the offer and wait to be placed. There were too many people and too few places for them to go.

She sighed at the thought, shaking her head, blonde tangles falling into her eyes, toes curling inward. She felt like an ungrateful child. She should be thankful— happy even— for her good fortune. Riku's aunt and uncle had taken her and Kairi in with open arms. They had provided them with food, shelter, and even a bed to sleep on. Yet, here she was, wishing she was back at the high school, wishing she was home.

"You're up early."

Naminé startled at the noise, tangled blonde hair falling to the side as she turned toward the sound, oceanic eyes wide. Riku stood just a few feet away, a crooked smile on his pale lips, a pair of sweatpants sliding down his boney hips. He looked like he had been awake for quite some time, his strangely colored eyes alert, his silvery hair brushed and tucked neatly behind his ears.

She tried to smile back at him, but it must have been wrong, because he tilted his head to the side immediately afterwards, eyes glazing with something like concern. She opened her mouth, as if to reassure him, but she quickly snapped it closed, biting at her lower lip with her teeth. She had never been alone with Riku before. There was always a buffer between them— Sora or Kairi. It was never just her and him… and she wasn't entirely sure what to say. She could change the subject with Kairi, get her started on something else entirely until she'd completely forgotten what they were supposed to be talking about, and she could fool Sora, hiding behind her pretty smile and childlike eyes. She couldn't do any of that with Riku. Those eyes of his would see right through her in an instant. So, she said the only thing she honestly could. "I couldn't sleep."

Riku nodded a bit at that, sea-like eyes shifting away from the frail girl and into the living area behind him. Sora was curled up on the couch, knees pulled to his chin beneath the blankets, messy brown hair flattened against his pillow. It had taken Riku hours to get Sora to fall asleep the night before. The brunet was too wound up, too upset and preoccupied with Roxas to shut down for the night. If Naminé was feeling anything like Sora, he could understand why she looked so distressed. Her eyes weren't red-rimmed like they were the day they had met, but… she was no better off than Sora. Their sadness went beyond visible tears.

"Come with me. I know a little trick that might help you sleep a few more hours," Riku stated, turning back toward the blonde and motioning her forward as he slipped down the hall and entered his family's whitewashed kitchen, listening all the while for quiet footsteps following along behind him. He pulled a stool out from under the bar as he passed, the tear in the worn fabric catching on his fingertips for just the slightest moment. He flashed Naminé a genuine smile, hoping to calm her down as he motioned for her to sit, and began to bustle about the kitchen. "Do you like chocolate?"

The blonde quirked her head to the side, blue eyes lighting up, thin lips pulling upwards despite her uneasiness. "I adore chocolate," she answered honestly.

The male turned to her with an empty mug in hand, a childish flourish in his step as he held it up like a prize, the dark blue glass glowing happily in the early sunlight. Naminé snorted at the uncharacteristic little dance, oceanic eyes going wide as she covered her mouth with her hands, near-silent giggles escaping her pink lips. Riku sent her a kind smile, hands beginning to make her hot chocolate, eyes watching her with amusement. That little trick always made Sora laugh— and he normally saved it especially for him. But he didn't think that Sora would mind. "I'm glad. Otherwise, this wouldn't work very well."

Naminé quieted, pressing her lips together in amusement, hands sliding down to rest in her lap, "No. I guess it wouldn't."

Riku filled the mug with a brownish liquid, steam rising from the top and tickling his nose. He blew on it a couple of times, setting the still steaming mug down in front of the waiting blonde before leaning against the bar across from her. She lifted it with pale fingers, lips blowing at the rising wisps of steam, their corners turned upward into a small smile. Riku thought she looked a lot better smiling, as opposed to crying. Tears didn't suit a face like hers— a face like Sora's. But worries and concerns, problems of all shapes and sizes— they were hardly ever solved with smiles. They were barely faced with tears.

"Why can't you sleep," he asked her simply, even though he already knew the answer, voice kept low to avoid scaring her off, to avoid waking Sora who really wasn't that far away.

"I..," she started, trailing off, blue eyes swiveling between her steaming mug and the sea-like orbs across from her. "I think…," she stopped again with a little huff, shaking her head. There was no reason for her to lie. "I'm worried. I'm worried about my parents and my old house and… my brother. I'm worried that the transport is going to get to the City of Departure and that he— he won't be there. That he'll miss it or he won't— he won't be able to make it," she bit her lower lip, voice echoing around them, silent tear drops falling into her mug, her palms coming up to wipe them away, a pained laugh crawling up from her throat. "I'm sorry. I don't—"

"There's no need to be sorry," Riku cut her off, resting his chin on one of his palms, smiling at her a little sadly. He leaned forward ever so slightly to tuck a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled back at him dejectedly, more out of reflex than anything. And she really did look better when she smiled. "I think you should only be sorry if you're not worried— if you're not upset. He's your brother. You're supposed to worry about him."

She colored a bit at that, too blue orbs watching her mug of hot chocolate, her pale fingers tinting red from the heat. "I just want him to be okay, you know?"

Riku leaned back at that, following her movements thoughtfully. It wasn't a question that needed to be answered, and he didn't want to give her any false hopes. He didn't want to tell her that her brother was still alive, that her parents would be able to hug her again, or that she would be able to go home soon. He didn't want to tell her any of that, just like he didn't want to tell Sora. He didn't want them to believe him and then hate him when it was over— because he'd lied, because he'd fed into their fantasies and let them get crushed when they didn't come true. But even so, he could reassure her just this once, couldn't he? That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Naminé finished her mug, tentatively setting it in the sink like she had been told the day before. And just as she was stepping away, her eyes growing heavy with sleep and exhaustion, from tears and barely realized contentedness, Riku grabbed her hand with one of his, slender fingers, squeezing for just the slightest moment. It was just this once. Just this one time.

"He will be. Your brother— he'll be okay."

His voice was rushed and jagged, like he wasn't able to form the words like he should have been, like they were foreign and wrong. But he could feel her squeeze back against his fingers, feel the weight lifting from his chest, like he'd done the right thing— made everything better for just a moment or two. And he could literally feel her smile as she padded away, the door at the end of the hall opening and closing with just the barest hint of a squeak.

He stood there for a moment, one hand coming up to run through his hair, the other knotting against Naminé's lingering touch. And then the moment was over and he was tiptoeing back into the living room. He stopped over the couch, body hovering over Sora's, fingertips lightly skimming over the other's arm absentmindedly.

