In Somnia [Lexaeus, Vexen]
Canon Status: In-canon, KHI-8 years or thereabouts.
Genre: Angst.
Rating: G.
Characters: Lexaeus, Vexen.
Pairing: None.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Not a finely-tuned work of art.
Summary: Vexen, like Even, is the least stable of them.
Lexaeus has been avoiding the area which has become their laboratory. There are other matters that require his attention, concerns such as food and shelter, which are of the first importance. At least, this is what he tells himself to explain why he goes out of his way not to pass the laboratory.
In truth, he admits, once they are firmly established in their new residence (which is not, and can never become, their home), he has been avoiding it because he does not want to find out that science, too, means nothing now, that discovery holds no appeal for him anymore. If he ignores it, he can pretend that nothing has changed.
Far too much time passes before he realizes that he has seen Vexen little more than one day in ten, quite an accomplishment in such close quarters. When he asks, the others have seen him scarcely more often, except for Xigbar, who always knows where everyone is.
“He’s been holed up in the lab for, oh, must be going on a month,” Xigbar says. “I tried to dig him out, but he threw acid at me.”
Xigbar knows Lexaeus is going to see what is wrong with Vexen. Words are unnecessary.
Vexen is a pathetic sight, if Lexaeus could be moved by the pathos in anything. Around him, a dozen experiments lie discarded, each in the stage where he found the critical flaw and moved on to the next. It isn’t like Vexen to abandon an experiment before following it through to its full conclusion; at least, it wouldn’t have been like Even. Lexaeus hasn’t seen Vexen’s experimental style yet.
Vexen hasn’t slept in far too long. His hands are shaking slightly, just enough to rattle the test tubes in their rack when he reaches for them, he squints as he does when exhaustion dims his eyes, and he brushes one loose lock of hair out of his face with the motion of an automaton. He doesn’t look up when Lexaeus comes in, although he makes no effort toward silence.
Lexaeus lifts the vial of acid from Vexen’s hands by way of announcing his presence. “You need to sleep,” he says without preamble.
Vexen jumps as if startled from a daze. “Lexaeus? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. I was worried.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No. But I would have been. You haven’t eaten in days, from the look of you haven’t slept in longer: your health won’t-“
Vexen shrugs. “We haven’t done studies on the degree to which Nobodies require sustenance in the traditional sense.”
Lexaeus pulls back one of Vexen’s sleeves. The arm beneath is painfully thin, even considering that they have all lost some weight in the frantic months past. The rest of them are beginning to gain it back, but Vexen is thinner than ever. Lexaeus thinks uncomfortably that he could break Vexen in half without exerting himself unduly. “When energy is expended, energy must be regained. This is true for Nobodies, as for others.”
“Yes, but the form of energy required-“
“Pure darkness does not sustain existence, even borderline existence such as ours.”
“You can’t know that for certain. We never-they never found anything to suggest the existence of Nobodies at all. How can we be sure-“
“Even were this true, starving yourself is not a valid experimental technique.”
Vexen looks up at Lexaeus, and his eyes are bright with something perilously close to madness. “Why should I care about ‘valid experimental technique’? What can this experiment possibly do to me that the last one didn’t? If I’m wrong, at least you’ll have one less mouth to feed, isn’t that so? I don’t see a downside, do you?”
Lexaeus knows that the sick feeling in his stomach is only an echo of what Elaeus would have felt, hearing such words from Even, but it is there, regardless. “If we do not survive, we cannot be healed.”
“If we can be healed at all. What do you think I’ve been doing, all this time?” Vexen gestures around at the clutter. “I’ve tried everything, everything, and nothing works! Nothing even points in the right direction! Everything I know leads the other way entirely, and there’s nothing left to try!” He all but vibrates with helpless frustration.
There is no tactful way to say that Vexen is missing things due to hunger and lack of sleep, so Lexaeus says it plainly. “You can’t think in your condition. Get some sleep. It will look better in the morning.”
