Dark Horse Running - Chapter 4: Two for Two

[incontrast]

Title: Dark Horse Running - Chapter 4: Two for Two
Series: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: T (violence, blood, this escalated so quickly I’m sorry)
Pairings: None
Genre: General, drama, action
Word count: 6696
Spoilers: Yes, for BBS
Summary: if the sky comes falling down, for you
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do


Ven--

--no, not Ven--

--Vanitas snapped out of his daze with a small twitch of his shoulders, head rising and sharp eyes quickly scanning the room -- until they met Terra’s, where they instantly stopped to hold his hard gaze.

Terra had been angry plenty of times before now. Angry at his failures, angry at his darkness, angry at those who would hurt his friends, angry at betrayal. In each of those cases, however, he had been able to do something about it, or at least try.

That was what made this situation so particularly infuriating.

Those eyes, that expression -- they weren’t Ven’s. They didn’t belong on Ven. Vanitas didn’t belong in Ven, and yet here he was, having stolen something that wasn’t his, something personal that nobody should ever have taken away from them--

Terra knew. Terra had been there. And the only thing more painful, uncomfortable, and humiliating than those memories was looking at his best friend now going through the same thing.

And, as it stood, Terra couldn’t do anything to help.

He didn’t budge when Vanitas looked at him, but remained where he was with his arms crossed over his chest. The main hall of the Land of Departure’s castle was well-lit despite that it was after dark, illuminated by magical torches that ran along each wall at head-height. Terra stood before the small staircase at the head of the room, facing the three thrones; in the middle sat Ven’s body and the one currently possessing it, his arms bound to the sides of the chair with chains of light. Eraqus’ magic, meaning there was no way he was breaking free on his own.

But Vanitas didn’t seem perturbed. Rather, he only looked vaguely annoyed as he observed Terra, the haughty face he was making so not-Ven that it was almost offensive. “Should’ve known it’d be you,” he remarked dismissively. The voice, too, was all wrong -- too guttural, too flat, too lacking in Ven’s spirit and warmth.

Terra’s fingers tightened slightly. He was only here to watch Vanitas -- he and Aqua were taking shifts while Eraqus was away -- so there was no need to try and question him yet. Anything he said would just have to be repeated, and it would be best to have everybody here to listen and put their heads together.

Regardless, Terra didn’t intend to sit by and do nothing in the meantime.

“Let me talk to Ven,” he said firmly.

Vanitas cocked an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?” When Terra didn’t reply, Vanitas gave a low grunt of a laugh. “You sure he’s alive? Maybe I’m all that’s left.”

“He’s there.” Terra’s reply was level and confident. “It’s faint, but I can feel him.”

His -- Ven’s -- lips twisting slightly, Vanitas shrugged a shoulder and leaned back in his chair, squirming a bit under what little leeway the chains gave him to get comfortable. He brought one leg up onto the throne, utterly casual and entirely disrespectful towards the hallowed ground on which they stood. “Tell me something first,” he replied, “and I’ll think about it. You joined your heart with Aqua’s in the Graveyard. What happened when you did?”

Terra’s eyes narrowed. It seemed like a harmless enough question, but he knew nothing of Vanitas’ intentions or what all was going on inside him. The fact that Vanitas knew about that in such detail was suspicious, as well. “Why do you want to know?”

Vanitas cocked his head, a nonverbal gesture of What are you, stupid? “Does it matter? If you want to talk to Ventus, now’s your chance. There’s not much else you can offer me, y’know.”

A few moments passed in silence as Terra thought that over. Finally, and without looking away from Vanitas for even a second, he answered shortly, “I heard the king’s voice telling me to find my light. Aqua found me first. I felt--” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “It was like our hearts healed one another. We went from darkness to light, and then we were back in the Graveyard.”

“Could you still feel her after that?”

“No. Not any more than usual.”

Vanitas broke eye contact, looking thoughtfully to the side. Between that and his line of questioning, Terra could only point towards one conclusion. “That’s how you joined with Ven, isn’t it? You saved each other, but… something went wrong.” They hadn’t separated afterwards. It was a logical assumption, except that Terra couldn’t imagine why Ven would have willingly cooperated with and protected Vanitas, even if it was to save himself in return. That much didn’t add up.

Maybe he hadn’t done it willingly -- perhaps Vanitas had forced the union on him, and that was why he was in control now.

“So you’ve got some brain under that muscle, after all.”

“I told you what you wanted to know,” Terra insisted, ignoring the insult. “Now let me talk to him.”