Sora's hand curling over his own stopped him some time later, his palm warm and inviting. Sleepy blue orbs met those of the sea.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

The brunet smiled at that, lacing their fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the back of the other's hand, "Nothing… Nothing at all."

Demyx pressed his chapped lips together, his damaged arm held close to his chest, his shoulders hunching beneath the layers of fabric stretched over his shoulders. He should have felt relieved. The transport had arrived hours ago, and people were steadily boarding the steel vessel. Pretty soon, so would he. He would be pushed onto the ship just like the others. He would be leaving the poisoned mainland. He would be safe. And isn't that what he wanted, what they all wanted? To be safe? To finally be away from the screams of the infected, from the wreckage of what was left of their world?

But he didn't feel relieved.

He felt cold— and it wasn't the kind of cold that he felt before, that was caused by the chilly November air or the icy waters. It was the kind of cold that seeped deep into his bones and caused his stomach to steel with dreadful anticipation. It was the kind of cold that made him worry, that made him feel like there was something horribly wrong with this situation. That whatever was going to come next wasn't safe. That he shouldn't be here— that none of them should be here.

He jerked as slender fingers wrapped around his own, the digits squeezing in something like desperation, a brittle shoulder bumping into him on his right. He turned toward the movement in just the slightest way, dirty blond hair falling against his cheeks, oceanic eyes catching one cobalt orb for a fleeting moment. Zexion didn't say anything. He just laced their fingers together a little more thoroughly and kept moving forward, following the crowd closer and closer to the ship. It wouldn't be long now before they could board. And then, he could stop worrying. After all, what was going to happen to them now? They were already so close to freedom, to leaving the mainland behind. He had nothing to worry about.

But he was worried. He was so, so worried. A million things could go right for them now, but a million others could go wrong. And he always wanted to look on the bright side of life, to look at the positive in any given situation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about all of this. And maybe it was because Axel wasn't there with him like he always was. Maybe it was because the redhead wasn't holding his hand anymore— because Axel had his brother and Demyx wasn't going to ask him to leave him because he needed protecting, because he needed him to make him feel safe. But, maybe it wasn't just that. Maybe it was the horde of people in front and behind him that reminded him of the monsters hiding within the inner walls of the city— they were all so thin, worn clothes hanging from their bodies, eyes surrounded by dark crescent moons. They were nearly the same as the others, only still breathing, still clinging to life. And he and Zexion and Roxas— the three of them must look the same. The way they all looked— that couldn't be what was making his heart sink into his chest. It just couldn't.

Oceanic orbs narrowed, chilled breath catching in their owner's lungs. Demyx stopped in his tracks, his head jerking from one side to the other, Roxas and Zexion glancing at him questioningly, lithe little fingers tugging at his hand. "What's wrong," the shorter blond whispered, button nose scrunching, icy blue eyes swiveling between Demyx and the transport, people continuing to board, unaware of what was happening beyond their position in the crowd.

"It's quiet," Demyx whispered back, almost like it was a secret, the fingers from his free hand clutching at the material of his jacket, the wound on his arm stinging at the added pressure.

"It's supposed to be," Roxas replied, coaxing him forward so they were moving again, keeping up with the rest of the crowd. "If we all start talking, we'll lure a horde. You know that."

"No— I know— It's just…," Demyx huffed quietly to himself, trying to get his point across, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

Zexion blinked at him, squeezing their linked fingers, backpack heavy against his back, the worn straps pulling uncomfortably against his boney shoulders. "Why do you want it to be louder," he asked, deep blue orbs staring at their shuffling feet, one knobby knee poking out from beneath his tattered blue jeans.

"I don't… It's not the people. It's everything else."

Roxas clenched his teeth at that, lips quirking slightly to the side, icy blue eyes shifting to the trees in the distance, to the decorative bushes and silent buildings nearby. Demyx was right. Nothing was making any noise. And that made sense for the people— sound attracts hordes; sound equals danger. But what about the trees? What about the animals that were supposed to be in them? What about the birds and the squirrels and whatever else inhabited them? They weren't in the same kind of danger. They had no reason to be silent.

And it was possible that they just weren't there anymore. That the animals had recognized that there was something poisonous in this city, that they had retreated to a safer area. But it just didn't make sense.

It felt like a bad horror movie. The kind that you watch to laugh at the actors, the kind that's hardly scary because you can already see everything coming before it happens.

"Just keep moving. We'll be fine," Roxas stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest, baggy jeans slipping down his hips as he moved. As long as they kept moving forward, they would be fine. The transport couldn't possibly hold everyone that was gathered at the mainland, but they were close enough to the ship that they should be fine. Whatever was going to happen probably wouldn't happen to them.

And wasn't that the worst way to think.

Demyx shook his head, more to himself than anything. Roxas was much more of a survivor than he was. If the blond wasn't worried, than he shouldn't be either. It was probably nothing anyway. He was just being paranoid.

Gunshots rang out up ahead, followed by the sound of voices. Angry voices. Human voices. The effect on the crowd was instantaneous, a nervous sort of hum filling the air, people beginning to talk back and forth. Asking questions that didn't really have any answers, feet stopping their desperate trek toward their only chance at safety. Demyx couldn't see what had happened. But, whatever it was, it was near the transport. And it wasn't good.

The voices up ahead began to rise, bits and pieces here and there hitting his ears. There was something wrong. They weren't letting someone board— they were fighting, people pushing forward, trying to get on the transport, trying to avoid the guards at the ship's entrance.

And just like that, there was chaos. People started pushing against his back, his wounded arm burning as he was pressed against the people in front of him, Zexion's cheek colliding with his shoulder, his lithe body stumbling forward. More shots were fired up ahead, orders being shouted over the crowd to stay quiet, to stay in line, to stay calm— but no one was listening anymore. They just kept moving, trying to get to the transport, trying to get to safety. Screams came from the back of the line as a putrid stench began to fill the air, true panic filling the crowd.

They were here. They had found them.

Demyx rushed forward with the crowd, his breath caught in his chest, fingers tugging at Zexion to make sure they stayed together. He could feel Roxas' hand clenched around the fabric of his jacket, a splotch of honey blond hair at his side. In front of them, the guards were pushing the crowd back, readying the boat for departure even though people were still trying to board. Behind them, the horde was coming closer, touching at the last of the crowd of people, the screams of the damned and the screams of the infected filling the once silent air.

He stumbled as they made it to the ramp, the terrified people behind them pushing him in such a way that he was unable to fall, the shouting from in front of them and the screaming from behind them pressing against his ears, everything muffling to a dull sort of roar. He tightened his grip on Zexion's fingers, sweat slickening them, the lithe digits trying desperately to hold on.