“There is no morning here, haven’t you noticed?” Vexen asks, missing the point either deliberately or by consequence of the half-madness that has him in its grips. “Nothing for it to look better in, it’s never going to look better, because that’s not how it works anymore. It’s hopeless and will continue to be hopeless no matter whether I eat or not, so why bother? I can’t be distracted, I can’t, don’t you remember Xehanort telling us about how emotions are a distraction? Well, they’re gone, and I still can’t concentrate, not the way he promised, but if I try harder, if I get it right this time, then I’ll manage it, I promise, I’ll get it right this time, and you’ll be able to put yourselves back together if you want.”
“Vexen, listen to me. You can’t go on like this. You’re killing yourself.”
Vexen just looks at him and laughs, a horrible humorless sound, and Lexaeus is glad for once he can no longer feel afraid, because he needs to be capable of thinking rationally now of all times. Eventually Vexen says through his mad cackles, “I already killed myself, didn’t you notice? Even’s gone and he’s not coming back. I did that, I can remember everything I did, so what difference does it make?”
“Vexen.” Lexaeus holds Vexen still, so he has to face him, despite his efforts to get back to the experiment (Lexaeus doesn’t have to look closely to see at least three major errors that ensure it will never do any good). “Even is gone, but you are still here, and we can’t afford to lose you.” The thought of a world without Vexen in it is strange, unpleasant, like a puzzle with too many pieces missing. “I don’t want to lose you.”
His eyes show no recognition, as if the words mean nothing. If Lexaeus could, he would be deeply disturbed at meeting that empty gaze. “I have to keep working,” Vexen insists. “I have to fix what I did wrong.”
Going to one of the cupboards (thankfully one Vexen has yet to ransack) means letting go of Vexen, but Lexaeus judges the gain worth the risk of Vexen doing something violent in the few seconds it takes to measure out the dose. By the time he turns back, however, Vexen is acting as though their conversation never happened.
“Drink this,” Lexaeus says, holding out the glass to Vexen. “It will help you think.” Vexen takes it without asking more; Lexaeus thinks that Elaeus would feel guilty for taking advantage of that trust.
The sedative acts quickly. Vexen abruptly sets the beaker down, sways, and collapses. Lexaeus catches him before he can hit the floor. Picking him up is far too easy; Vexen weighs little more than a skeleton. That will have to be remedied when he wakes up. They have not been able to find or scavenge the necessary devices for an IV, as it didn’t occur to anyone that it would be needed for such a purpose.
How, Lexaeus wonders as he puts Vexen carefully down on his bed (neatly made and obviously unused), did this happen without any of their noticing? They should have been paying closer attention to one another, clearly, or Vexen would not have vanished from sight for so long. Zexion would have recognized the signs, if he had seen Vexen, if somebody had noticed and told him that something was wrong. It should not have been possible for none of them to notice.
True, they have all been dealing with the same situation, and while none of them are quite as far gone as Vexen, none of them are fully sane either. Lexaeus is aware that he himself has been avoiding the most difficult problems in favor of simpler, solvable ones, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do. It is unlike him, or unlike Elaeus at least, to be so ignorant of the others’ difficulties. Even was always the least stable of them, the most inclined to prioritize academic success over his own well-being; he should have been aware of this and reacted accordingly. It is no surprise that the first breakdown has come from Vexen, when he thinks about it. Therefore, it is unacceptable that it comes as a surprise at all. He must be more aware in future.
Hopefully when Vexen wakes he will be more reasonable. Lexaeus tells himself this and tries to silence the small voice asking what they all will do if he is worse. Vexen will recover. He must.
Asleep, he looks like a child, like Even, deceptively fragile with the mad focus wiped from his face. He sleeps like the dead, too still and silent, the sedative wiping away his usual unconscious motion. Lexaeus tells himself that the effect does not disquiet him.
