Entry tags:

ch: xigbar, ch: zexion, f: kingdom hearts, p: xigbar/zexion

But a Walking Shadow [KH - Xigbar x Zexion]
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Summary: Very early Organization. Zexion needs a distraction, and Xigbar has just the plan. Until he gets a bit more than he bargained for, at least.
Pairing: Xigbar x Zexion
Word Count: 2600
Rating: R
Notes/Warnings: Nothing very explicit, but sex disguised as existential angst. Or vice versa. Seriously. I can only get away with this because they’re Nobodies.

Although their world has been shattered beyond repair, largely it has remained the same. This is a misleading thought, perhaps, as all they can now do is cling to the memories of lives that were never truly theirs, but no alternative remains. And so each copes with his strange, new non-being in the same way that a dead man once would have, and wonders exactly what this entails.

Zexion tends to disappear.

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago – three short months ago, made shorter still by the fact that they have mostly been spent in a shocked daze – Ienzo had done the same. Being apprenticed to Ansem the Wise was a high stress occupation at the best of times, especially for the youngest: ever high-strung and eager to prove himself. Thus whenever Ienzo vanished into his quarters for days at a time, one of the others (usually Aeleus, though occasionally Braig) would eventually check in on him. Ienzo may have been ambitious, intelligent, and perceptive beyond his years, but in the end, he was still a teenager. And not a particularly well adjusted one.

When Zexion disappears, no one comes looking for him.

(Lexaeus tried only once. Driven by the memory of concern, he wandered into the corner of their ruined castle that Zexion preferred, and was told in no uncertain terms that his presence was not required. Unwilling to back down, he had learned firsthand that even in their current state, some words can still hurt.)

Zexion is even brighter and more insightful than Ienzo once was, but he has never been a child.

He isn’t quite sure why he is avoiding the others today, and the lack of certainty galls him. There is probably nothing more to it than mere habit, a likelihood that he finds unappealing. Accustomed to understanding and manipulating motivations, the possibility that he may have less than complete control over himself is more than slightly disquieting.

He catches the unmistakable scent of Xigbar a moment before the other Nobody materializes several feet away. Leaning against the splintered remains of a doorway, his arms crossed in front of him, Xigbar glances around and smirks. “I was wondering what you’ve been doing cooped up alone in here,” he announces. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

Zexion is hardly surprised by the intrusion. Remembering how Braig once behaved, he has long been expecting Xigbar’s curiosity to eventually overcome his instinct for self-preservation. Briefly he considers ignoring the older man, but suspects that such a strategy will ultimately be self-defeating. He coolly asks,  “What do you want, Xigbar?”

“For someone backing up Xehanort and Even’s theories concerning our… how do you put it? Utter lack of human emotion, you’re pretty damn moody, you know,” Xigbar replies glibly, unfolding himself and taking a few steps into what passes for a room.

“Xemnas. Vexen,” Zexion corrects automatically, even though he half suspects that Xigbar slipped intentionally. He ignores the rest of the comment, seeing it for an obvious attempt at provocation.

“Whatever,” Xigbar says casually, and Zexion knows that he was right on both accounts. “I thought you might like to know, I’ll be off on a mission now,” the older man goes on, as if the sudden change of topic is the most natural thing in the world.

Zexion glances up, interested. He had not heard that they were being assigned missions now, and wonders if anybody else has been trying to prod Xemnas, ever their visionary, into action. Noticing the glimmer of intrigue in his visible eye, Xigbar suddenly smiles – a disturbing expression to those who do not know him, and a terrifying one to those who do – and elaborates, “Xemnas finally decided we should be doing something more than sitting around staring at each other, wondering what the hell went wrong. So I volunteered to… check some things out.”

“Did you?” Zexion responds evenly, not caring for where this is going. He can imagine easily enough why Xigbar has come to speak with him.

Xigbar watches him expectantly, waiting for the obvious question. Zexion stares back in stubborn silence.  He has no intention of playing these pointless guessing games. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” Xigbar finally suggests, his smile never faltering.

“Good luck,” he says dryly before gesturing vaguely towards the door.  “Now go.”

“Afraid it’s not that easy,” Xigbar laughs. “Xemnas wanted me to take someone along, and you’re the lucky one.”

Zexion can tell by Xigbar’s stance and the vaguely predatory look in his single eye that this particular choice was not made by Xemnas. “Really, wouldn’t you prefer to take Xaldin? He’s far more likely to indulge you than I am.” There’s a telltale note of suggestion in his voice, but Xigbar only rolls his eyes.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

“A fine town,” Xigbar comments approvingly, stepping out of the portal and taking a few long strides forward onto a particularly sordid street.

Zexion hates it already.