"I've got you. I've got you," he screamed against the other, his voice barely heard above the crowd, their fingers sliding against one another. Zexion's was pushed sideways, his bag catching on the moving bodies behind him.

And then he was gone, deep blue orbs wide as he was carried away.

"Zexion," Demyx yelled desperately, oceanic eyes terrified as the smaller disappeared, his frail body swallowed by the crowd in seconds. He was pushed to the side, his body bumping into Roxas', the two of them crashing into the ship's rails, the honey blond clutching fiercely at his jacket, at the rails before them. They could see the massacre on the mainland, beneath the ship's edge. People were running everywhere now— not just toward the ship, but toward the city, toward the water. They were just trying to get away. Away from the blood and the stench and the screaming.

And they weren't going to make it.

Another surge of people pushed onto the boat, the crowd pressing them more forcefully against the rails. Demyx squeezed his eyes shut, his injured arm joining his other, trying to hold on as his ribs were pressed into the unwavering steel. He felt his body begin to lift, his lips pressing together as he realized what was happening— they were going to push him off. There were so many people trying to reach the boat… and the boat simply couldn't hold them all.

He was going to get pushed over the side.

Taking a deep breath— a panicked breath, Demyx pressed his knees against the rails, winding his leg around the bar by his feet. He couldn't let them push him over. He had to get to Naminé. No matter what, he couldn't let them push him over— she was waiting for him. His little sister was waiting for him and he wouldn't— he couldn't let this be it. He was going to make it. He had to make it.

The ship moved beneath his feet, his body sliding to the side as the transport was put into motion, as they disembarked from the mainland, people trying to jump aboard even as they left, the ramp still scrapping along the ground, the sheer mass of people preventing the crew from letting it up. People were still pushing, pressing him against the rails as they made room for those who were still coming aboard. And a new kind of screaming was starting to well up against the sounds of the infected and their prey.

People from the ship, those who were being pushed overboard, those who were being trampled by the panicked, by the desperate.

Demyx held on tighter to the bars, his injured arm screaming at him to stop, stop, stop— and he couldn't. He had to hang on; he just had to. He coughed as his lungs searched violently for air, his ribs pressing viciously against the rails. And the people wouldn't stop— they continued to press against his back, to push him farther and farther into the steel, unaware of what they were doing, uncaring that they were.

He felt fingers knot uselessly in the fabric of his jacket, the article slipping from shoulder with a violent tug. Oceanic eyes shot open, just in time to watch as Roxas went over the side of the ship, those icy orbs of his terrified as his fingers lost their grip, as he hit the water. Demyx watched helplessly from the rails as Roxas went down, his body disappearing beneath the water only to resurface again seconds later, coughing and sputtering. And he couldn't do anything. He couldn't move to help him, he couldn't call out to him because of the lack of air in his lungs and— he could only watch.

Watch as the ship moved farther and farther out to sea, and Roxas became farther and farther away.

The screams on the ship began to renew in volume, echoing along with those on the mainland, the pressure lifting from Demyx's back, his body falling backwards with a jerk, his hands trying desperately to keep him in place. He could hear the sound of people hitting the water, not just from the rails. They were falling down the ramp, their bodies tumbling into the sea, terror filling them— not unlike Roxas. The dirty blond coughed, wheezing as air filled his lungs, oceanic eyes searching beneath the boat— searching for honey blond and icy blue.

They found him.

Roxas was swimming back toward the mainland at an angle, riding the currents in a way that would push him farther away from the docks and hopefully farther away from the horde.

He hoped Roxas made it. He hoped— oh god, he hoped. And he cried. He cried for all the people who never made it to the boat, the people who wanted so badly to get to loved ones on the Islands but never had a chance. He cried for the people who lost family members and for those who never had families to begin with. He cried for the infected and the people who didn't make it.

And mostly, he cried because he did.

Nimble fingers curled around worn cloth, brittle bones creaking as he shifted his weight from one side to the other. The man in front of him just blinked, his pitch black hair falling down his broad shoulders, his eyes completely indifferent to the bruised child standing before him— he had seen it all, heard it all before. And it had been a long day.

"I can't help you," he grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs screeching as they collided with the ship's laminate flooring.

Zexion gritted his teeth, deep blue pools narrowing dangerously. He wasn't a fighter. Life had told him that time and time again. And normally, he didn't question it. Normally, he didn't really care. He could deal with a little pain here and there— he'd almost always had worse. But, this wasn't about him. And he was running out of time. "Can't or won't," he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lieutenant Xaldin, I was under the assumption that this transport was sent from Destiny Islands to help the people left on the mainland, not cause them harm. You are obligated to help the people on this boat. Seeing as dozens of this transport's original passengers have already died in transit— due to you and your men's inability to deliver proper crowd control when necessary— I would assume that you should be going out of your way to protect those whom you negligence has yet to kill."

The Lieutenant growled, the chair ramming into the wall with a resounding thump as he stood, his bulky frame leaning over the wooden desk before him, his hulking arms and broad shoulders bulging beneath his navy blue coat, the Destiny Islands insignia glowing against his chest. "How dare you," he accused, thin lips pulling into something like a snarl, dark eyes narrowing in anger. "This is my ship! I am in charge of my men! And we are doing everything we can to ensure that all of you make it to the Islands! I will not take time away from the passengers at large to help one person, who may or may not even be onboard!"

"And what are you doing for the passengers at large," Zexion quoted, clenching his teeth, leaning his frail frame forward so that he too was grabbing at the desk, pushing against its wooden surface. Deep blue met angry purple. "I am not the first person that has come into this office— and there's a line that will be coming in after me. What have you done for them? Something? Anything? Name one person you've helped since we boarded this boat!" He pointed to the door in one violent motion, his chest heaving, his pulse beating rapidly beneath his skin.

A vein in Xaldin's neck bulged, "That's enough, you little—!"

The door to the cabin opened with a pull at its rusted hinges. The both of them stopping in their argument long enough to watch another man walk in. He wore a uniform much like Xaldin's, the pants and jacket a matching navy with the Destiny Islands insignia pressed against its breast, but he was smaller, leaner with ganglier limbs and a strangely crooked smile on his face. "I don't know what's going on in here, but I can hear it out in the hallway. You're scaring the passengers— they're starting to panic again, Lieutenant."

Xaldin growled low in his throat, his body slowly lowering into his chair, his chest still bulging outward. "It's nothing, Luxord. We're done here. The child was just leaving."