It will be better when Vexen wakes up.
Genre: Angst.
Rating: G.
Characters: Lexaeus, Vexen.
Pairing: None.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Not a finely-tuned work of art.
Summary: Vexen, like Even, is the least stable of them.
Lexaeus has been avoiding the area which has become their laboratory. There are other matters that require his attention, concerns such as food and shelter, which are of the first importance. At least, this is what he tells himself to explain why he goes out of his way not to pass the laboratory.
In truth, he admits, once they are firmly established in their new residence (which is not, and can never become, their home), he has been avoiding it because he does not want to find out that science, too, means nothing now, that discovery holds no appeal for him anymore. If he ignores it, he can pretend that nothing has changed.
Far too much time passes before he realizes that he has seen Vexen little more than one day in ten, quite an accomplishment in such close quarters. When he asks, the others have seen him scarcely more often, except for Xigbar, who always knows where everyone is.
“He’s been holed up in the lab for, oh, must be going on a month,” Xigbar says. “I tried to dig him out, but he threw acid at me.”
Xigbar knows Lexaeus is going to see what is wrong with Vexen. Words are unnecessary.
Vexen is a pathetic sight, if Lexaeus could be moved by the pathos in anything. Around him, a dozen experiments lie discarded, each in the stage where he found the critical flaw and moved on to the next. It isn’t like Vexen to abandon an experiment before following it through to its full conclusion; at least, it wouldn’t have been like Even. Lexaeus hasn’t seen Vexen’s experimental style yet.
Vexen hasn’t slept in far too long. His hands are shaking slightly, just enough to rattle the test tubes in their rack when he reaches for them, he squints as he does when exhaustion dims his eyes, and he brushes one loose lock of hair out of his face with the motion of an automaton. He doesn’t look up when Lexaeus comes in, although he makes no effort toward silence.
Lexaeus lifts the vial of acid from Vexen’s hands by way of announcing his presence. “You need to sleep,” he says without preamble.
Vexen jumps as if startled from a daze. “Lexaeus? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. I was worried.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No. But I would have been. You haven’t eaten in days, from the look of you haven’t slept in longer: your health won’t-“
Vexen shrugs. “We haven’t done studies on the degree to which Nobodies require sustenance in the traditional sense.”
Lexaeus pulls back one of Vexen’s sleeves. The arm beneath is painfully thin, even considering that they have all lost some weight in the frantic months past. The rest of them are beginning to gain it back, but Vexen is thinner than ever. Lexaeus thinks uncomfortably that he could break Vexen in half without exerting himself unduly. “When energy is expended, energy must be regained. This is true for Nobodies, as for others.”
“Yes, but the form of energy required-“
“Pure darkness does not sustain existence, even borderline existence such as ours.”
“You can’t know that for certain. We never-they never found anything to suggest the existence of Nobodies at all. How can we be sure-“
“Even were this true, starving yourself is not a valid experimental technique.”
Vexen looks up at Lexaeus, and his eyes are bright with something perilously close to madness. “Why should I care about ‘valid experimental technique’? What can this experiment possibly do to me that the last one didn’t? If I’m wrong, at least you’ll have one less mouth to feed, isn’t that so? I don’t see a downside, do you?”
Lexaeus knows that the sick feeling in his stomach is only an echo of what Elaeus would have felt, hearing such words from Even, but it is there, regardless. “If we do not survive, we cannot be healed.”
“If we can be healed at all. What do you think I’ve been doing, all this time?” Vexen gestures around at the clutter. “I’ve tried everything, everything, and nothing works! Nothing even points in the right direction! Everything I know leads the other way entirely, and there’s nothing left to try!” He all but vibrates with helpless frustration.
There is no tactful way to say that Vexen is missing things due to hunger and lack of sleep, so Lexaeus says it plainly. “You can’t think in your condition. Get some sleep. It will look better in the morning.”