Most of the townspeople are far too drunk to notice them, but several onlookers – gowned ladies and men in worn waistcoats – glance warily at them after their unorthodox arrival. Zexion suddenly hears a hushed muttering of “demons” run through the crowd. He smirks at the show of ignorance and superstition as Ienzo once would have, but finds the label disturbingly fitting all the same.

A filthy, young, and none too talented pickpocket suddenly slams into Zexion, and then lurches away with a rushed, high-pitched apology. “Looks like they’re taking to you already,” Xigbar remarks.

“I can see why you like it here,” he replies dryly.

It is nearly dusk, and as they walk down a street of this mad house, shrieks of laughter and bursts of music pour out from the buildings around them. Xigbar looks to be having the time of his non-life, but Zexion feels nothing but the dull echo of disgust. Ienzo never much cared for crowds, and he finds himself reluctantly sharing the sentiment. The scent of corruption permeates the air, and the evidence can be seen all around. He wonders idly how Xigbar can keep up such an act of exuberance.

A wreck of a young woman, her chemise ripped and hiding very little, veers towards them, an inviting smile upon her painted face. She has only crossed half the distance when she takes a second look at them, pales slightly, and quickly turns to ply her trade elsewhere. Xigbar chuckles lightly, “I guess I have that effect on women.”

“No,” Zexion murmurs absently, not bothering to inform Xigbar that he does, in fact, have that effect on everyone. He is too distracted by his own sudden and illogical discomfort with the near encounter – apparently another legacy from Ienzo that he would rather do without. He frowns and sets the problem aside, planning on analyzing it later.  “That wasn’t disgust at your… physical appearance. It was something altogether different. Perhaps regular people are able to sense the wrongness about us,” he hesitates, considering the possibilities.  “Xemnas will want to know.”

“Said it had to be you,” Xigbar reminds him, suddenly serious.

Zexion sees no need to respond to the comment, and instead finally asks, “What exactly are we supposed to be doing here?”

“Some nonsense about gaining some information on the exact nature of our… what do you call it? Affliction,” Xigbar begins as they turn a corner and almost walk into a worn looking man, his waistcoat stained with blood and dirt.

“You two look ready for a bit of adventuring,” the stranger begins in an oily tone that Zexion doesn’t care for, “I’ve got me a treasure map I might be willing to part with for say…”

Zexion dances a few gold coins across the back of his hand, and watches as the cheat’s eyes lit up. He asks the man several quick questions about the alleged treasure, and judges from his reactions, verbal and otherwise, that this story may very well be true. Possibly worth checking out at some point. The transaction is short and silent, and afterwards Xigbar glances at him thoughtfully, “I didn’t know you had brought munny.”

“I didn’t.”

“Tricky,” Xigbar comments. “I hope you’re okay with using it again, because it’s a sure of a hell lot better than what I was planning.”

“I can’t imagine that being overly difficult,” Zexion murmurs offhandedly, quickly examining the map before tucking it away. “How exactly did you intend to gain information on our affliction, as you put it?” he asks out of curiosity, certain that no plan engineered by Xigbar will be of any use. In any case, they have likely already come across their most important piece of information tonight, he decides, again considering the young woman’s (prostitute, his mind supplies) adverse reaction to them. He doubts that they will come across anything more telling.

“Vexen wants to know more about how our physiology has changed, so I figured I’d see what sort of effect booze has on us nowadays.”

For a moment, Zexion is certain he misheard. Then he remembers that this is Xigbar. “You intend to complete a mission by getting intoxicated,” he deadpans.
 
“That’s what I said,” Xigbar replies seriously.

It is an interesting question, and Zexion has to admit to some professional curiosity concerning the matter. He also wonders how much more difficult Xigbar will be to handle drunken than sober. “And you haven’t tried this before?”

“Not for research purposes,” Xigbar answers easily, heading for the nearest (and loudest) tavern. “I’m going to need that coin trick.”

The tavern’s interior is, if possible, even more squalid than the city outside. A sudden burst of loud music grates unpleasantly against Zexion’s heightened senses, and he moves off into the far corner, prepared to watch Xigbar make a fool of himself. The other Nobody does not disappoint; he buys himself a bottle of rum and then gets loudly distracted by a young blond man playing card tricks.

Zexion is no longer paying him any attention. A young couple, obviously too drunk to care much for discretion, is putting on an impromptu show in a nearby corner, and he’s watching with unabashed fascination. He is vaguely amazed at how foolishly these people are ready to act for moment’s pleasure, and wonders idly about the connection between intimacy and human emotion. This gap in his understanding irks him: Ienzo, ever foolish, never held much interest in the subject, and has left him no borrowed memories upon which to fall back.

A heavy arm falls across his shoulders, and Xigbar presses a glass of rum into his hand. “To research,” the older Nobody remarks, bringing the bottle to his own lips. “So you’ve taken up voyeurism yourself now? Good plan.”