"Not until I get what I came here for," Zexion snipped, his button nose scrunching angrily, the newly formed bruise around his eye stinging in something like pain. He wasn't backing down. Not this time.

"Then you'll be spending the rest of this journey locked in a cabin below deck and transported to the juvenile authorities as soon as we reach the Islands. Is that clear," Xaldin asked with narrowed eyes, his large knuckles tightening as his fingers wound themselves into a fist.

Zexion didn't flinch. "I'll scream. I'll scare every damn passenger on this boat," he threatened, pushing himself impossibly closer to the desk, his slender bones pressing into the wood. "I'm tiny. How do you think it's going to look when you drag me out of here? I'll put up a fight, but I'm so much smaller than you that it won't even matter. You'll look like a bully. Do you really think that those people out there are going to listen to you— trust you— after you pull a stunt like that?"

"You insolent little bas—"

"Hey, hey, hey," the other man piped, putting his hands up in something like surrender as he took a few steps closer to the pair, that strangely crooked smile still pulling at his lips. "I think I have a solution to this. I'll help the boy with whatever he needs, and you can get back to dealing with the other passengers. Everybody wins."

"I do not take threats idly, Luxord." Purple eyes narrowed at the boy in front of him, Zexion's arms crossed over his chest, his brittle bones visible through his shirt's thin cloth.

Luxord just shrugged, running one of his hands through his platinum blond hair, bright blue eyes transferring between the two. "Look, the kid has a point. He looks like death just warmed over. If we lock him up, people are going to talk— and they're going to talk loud. If we do this my way, the kid gets what he wants and we don't have to deal with a riot. Again, win-win. You can't beat those odds in a bet, man."

Xaldin gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching in barely suppressed anger. "Fine. Have it your way. Just get him out of my sight."

Zexion felt the other man grab his elbow, slender fingers wrapping around his arm, the appendages unwrapping from their crisscrossed position as he was led from the room. He glanced back at the Lieutenant's bulky frame before being pulled into the hallway. The man simply narrowed his eyes at him, and let him be. He'd won. Zexion had won. But it wasn't over yet.

"So," Luxord drawled, stopping them once they reached the upper deck, the line to Xaldin's door far below them, "what is it that you want anyway? I mean, it must be important. Mostly everyone wants blankets, food, and the like, but I doubt you would risk jail time over that. You seem like a smart enough kid."

He sighed, letting his deep blue eyes shift down to his feet, watching his toes curl through the holes in his old running shoes. "I'm looking for someone," he stated. "We were separated when we boarded."

"A lot of people were separated, kid. And some of them aren't here anymore."

Zexion started, shaking his head at the thought. People were trampled during the panic at the mainland, but that didn't mean he had to accept the possibility that Demyx was one of them. "He was hurt a couple of days ago. I have his medicine with me. He's supposed to take it every twelve hours. I need to find him."

The blond sighed, crossing his arms at his chest, bright blue eyes softening a little sadly. He didn't know if the kid's friend was still alive or not, but… there was no harm in looking. The poor kid had probably lost everything already. The least he could do was try to find what he had left. "Alright. I've been running errands on the decks since the last of the panic at the docks. If he's here, I've probably seen him."

"Dead or alive, right? By errands on the decks, you mean that you've been throwing the dead overboard to make room," Zexion replied, blue-tinted hair falling against his cheeks, chapped lips pressing into a tight line.

Luxord's lips curled into a sad sort of smile. "Yeah, kid. That's what I've been doing. If he went over, I probably saw him when it happened. If he's still here, I've probably seen him." Luxord ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous sort of twitch pulling at their tips. "Look, I'm not promising you that we're going to find him in the condition you want him to be in, but at least you'll know."

"Does knowing make it better," he asked, mostly to himself. He knew what happened to his father— he killed him. The knowledge of the what and the how and the why, it didn't make it better; it didn't even make it make sense. But, what about his mother? He didn't know anything about what happened to her. Was he more content in the knowledge he held about his father's death, or of the possibility of his mother's? He honestly didn't know.

The blond quieted at that, the question he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear pressing against his ears. He didn't have an answer for the kid. And really, who was he to say even if he did have the answer? He'd been on the Islands for all of this time. He knew nothing of the world on the mainland over the last few weeks. People were dying everywhere— and he didn't know if knowing what happened to them made the idea of their loss any better. He just… didn't know. "Alright. Well, I've got quite the memory for cards, so let's see if that holds up for faces. Tell me who you're looking for, and I'll do my best to find him."

Zexion looked back at the man, both deep blue pools momentarily exposed as he brushed his bangs behind his ear, the discolored bruises on his fingers throbbing in just the slightest way as he brought them back to the straps on his tattered bag. "His name is Demyx. He has blue eyes, like— like the ocean. And dirty blond hair. It's longer on the bottom than on the top, kind of like a mullet but not."

Luxord smiled widely at that, his whitened teeth showing as his lips spread back against his cheeks. "I see that cards are certainly playing in your favor. I'm pretty sure I know who you're talking about. He should be somewhere on the lower deck. I saw him this afternoon while we were collecting the deceased. Come on, I'll show you were I saw him last."

And just like that, Zexion felt Luxord's spindly fingers wrap around his elbow again. This time, he followed the man through the crowded upper deck, people brushing against him as the blond cleared a path, his worn shoes catching on the stairs as they went down. The lower deck was even more crowded— desolate-looking people covering nearly every inch of the space, blankets huddled around their knees to ward off the growing chill in the air— but Luxord didn't seem to mind. Instead, he pulled him along step by step until they were at the far side of the deck, the side nearest the loading ramp, the side that took the most damage during the panic.

Zexion's breath caught in his throat as he saw him, his body colliding lightly with Luxord's as the man stopped in front of him. Demyx was huddled against one of the rails, his legs thrown over the side of the ship, his seat situated on the boat's deck. He wasn't facing them. He was facing behind them, where the mainland had long since disappeared in the distance. And Roxas wasn't with him.

"I see my work here is done," Luxord stated, patting Zexion on the back and pushing him forward, his lithe little feet stepping over the people between him and Demyx, the blond who had helped him slipping from his mind. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the dirty blond, his back straight, his lips quivering.

He felt relieved.

Even though Roxas wasn't with him and he had no idea what had happened to him, he felt unbelievably relieved to know that the one and only person he truly trusted— truly cared about— was still alive. And he didn't know how to deal with that or what he was supposed to say, but… he wanted to try. He really, really wanted to try.