“There is no morning here, haven’t you noticed?” Vexen asks, missing the point either deliberately or by consequence of the half-madness that has him in its grips. “Nothing for it to look better in, it’s never going to look better, because that’s not how it works anymore. It’s hopeless and will continue to be hopeless no matter whether I eat or not, so why bother? I can’t be distracted, I can’t, don’t you remember Xehanort telling us about how emotions are a distraction? Well, they’re gone, and I still can’t concentrate, not the way he promised, but if I try harder, if I get it right this time, then I’ll manage it, I promise, I’ll get it right this time, and you’ll be able to put yourselves back together if you want.”
“Vexen, listen to me. You can’t go on like this. You’re killing yourself.”
Vexen just looks at him and laughs, a horrible humorless sound, and Lexaeus is glad for once he can no longer feel afraid, because he needs to be capable of thinking rationally now of all times. Eventually Vexen says through his mad cackles, “I already killed myself, didn’t you notice? Even’s gone and he’s not coming back. I did that, I can remember everything I did, so what difference does it make?”
“Vexen.” Lexaeus holds Vexen still, so he has to face him, despite his efforts to get back to the experiment (Lexaeus doesn’t have to look closely to see at least three major errors that ensure it will never do any good). “Even is gone, but you are still here, and we can’t afford to lose you.” The thought of a world without Vexen in it is strange, unpleasant, like a puzzle with too many pieces missing. “I don’t want to lose you.”
His eyes show no recognition, as if the words mean nothing. If Lexaeus could, he would be deeply disturbed at meeting that empty gaze. “I have to keep working,” Vexen insists. “I have to fix what I did wrong.”
Going to one of the cupboards (thankfully one Vexen has yet to ransack) means letting go of Vexen, but Lexaeus judges the gain worth the risk of Vexen doing something violent in the few seconds it takes to measure out the dose. By the time he turns back, however, Vexen is acting as though their conversation never happened.
“Drink this,” Lexaeus says, holding out the glass to Vexen. “It will help you think.” Vexen takes it without asking more; Lexaeus thinks that Elaeus would feel guilty for taking advantage of that trust.
The sedative acts quickly. Vexen abruptly sets the beaker down, sways, and collapses. Lexaeus catches him before he can hit the floor. Picking him up is far too easy; Vexen weighs little more than a skeleton. That will have to be remedied when he wakes up. They have not been able to find or scavenge the necessary devices for an IV, as it didn’t occur to anyone that it would be needed for such a purpose.
How, Lexaeus wonders as he puts Vexen carefully down on his bed (neatly made and obviously unused), did this happen without any of their noticing? They should have been paying closer attention to one another, clearly, or Vexen would not have vanished from sight for so long. Zexion would have recognized the signs, if he had seen Vexen, if somebody had noticed and told him that something was wrong. It should not have been possible for none of them to notice.
True, they have all been dealing with the same situation, and while none of them are quite as far gone as Vexen, none of them are fully sane either. Lexaeus is aware that he himself has been avoiding the most difficult problems in favor of simpler, solvable ones, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do. It is unlike him, or unlike Elaeus at least, to be so ignorant of the others’ difficulties. Even was always the least stable of them, the most inclined to prioritize academic success over his own well-being; he should have been aware of this and reacted accordingly. It is no surprise that the first breakdown has come from Vexen, when he thinks about it. Therefore, it is unacceptable that it comes as a surprise at all. He must be more aware in future.
Hopefully when Vexen wakes he will be more reasonable. Lexaeus tells himself this and tries to silence the small voice asking what they all will do if he is worse. Vexen will recover. He must.
Asleep, he looks like a child, like Even, deceptively fragile with the mad focus wiped from his face. He sleeps like the dead, too still and silent, the sedative wiping away his usual unconscious motion. Lexaeus tells himself that the effect does not disquiet him.
It will be better when Vexen wakes up.