Vanitas watched him with a skeptical eye, as though weighing the risks and rewards of keeping his word. If he didn’t, there was nothing Terra could do.

Closing his eyes -- and rolling them as he did so -- Vanitas lowered his head again as though drifting off to sleep. Terra waited, unsure if he was being ignored -- and now doubting whether it was even possible for Ven to speak, because there was no telling if this case was the same as what Terra had gone through or not, and if it was--

“Terra?”

The word was quiet, but there seemed to be an echo despite that there hadn’t been one before. More importantly, that voice lacked the hard edge that Vanitas had put on it. Now it was gentle. Familiar.

“Ven?” Terra’s surprise showed. It kept him rooted to the spot for all of a heartbeat before he hurried forward, dropping to his knees in front of the throne. Ven’s head was still hanging towards his chest and his eyes remained closed. “Ven! Are you alright?”

Ven smiled, but otherwise didn’t move. “I’m fine. Don’t worry so much.” At this range, Terra realized that what he’d heard wasn’t an echo -- alongside Ven’s voice was another different, deeper one that spoke the same words at the same time.

“Ven…” Terra put a hand on his blond head, sighing quietly. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t get to you in time--”

“It’s okay. He was planning this for a long time. I don’t think there was any way you could’ve reached me first.”

“Planning this? Vanitas?” Terra watched him closely, hoping to get something -- anything -- off of that blank face. “Why? What happened?”

Ven hesitated. “It… it’s a long story,” he said in that overlay of voices. “But I’m still here. We’re just reversed now.”

“Reversed?”

“It’s not like last time, either. I can’t fight him. That’s not how it works.”

There were a thousand things Terra wanted to ask, but Ven’s rushed tone suggested that there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he bit back his desperate curiosity and focused on the most important question. “What do we need to do, Ven? Tell me.”

Ven frowned this time. “I don’t know. I don’t… think he knows for sure, either. But -- Terra -- be careful. I can tell he’s planning somethi--” He suddenly lurched, twisting sharply in his seat as his face screwed up with pain.

“Ven!”

His short nails scratched the arms of the throne and he threw his head back, striking the chair hard enough to make Terra wince. The chains rattled but held tight. The dual voices cried out, and for the first time they were different: Ven’s was a defiant yell, the other a challenging snarl. Both cut off at once, and then he slumped forward with his chest heaving.

“Ven!” Terra stood and gripped the boy’s shoulders to ease him back, but Ven’s head rolled limply to the side. “Come on -- Ventus, answer me!”

Slowly, Ven’s eyes fluttered open -- and to Terra’s disappointment they were still a bright, mocking gold. Vanitas gave him a crooked smile. “Time’s up.”

Before Terra could respond, there was the sound of quick footsteps at the far end of the hall. “Terra! I thought I heard a--”

He looked back to see Aqua round the top of the stairs, coming to a dead halt when she spotted him and Vanitas. Realizing that he still had a hold of him, Terra let go and stepped back. “We’re fine.” He tried to settle on a neutral expression, but the look on Aqua’s face said it was probably a failure. She resumed her approach at a speed just below a trot, a concerned frown on her features. Despite that she should have been sleeping, she didn’t look as though she had just woken up. She wasn’t in her pajamas, either, but had only gone as far as undressing down to her base top and shorts.

Joining him at the foot of the stairs, Aqua observed Vanitas silently with a look that managed to be both strict and a little pained. Vanitas met her stare head-on, but said nothing.

“Are you sure?” she wondered, turning a gentler gaze up at Terra. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “We were just… talking.”

Aqua blinked in surprise, although there was a shadow of uncertainty to it. It probably hadn’t looked like they were “just talking” when she came in.

Vanitas must have noticed, as well. “It’s not like he’d have the spine to do anything else,” he spoke up, once again using Ven’s voice. “Guess it takes a special kind of person to hurt somebody who idolizes them. Doesn’t it, Aqua?”

Terra didn’t have to look at her to know that Aqua had tensed with irritation. “It might,” she said coolly. “If it comes down to that again, I’ll do what I have to.”

“Heh. Don’t get me wrong, I respect that way of thinking. You’re not as soft as you look. What about you, Terra?” he asked more loudly. “Could you raise your Keyblade against Ventus when it mattered?”

Terra didn’t answer.

“Or would you leave her with the dirty work, like always?”

Terra’s fists clenched at his sides. He looked up to see Aqua approach Vanitas, her face stern as she reached towards him. Her palm had barely settled against his forehead when his eyes closed, heavy and instant, and his body slumped back against the throne. As she finished her Sleep spell, Aqua said without looking back,

“You don’t have to listen to this, Terra.”