"Hey."

Demyx jolted, dirty blond hair brushing against his cheeks, oceanic eyes widening as he turned his head back toward the crowded decks. And there stood Zexion, His body was just as thin and frail as it had always been, his clothes seemingly hanging from his meager frame. The panic had obviously taken its toll on him, a few newly formed bruises clearly visible on his pale skin, but… he was smiling in a way that Demyx didn't think he would ever forget, straight rows of pearly white teeth beaming at him, too blue eyes watching him with something like elation. He was okay. He was really okay.

"Hey. I looked for you," the dirty blond smiled, turning back toward the water as Zexion moved to take a seat beside him, his lithe legs pulled to his chin, those deep blue orbs watching Demyx's face instead of the endless ocean before them.

"And I found you," Zexion replied simply, the smile on his face disappearing as he pressed his cheek to his knees. Demyx didn't really mind— his eyes were just as bright as before.

"I—," Demyx stopped himself, biting at his lower lip, shaking his head back and forth as if to clear it. Zexion seemed so happy to see him— and he was happy to see Zexion. Honestly, he really was. But, at the same time, he was almost ashamed of that happiness. Ashamed of himself for being so happy when they'd lost someone, when he didn't know if Roxas was okay, when he didn't know if he was even alive. It was just… selfish of him, wasn't it? "Roxas isn't here."

Zexion blinked at him, his arms pulling his legs a little closer, the straps from his worn backpack pressing uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. "Do you want to tell me what happened," he asked, his voice catching at his throat. He had already guessed that Roxas wasn't with them. Life would never allow for things to go so well.

Demyx swallowed, a sad smile pulling at his lips, his oceanic eyes staring at the sea all around them. "He went over," he stated, pressing his chin against the steel rail in front of him, his legs dangling over the edge.

Zexion turned his head away, his bangs falling into his face, his fingers knotting into the fabric of his jeans. And as much as he had expected to hear those words, they still caused a sinking feeling in his gut, a pulling at his chest. He didn't really know Roxas. He didn't know what his favorite color was, or if he had a big family or a little one or no one at all. He didn't know if he was living for someone he had lost or living because he hadn't found them yet. But… he liked Roxas. He knew that he liked to argue, and that he didn't always have to get physical when he did. He knew that he was strong, but he was still just as afraid as he was. Roxas was human. And Zexion wasn't the kind of person that made friends easily. He didn't go out of his way to talk to others or get close to them. But, he wanted to be Roxas' friend. He really, truly did.

And now, he would never get the chance.

"Did he say anything… before he went," Zexion pried, eyes swiveling upwards to watch Demyx's face. The blond just blinked at him, his mouth quirking slightly to the side, his eyes widening in something like recognition.

"Oh, no— no, no, no. I am so sorry," Demyx sputtered, leaning so that he was closer to the other. "He's not— No, he's still alive— or he was. When we were at the mainland… everyone was pushing us against the rails and he just— he fell."

Pale lips curved into a smile on their own accord, their owner twisting slightly to the side, one palm coming to rest at the deck's surface to keep him upright. "Do you think he'll be okay," Zexion asked, his voice inflicting upwards with something like hope. If he'd made it back to the mainland, there was a chance that he was still okay, wherever he was. There was a chance that he made it back to the research center, where there was food and shelter and people. There was a chance that he would be seeing him again. Maybe not anytime soon, but someday.

And he could wait. He could wait a long time if he had to.

Demyx looked at him for a moment, oceanic eyes squinting at their corners in what was almost a smile. Maybe he was stupid and idealistic; maybe he was just selfish. And maybe, possibly, things worked out sometimes. Realistically and idealistically. "At least he knows how to swim."

Zexion blinked, his lips twisting impossibly farther upwards, his chest tightening. And then, he laughed, a euphoric sort of sound that pulled at his throat. It was a happy sort of laugh, something between incredulousness and elation. It didn't take long for Demyx to join him, the people around them staring in something like disbelief, the two of them clutching at their sides as they pressed against the rails.

And maybe, every once in a while, life could work out after all.

November 18, 2011

Icy blue eyes narrowed at the whitewashed ceiling above them, their owner sighing somewhat dejectedly. He'd thought he'd made it. He'd thought he'd done it— survived this place. He'd honestly thought that everything was going to be okay, that he would never have to come back to the screams and the terror, the scattered bodies and the broken families.

And that he could see Sora again. That he could wake up every day knowing he was right there, that he could touch him and laugh with him. That they could go back to being brothers that had nothing and everything in common all at once.

It was a stupid thought. A stupid, idealistic thought that he should have never humored. One that he should have thrown away as soon as it had tugged at him, as soon as it had begun to form in his mind and pull at his chest.

But, he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to throw it away. He'd wanted to hold it and cherish it until it came true, because it was a beautiful thought. Stupid and idealistic and beautiful. He lost everyone else in the outbreak. Everyone. He lost his friends, his grandparents, even his teachers. There was no one left but Sora. And Roxas missed him so much. It was almost unbelievable how much he missed him, how much he wanted to see him again. He was annoying some of the time and an idiot all the time, but right here— right now— he would do anything to see him again.

Anything but wish he was here too.

Anything but wish he was trapped on the mainland with him. Anything but wish he had watched their friends die or been trapped in that truck. Anything but wish he'd been there when he and their grandparents had hidden in the basement below their rickety old house, when their grandfather had pushed Roxas out of the way, taken the bite that was meant for him. Taken the death that was meant for him.

Sora didn't need to see that, the death and the decay. He didn't need to see any of it. And if it had to be between the two of them, Roxas was glad he was the one left on the mainland, the one who had to see everything. It wasn't what he wanted out of life or what he was thinking when he'd hugged Sora good-bye before he'd boarded the plane, but if this was the way things had to be, he was grateful. Grateful that it was him and not Sora, grateful that he was the one who might not make it.

Out of the two of them, Sora would always be his favorite.

Blue orbs rolled at the thought, a wiry sort of smile pulling at the corners of his chapped lips, his fingers tip-tapping against the white mattress below him, the bandage wrapped around his leg pulling at the appendage as he sat up. The smile grew as he looked around him, the stark white walls hiding two doors at their corners, a mirror reflecting his face back at him, honey blond spikes askew. He'd been here before. And he supposed that there were worse places to be. He'd certainly expected less when he fell from the transport, when he'd returned to the mainland slightly downstream, the screams and the stench and the cold seeping in.