Zexion glares at him and shrugs the arm away. Looking at him thoughtfully, Xigbar finally asks with quiet interest, “Ienzo was a virgin, wasn’t he?”

“What of it?” Zexion replies tightly. He barely has the strength even to resent being little more than the shadow of a man too blind to prevent his own destruction.

“Nothing,” Xigbar says easily, taking a swig of his rum. “Who cares? He’s not you.”

“Of course not,” Zexion agrees calmly, though there is that note of intensity in his voice that always means trouble. “How can we be them? We’re nothing at all.”

“Maybe so,” Xigbar allows carefully, finishing the bottle, “but if this herd of… walking human waste is something,” and he gestures vaguely around the crowded room, “we’re better off without. Come on, this alcohol isn’t working. Let’s go home.”

He lets the bottle fall to the floor, where it shatters into a thousand pieces, and turns to leave when Zexion’s voice, quiet and commanding, stops him, “Wait. I want to do one more experiment here.” In theory, something of which they have no memories wouldn’t mean anything at all; this is the single easiest method they have of testing that. But he knows that the scientific gloss isn’t what motivates him.

He doesn’t want to spend his life, whatever that might mean, with only the memories of a dead fool. And he doesn’t imagine that Xigbar might decline. “Here,” he says, flinging several illusory coins at him. “Get us a room. I grow tired of this circus…” Zexion trails off, glancing disdainfully around the room (a fight has broken out on one side, and doesn’t look to be ending anytime soon) and heading for the stairs.

“What do you…? Oh.”


Pleasure, much like pain, has nothing to do with emotion.

Zexion, pinned up against the wall (Xigbar had initially suggested the ceiling, but that idea hadn’t lasted longer than about five seconds), learns this quickly. It is obvious that Xigbar (or Braig, rather) has more than a bit of experience – he knows exactly where to touch and exactly when to pull away, and chuckles softly at the small sounds he inspires.

Grasping at the fastenings on Zexion’s pants, he suddenly asks, “You sure you’re okay with this? You’re not going to kill me in my sleep or something, right?” The only reply is a sharp and not entirely unexpected glare, and he continues to work the garment free, muttering, “Hey, just asking.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Zexion finally relents, his lips mere inches from Xigbar’s ear. He’s shivering faintly, more than slightly affected by the tantalizing caresses, but his voice is nearly as cool and collected as always. Xigbar has no idea how he does it.

He still can’t quite believe this is happening at all, even though he has managed to get Zexion’s clothes off entirely and is now running his hands across bare flesh. This is Zexion – Zexion, whom he sometimes still thinks should have gotten ice instead of Vexen – pressed against him and softly gasping.

Zexion, who has never once in his admittedly short life allowed himself to lose control. Xigbar figures that may be a problem, especially if the kid has any intention of actually enjoying this. “You know, this will be better if you relax a little. Let go a bit. It won’t kill you,” he suggests.

“I am relaxed.”

Physically, it’s true enough, Xigbar has to admit, appreciating how Zexion doesn’t tense when he starts to push inside of him. “Not in any way that matters.”

“Xigbar, enough,” Zexion demands tightly, his voice velvety soft as he moves insistently against him. He does have to fight momentarily for control over his own reactions, but it isn’t nearly as difficult as he had anticipated. Perhaps the lack of emotion leaves the mind less easily affected.

A moment of vertigo, and the world spins dizzyingly. Gravity shifts, and he’s suddenly lying on the wall instead of against it. He briefly considers commenting on this, but decides against distracting Xigbar while he’s…

Well, it’s simpler this way in any case.

He decides that he prefers not having any borrowed memories of this. Everything in this pseudo-life is barely a shadow of what once was, and an experience not tainted by the memory of something more is a pleasant diversion. He can still tell that something is horribly missing, but it’s easier not knowing exactly what.

“And here you said you weren’t going to be indulging me,” Xigbar comments afterwards, tangling his fingers absently in Zexion’s hair.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replies dryly, though he doesn’t bother to push Xigbar away.

Xigbar soon shifts away of his own volition, and tosses him his clothing. “Feeling better about… whatever now?”

Zexion smiles slightly but makes no reply. Xigbar takes that as answer enough. “I figure you don’t want to report on this part?”

“Not particularly, no.”



A/N: Title shamelessly borrowed from Shakespeare. Kudos if you can guess which drama. And which monologue!

Honestly, I feel that Zexion (and Xemnas even more so, for other reasons) would have been highly affected by the implications of their rebirth as Nobodies. Highly controlling + extremely intuitive about psychology + the lack of free will that comes with being motivated by memories that are technically not your own = BAD. Serious, serious identity crisis, among other things.