He inhaled sharply, about to respond, but decided against it and just sighed quietly instead, shoulders sagging. “No,” he said in a defeated voice, “I shouldn’t let him get to me.”

“It’s what Vanitas does.” Arm crossed tightly over her stomach, Aqua wandered back over to stand beside him. “I’m sure he’s not going to make this any easier for us if he can help it.”

Nodding distractedly, Terra glanced over at their unconscious friend. He looked entirely like Ven again, sleeping peacefully without an apparent care in the world.

“...When I said we were talking, I meant I was talking to Ven,” he told her, his voice a little quieter. Aqua’s lips parted in surprise, her eyes widening. “Vanitas let him… take over, I guess, for a minute.”

“What did he say?”

“That Vanitas is planning something,” he said solemnly, his frown returning. “But it sounds like neither one of them really knows what’s going on inside them right now.”

“Oh…” Aqua didn’t -- or couldn’t -- hide her disappointment.

“But,” Terra added, “he told me... he doesn’t blame us for what happened. For not catching him first.”

“Hm.” It was a warm hum as Aqua gave a small, sad smile. “That’s Ven, all right.” She rubbed her arms as she looked up and down the dark hall. “Why don’t you go ahead to bed, Terra? I’ll take over.”

“But you already--”

“I know.” The sad smile returned. “But... I don’t think I’m getting much sleep tonight.”

“That makes two of us.” Terra was exhausted, having yet to get some proper rest since the battle, but his concern for Ven had beaten out fatigue for the last day and a half. He didn’t doubt that Aqua was in the same boat. Eraqus and Mickey were supposed to return in the morning, as well, hopefully with good news and a solution after their talk with Yen Sid.

More waiting, in short. Terra hated it.

“Well,” said Aqua, aiming for a lighthearted tone, “it doesn’t make much sense for us both to be here.”

Terra knew what she meant -- there was no reason that they both be miserably exhausted and deprived of sleep -- but even for her, he couldn’t play along with the optimism. “Doesn’t it?”

Aqua stared at him, her light smile fading, and Terra instantly felt guilty. “...Sorry,” he murmured. “I just meant…”

“I know,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, sweeping her thumb over his skin. “And you’re right. If it’s one of us, it’s all three of us.”

Terra nodded again. “He’d do the same for us.”

“Mm.”

For a long moment they said nothing -- not looking at each other or Ven-Vanitas or even anything in particular. Just thinking. Reflecting. “I’ll be right back,” said Aqua suddenly. She made a beeline for the staircase without another word, descending at a quick pace, and was soon lost from view.

She returned a couple minutes later bearing two large blankets and a couple pillows; as Terra moved to help her with the load, he realized she had stripped the comforters off of both their beds. She smiled as she took one and spread it out along the marble floor, just below the throne steps. “If we’re spending the night here, we might as well be comfortable,” she pointed out. “Ven would get after us otherwise.”

That managed to bring a small smile to Terra’s face. He handed her the next blanket and she laid it out on top of the first, and then plopped the pillows down on the makeshift bed. She had also brought a smaller, well-worn quilt -- he recognized it as the one she’d had since she was really little, that usually stayed folded up at the end of her bed outside the winter months -- and taking this she draped it over Ven’s still form, even tucking in the sides as though he were a small(er) child.

Terra chuckled. “Ven might be a little insulted by that.” Then again, Vanitas probably would be, too.

“Let him be,” Aqua replied as she straightened up. Her smile had gained a slight shade of teasing. “This is probably the last chance I’ll get to do it.”

Terra dropped onto the blankets with a short sigh, glad for the break after being on his feet for the last few hours. He claimed the lefthand side, the side closer to Ven, and fell onto his back to stare at the high ceiling. Aqua joined him a moment later, stretching out alongside him.

Again that thoughtful silence fell, interrupted only by her low breathing and his own steady heartbeat in his ears. The longer it stretched on, the more his brief bout of good humor faded to leave him solemn -- and a little anxious -- once more.

’It’s not like last time, either,’ Ven had said. ’I can’t fight him. That’s not how it works.’

It what? And how did he know that? As reluctant as Terra was to reflect on his darker memories, he couldn’t help drawing a comparison. Back then, locked in the endless darkness of Xehanort’s heart, he hadn’t exactly been aware, per se -- when his body was torn from his control, his senses had gone with it. Sounds and visuals had been murky and unclear. Anything Terra knew, he’d usually only known by reading off of Xehanort’s emotions or, rarely, when Xehanort spoke to him directly. There had been no sense of time; mercifully, Terra was more or less asleep during those years. The only exception -- that he could recall -- had been during Xehanort’s fight against Aqua in Radiant Garden.