He'd expected to die. He'd expected to run until he couldn't run anymore, until his feet were bloody and his pants had made their way all the way down his hips. He'd expected to be eaten, to be torn limb from limb by teeth and claws and rot. He hadn't expected to be swept up in the heat of the madness, fiery red hair and sunglasses grabbing at him, wrapping him in their dark cloth and hushed words, gunshots echoing around them, tugging at his waterlogged ears.

He wasn't awake for very long after that, and he wasn't entirely sure what happened at all. But he had his suspicions. And the more he thought about it, the more his smile grew into something like a smirk, his back hitting the mattress and the air leaving his lungs in one elated sort of breath.

"Nice to see you're still alive in there, Roxy."

A button nose scrunched, freckles crinkling at the motion. He looked back toward the ceiling, the distorted voice from the speakers echoing in his head as he contemplated the never-ending whiteness, the end and beginning of everything. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he quipped, his lips moving of their own accord, easily falling back into the banter they'd grown so accustomed to.

Laughter floated through the speakers, the sound ghosting over him in wisps, his fingers tightening against the bleached sheets, his toes curling inward. "Your quarantine should be up soon. It's kind of against the rules, but I can bring you down a sandwich or something later, if you want."

"What? No crème brûlée, stuffed turkey with all the fixings? And here I thought we were friends." His eyes began to water, the ceiling above blurring as his voice broke, that smile still pulling at his lips, elation still pulling at his chest.

Another round of laughter drifted through the speakers, the water at his eyes leaking at their corners. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, man."

Roxas swallowed heavily, a lump catching in his throat, the water running down his temples in silent tears. He had an impossible dream. A dream where the world went back to the way it was supposed to be. A dream where no one was afraid. A dream where he got to see Sora again. And right now, that dream wasn't going to become reality. But… "Thanks, Axe."

He was grateful all the same.

November 19, 2011

Thin shoulders weaved through the crowd, shouts pressing against her ears, the fingers tangled around her own tightening as they made their way closer to the docks where more and more people gathered. Oceanic eyes searched the people before them, the people who were slowly disembarking from the ship, their bodies but husks with their shallow cheeks and sunken eyes. She shuddered as they reached the edge of the gathering, barricades preventing them from moving any farther, wisps of blonde hair falling against pale skin as the breeze brought the smell of the sea to her nose. There were so many people coming from the mainland… and she didn't see him. She didn't see Demyx anywhere.

"What if he's not here," she asked, her voice breaking as the crowd of people coming from the boat began to thin, each of them congregating into lines to receive their living arrangements as the soldiers instructed. What was she going to do if he wasn't… if he wasn't on the boat? If he didn't make it? Demyx was her everything. She had Kairi, but Kairi wasn't her brother. She couldn't fix things like he could. She couldn't make miracles happen just for her. That's what brothers were for. And her brother— her Demyx— he was the best at making miracles.

"He'll be here," Kairi reassured her, tightening her grip on her fingers, loose strands of red hair flapping against her shoulders. Naminé glanced at her fleetingly before returning her attention to the boat, her heart sinking farther and farther into her chest. There were only a few people coming from the boat now, straggling behind the others, looking a little more broken than the others with blankets pulled over their shoulders, with bandages holding them together.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head in something like desperation, blonde strands slapping against her cheeks. He had to be here. He just had to. She needed to apologize for being so mean to him when they were younger. She needed to tell him how much she loved him for drawing her pictures, for kissing her nicks and scraps, for being there when their parents weren't. She need to see him again, to hug him and never let go. She needed him to still be alive.

"Naminé! Look, look," Kairi exclaimed from beside her, her nimble fingers letting go of her own to lean over the barricade. "Demyx! Demyx! We're here! We're here!"

Oceanic orbs went impossibly wide as she saw him, sliding down the side of the ramp with a limp in his step and a sling on his arm, an impossibly wide smile on his face. And he didn't look like she remembered. He didn't have that same rosy tint to his cheeks or that same light in his eye. He looked ragged and worn and—

She'd never been so happy in her life.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, she stumbled over the barricade, her shoes catching as she went over, Kairi trying to hold her shirt to keep her from running, from getting them into trouble. She didn't care. She'd never cared so little about anything in her life. Naminé hit the cement near the docks hard, the harsh surface biting at her knobby knees as she picked herself up, ignoring the shouting behind her, ignoring Kairi's hand as she yanked herself free from the barricade and the crowd. And she ran, her worn sneakers slapping against the concrete and the wood at the dock, her body dodging the hands that tried to grab her, tried to hold her back.

And then she was there, leaping at her brother, bowling him over and back against the ramp, the two of them hitting the ground with a thud. She didn't care. She just hugged him tighter and tighter, her slender fingers knotting in his shirt, tears pressing into his chest like they would never stop again. "I love you," she mumbled over and over, the words crawling from her throat as her chest heaved.

Demyx tightened his arms around her, his back still pressed against the ramp, pain flaring at his arm. She felt thinner than he remembered, her slender frame pressing against him as if it never wanted them to be apart again. But… he'd missed her so much. So, so much. And here she was. Alive and well and— he couldn't ask for anything more than that.

He didn't know how long the two of them stayed like that, with Naminé whispering against his chest, with him holding her against him, but he felt Zexion pull at his hand, trying to get them up and away from the ramp. Demyx smiled at him, blowing wisps of his sister's blonde hair out of his face as he sat up, Naminé coming up with him, still refusing to let go. The people below them stared as they made their way from the ship and toward the others from the mainland, but Demyx barely noticed them. And before long, they were away from the docks completely, shuffled away from the crowds by Luxord and a few of the other soldiers, questions about their living arrangements and provisions pressing against their ears.

And then there was the silence of the Islands, the ocean breeze pushing against the small ocean front homes, the three of them standing together, Zexion standing to the side as Naminé continued to press against Demyx. She was still crying, tears spilling from her eyes so like her brother's, her fingers still knotted into the fabric of his worn clothes.

"Naminé," Kairi shouted as she ran to meet them, stopping a few feet away, her hands at her knees as she caught her breath. And she smiled when she looked at them, all pearly white teeth and barely seen freckles. "I told you he'd be here, didn't I," she stated cheekily, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

And Demyx never really realized how much he missed her too, with all that red hair and those quipped remarks. "And I'm not going anywhere," he told her, a genuine smile stretching across his lips. He pulled Naminé away from his side, bending in just the slightest way to look into her red-rimmed eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated in a whisper just for her.

Naminé nodded, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her oversized shirt, her body ridged as she tried to keep herself still, as she tried to keep herself from plastering against his side again, tried to keep reminding herself that this wasn't a dream. This was reality. She wasn't going to wake up any moment to find him gone again. He was there. He was really there. "I'd never let you," she finally said, her voice cracking as she wiped at her eyes.

Demyx laughed, a laugh that she thought she would never have the chance to hear again, the sound echoing against her ears like it did when they were children. She'd missed it. It hadn't even been three months since the last time she'd seen him and she felt like so much had changed. And then, so much hadn't. He didn't look the same as he did before she'd left. He didn't have the same carefree sort of air he had when she'd left him at the airport, when she'd hugged him good-bye, but… he could still laugh. He could still make all her worries go away with that smile of his.

And he was still her brother. He always would be.

"So, boys," Kairi smiled, her pretty blue eyes swiveling between Demyx and Zexion, the boy she'd never met before, "would you like to see your new home?"

The dirty blond straightened, leaning against Zexion's shoulder as he came to stand closer, that smile still stretched across his lips. He had a lot of things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Naminé and Kairi about everything on the mainland— the good and even some of the bad. He wanted to tell her and Kairi about everything Axel had done for him, about the sacrifices he'd made to make sure he made it here. He wanted to tell them about the good in people— the facility of soldiers and scientists and the blond boy who could push Axel's button faster than anyone could before. And he wanted to tell them about all the souls that were lost, all the people that didn't make it, because people cared about them— and so did he.

But for now, all of that could wait. He had all the time in the world.

"Yeah. We'd like that very much."

Picking Up the Pieces

July 26, 2012

"You're doing it wrong."

"I'm not. I'm doing it differently."

"You're doing it differently if differently means wrong."

Axel swore under his breath, nimble fingers closing up the envelopes like he'd been told to. Only, he wasn't doing it exactly as he was told because that took too long and he had enough damn paper cuts. Seriously. It wasn't like skipping a step or two was going to mess up the mail delivery. "Differently as in better."

"Axel," Roxas groaned, resting his chin on his palm, elbow situated precariously on the worn desk in front of them, tattered sneakers scuffing along the linoleum floor.

"Roxy," he replied in a sing song tone, paper cut fingers dropping the finished— very much closed— envelope into the cardboard box at his side. He leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight as he balanced on its back two legs, his own lanky limbs scrunching to push against the top of the desk. He shot Roxas a cheeky grin. The blond just rolled his eyes with a huff and a turn of his head. That was fine. Axel was pretty sure he was trying to hide a smile anyway.

The redhead stretching, covering his mouth as he yawned, strands of hair falling from his ponytail and falling into his eyes. It was hard to believe that they were running for their lives less than a year ago. Things had settled down so much after the transport left. There were still problems— hiccups of outbreaks here and there, with hordes still coming out at night— but people weren't as afraid as they used to be. There wasn't as much fear permeating the air. The stench didn't seep into his bones like it did before.

Things were going back to normal.

He laughed aloud at the thought, a snickering sort of sound that had Roxas raising one blond eyebrow and quirking his lips to the side. Axel just shrugged at him, smiling back in a way that had the blond turning his head again. Normal. It was a silly thought, really. That this was normal. If the outbreaks hadn't happened, he'd probably be getting ready for college now, fighting with Demyx about who really had the best pizza in Atlantica, trying to have the biggest blowout summer before he officially became an adult— not working as a mailroom attendant. Not sitting in a plastic chair eight to twelve hours a day, six days a week. Not surrounded by missing persons files and random provisions that somehow never fit into the storage closet just down the hall.

But hey, he couldn't complain. It could be worse.

He— the kid brother that kept messing up— was an adult now. And he was okay with that. He'd earned the title. He didn't get the chance to finish high school; he would probably never get to go to college. But, he'd sent his best friend across an ocean to safety without him. He'd nearly killed a guy in a gas station— and then missed him when he was gone. He'd shot a man because he'd had to. He'd watched the brother he'd always looked up to swallow his pride and lean on him for a while. And… somewhere along the way, he'd grown up.

"Stop smirking like that. You look like a moron."

"Oh, Roxy. Why must you wound me so?" Just not completely. And he didn't think he ever would. But, he could live with that.

One honey blond eyebrow rose. "Keep calling me that and I'll really wound you."

"But I love you," Axel sang, smirking like the Cheshire Cat, pearly white teeth clashing with his bright red hair, lankly legs stabilizing him against the desk as the plastic chair beneath him continued to wobble.

"If this is your love, I'm surprised your brother hasn't carved you up like a turkey yet," Roxas quipped, lips pulling upwards at the edges in the familiar way that they always did when he was around Axel, the bite behind his words broken by the scrunch of his button nose, by the mirth behind his icy blue eyes.

"And here I'd thought we'd broken you of your homicidal tendencies, Roxy," Axel chided. "Now, repeat after me," he cleared his throat, placing his right hand in the air in some sort of mock pledge, "I shall not kill. People are friends. They are not—"

Roxas cut him off with a punch to the arm that sent him flying backwards, the unsteady chair losing its balance and giving out beneath him, red hair and lanky limbs spreading out over the linoleum. The blond choked on a laugh, clutching at his sides as he bent toward his knees. Acidic green eyes stared back at him, looking almost flabbergasted as they tried to understand just how they managed to get onto the floor.

Axel got up a few seconds later, laughing as he rubbed at his arm. "I am so going to kill you."

"Now, now, now," the blond tutted. "Homicidal tendencies, Axel. Homicidal tendencies. And you were doing such a good job, consulting the pledge and everything."

"You are such an ass." Green orbs rolled.

"Umm, is this a bad time?"

Axel stopped, turning his head to the door of their makeshift little station. There was a woman standing at the door, one hand on the knob like she wanted to bolt, one foot inside as if she was determined to stay. She was hardly over five feet tall, with a thin build and jutting bones. Her skin was pale and her clothes were worn, hanging off of her in tatters. And beneath her tinted hair, there was a pair of deep blue eyes that he was sure he'd seen before.

She'd probably gotten lost on her way to the cafeteria. The hallways were tricky after all.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Do you need directions," he asked, righting his chair and taking a seat at the desk. Roxas looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, a light frown appearing on his lips like it tended to when he was thinking.

The woman didn't move for a moment. She simply stared, knotting her fingers in her clothes, swallowing thickly. Finally, she took a step forward, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. "This is the mail room. I need to mail a letter," she whispered to the room at large, those deep blue eyes of hers not quite looking him in the eye, her shoulders squared like she wasn't going to be leaving until she got what she wanted.

Axel tilted his head slightly to the side, bringing one hand up to push loose strands of hair out of his eyes. "Well, you've come to the right place. Do you have the letter ready to mail?"

The woman swallowed again, walking up to the desk and pulling the crumpled envelope out of her pocket, smoothing it out between her fingers like it was something precious. "I don't know the address. The registry didn't say."

"Okay. We have address listings here. Just hand over the letter and we can have it sent to Destiny Islands by the end of the week." The redhead held his hand out, gently taking the letter from the woman, eyes widening at the name. "You're looking for Zexion Snow?"

She swallowed. "The registry said he was on the transport to the Islands. I just— I need him to get the letter."

And the look on her face was almost desperate, almost scared in a way he could remember. "We'll send it. We have the address on file."

The woman nodded, slowly backing away from him and reaching for the door. "Thank you," she said, a soft smile turning her lips as she opened it.

Axel stood, leaning over the desk, cheap chair clattering in the process. "They aren't allowing anyone to go to the Islands yet, but they've scheduled a transport for some time in September. I could put you on the list if you want. There's still room."

She shook her head, tinted hair slapping at her cheeks, that smile growing sadder and sadder right before his eyes. "No, thank you. I've— I've done enough damage."

And with that she was gone, sliding back out the door like she'd never been there, one white letter sitting on his desk. The door opened again a second later, just as he was sliding back into his chair. Skinny features nearly identical to his own brought a smile back to his face.

"Guess who brought sandwiches."

August 3, 2012

Zexion wiped at his brow, nimble fingers coming up to rub at his raw shoulders, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his hair plastering to the nape of his neck. He smiled crookedly at the boxes before him, each now filled with the required amount of fruits and vegetables, cans of meat sticking out here and there. It wasn't lavish by any means, but it was food. And after everything he'd been through, he couldn't really ask for more than that.

"Staying overtime again?"

He smiled at the question, twisting to look toward the front of the warehouse, boxes scattered around him, littering the floor and stacked up the walls. Demyx stood in the doorway, leaning against the building's frame in that charming way of his, a carefree smile stretched across his permanently chapped lips, sunburnt skin stretching at his shoulders. The sun was going down behind him, the last of the daylight illuminating the warehouse, an impossibly long shadow stretching out from in front of him, just barely touching at Zexion's toes. "Someone has to," he replied cheekily. "I'm nearly finished."

Demyx quirked his mouth to the side, stretching his arms overhead as he walked farther into the building, clumsy feet knocking a box here and there. He stopped when he got closer, collapsing onto the empty table at Zexion's side, the legs creaking as he laid down across it, huffing and sighing. Zexion just rolled his eyes, shaking his head, sweaty hair tapping against his cheeks. "Tired," he asked, as he began to grab the boxes at his feet and pack them away.

The dirty blond grunted, laughing a bit at the sound, oceanic blue eyes turned toward the dusty ceiling overhead. "Mail duty today," he stated by way of explanation.

Zexion sighed sympathetically. No one ever wanted mail duty. The Islands were crowded and some people moved houses almost daily in the hopes of finding somewhere with a little more room. Whoever ended up with mail duty always ended up running around the Islands for hours trying to find every last person on their list, no matter what the weather happened to be. Most people complained until they were given another assignment, but Demyx never begged his way out of it— which was probably why he ended up on mail duty two or three times a week.

"Sorry," he mumbled a few moments later, coming up to rest his elbows against the table, his face directly over Demyx's, oceanic orbs meeting the darkest of blues. "No swimming lessons today?"

Demyx blew at his hair childishly, tinted locks billowing in the false wind, his deep blue eyes squeezing shut, his button nose scrunching. The dirty blond just laughed, sticking his tongue out at him as soon as he opened his eyes again. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

Zexion smiled at him, resting his head on one of his palms, his other hand coming to play with the loose strands of Demyx's hair. "Pity. I tried."

"And that's your best effort," Demyx asked with one eyebrow raised, leaning against the slender fingers brushing against his scalp.

"It's been a long day," Zexion tried, his voice tilting questioningly, a devious little lilt in his speech. His smile widened at Demyx's disbelieving laugh.

"Not buying it," he announced, crossing his arms over his chest, those oceanic eyes of his filled with mirth. "Even Naminé has better excuses than that."

"But you'd never deny her a thing," Zexion quipped.

"Guilty as charged." Demyx rolled off of the table in one smooth motion, his clothes twisted at his sides. And he looked almost ridiculous with his reddened skin and his childish eyes that had no right to still look at him like that, but Zexion couldn't help but follow his every movement, to smile at him as he moved. "Oh," he exclaimed suddenly, embarrassment spreading across his cheeks as he patted at his jeans, pulling a crumpled envelope out of his pocket and holding it out to him. "This came for you in the mail today. It's from the facility at the mainland."

Zexion looked at him quizzically as he grabbed it, his eyes narrowing slightly at the handwriting on the envelope. The address was undeniably Axel's, but his name… it was just like he'd remembered it. He blinked, shaking his head with a little smile, tucking the crumpled paper into the front pocket of his jeans. "Are you ready to go?"

"Aren't you going to open it?"

He shook his head, smiling at the blond as he shuffling backward toward the door of the warehouse, the dying sunlight stretching his shadow, making it dance across the wall.

"It can wait."

A/N: And so it ends. It's taken me a long time to write this story, and I think I've changed a lot in the time it's taken me to get from the beginning to the end. It was a real challenge for me to write and very much out of my comfort zone, so I'm glad that I did manage to finish this. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I've gone back and forth between loving and hating this story so many times that I doubt I'll ever figure it out, but I am proud of it in an odd sort of way and that's enough for now.

Honestly, I don't have much to say about this chapter. The ending wasn't as climactic as it was plotted to be, but I think it works better this way. There isn't really supposed to be an ending, because life keeps moving on no matter what happens. There's really no such thing as an end, just as there is not such thing as a beginning, if that makes any sense at all.

As it is, I want to thank everyone who made it to the end, all the reviewers and shadow readers and so on. Without all of you sending me reviews and alerts letting me know that people were still reading, I never would have managed to get this far (with this story or any other). And I would also like to send a special thanks to those of you who took the time to PM me after chapter 7. It really meant a lot to me.

Production: I think that this will be my last chapter story. I don't have the time to update as often as I should, so I think it will be better for me to stick to one-shots or three-shots.

A Little Word Math for You: Reviews = Motivation; Motivation + Time = New Stories (Also, all signed reviews are responded to)