Ven, however, seemed to be retaining a certain level of awareness. Maybe it was the nature of his bond with Vanitas, or some side effect of the X-blade’s involvement, but Terra couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Ven was seeing everything Vanitas did. He wasn’t sure if that was more reassuring or worrisome.

“Terra.”

Breaking from his thoughts, he looked over to see Aqua watching him, her eyes and frown sympathetic. “We’ll figure it out. Ven’s still in there; that’s what matters.”

He hesitated, but managed to give her a tired, halfhearted smile. “Right. Let’s focus on one fight at a time.”

* * *

“Don’t talk to them like that!”

As expected, retreating into himself had brought Vanitas face-to-face with an irate Ventus. “It’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true,” he countered glibly. Ventus scowled, but Vanitas replied with a cold smile as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Oh, right -- you still don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Back then, the first time we rejoined. Who d’you think had control of our body on the outside?”

Ventus continued to glower, but after a couple seconds it wavered. Vanitas’ smile smoothed into a dark grin. He’d given in to Terra’s request purely as a double-sided bargaining chip -- a way of bluntly reminding them that Ventus was, to a degree, at his mercy and in need of rescuing -- but the reverse effect on Ventus himself wasn’t a bad bonus. “Bingo. I’ll give credit where it’s due, though. Aqua’s not as much of a bleeding heart as you’d thi--”

“Shut up,” Ventus snapped. Vanitas knew him well enough to figure that the quieter he was, the angrier he was, and that retort had barely been audible. His fists were clenched at his sides and shaking slightly. Huh. He’d taken after Terra in more than a few ways.

Vanitas shrugged, unalarmed. “That’s good news for you, idiot. You’ve got at least one person who’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

“You’re wrong about Terra,” said Ventus firmly, still in that low, seething tone. “He’ll do what he has to.”

“Ha. You sure about that? I think he’s a lot softer than you realize.” Nose wrinkling, Vanitas didn’t conceal his disdain. “Honestly, when you took over I thought he was gonna start crying or s--”

In the blink of an eye Ventus closed the distance between them and threw out a sharp punch. There was room to dodge there, but Vanitas didn’t move -- he actually turned toward Ventus more fully, letting that fist strike him square on the chin.

Ventus was stronger than he looked. They both staggered backwards: Vanitas from the impact, Ventus from the impact’s shadow. Despite the ache throbbing in his jaw now, Vanitas recovered and flashed another thin smile.

“Don’t tell me you forgot already.”

The skin under Ventus’ mouth was already blossoming a bright red, but his glare wasn’t the look of regret. “I don’t care how connected we are. Don’t talk about them!”

“Or what? You gonna beat us both to a bloody pulp? Is that your plan?” The usual apathy in Vanitas’ voice cracked. He’d thought this new bond of theirs would put a leash on Ventus’ immature outbursts, but apparently not. The threat of a fight didn’t bother him -- the lack of it irritated him more than he would show. It was the way Ventus continued to not think that grated his last nerve. That blatant display of stupidity was downright frustrating.

Maybe it was equally immature, but it only encouraged Vanitas to egg him on even more.

“Heh. Why don’t we see how much you can take, then?” He spread his arms in a defenseless, welcoming gesture. He felt Ventus grind his teeth, but he didn’t move. Vanitas rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, you need an excuse. Who should I insult next?”

”Stop it, Vanitas.”

“You think you’re tough enough, don’t you? Then go ahead. Shut me up yourself. Put me in my place, Ventus.”

“I’m not playing along--”

“Why not? You might as well. It took them over a decade to save you before -- they might leave us tied to this chair for another thirteen years, especially since your Master already has his precious favorite back--”

That did it. Ventus swung again, but Vanitas hadn’t exactly been honest: he didn’t plan to stand idly by a second time. He countered the attack just as quickly, catching Ventus’ wrist and giving a hard twist that used his momentum against him: Ventus was flipped and thrown hard onto his back, the breath knocked from his lungs in a loud grunt. The pain of the impact rippled down Vanitas’ shoulders as well, but it was minor and he gave no indication of having felt it.

“How stupid can you get?” Gone was his cruel humor; his voice and expression were dark, bordering on threatening. His grip on Ventus’ wrist was hard, tight enough to feel a pulse under his fingers, but he resisted the urge to break it. “You obviously didn’t learn your lesson last time, so let’s try again.” He managed to keep most of the biting sarcasm from his tone. Insults aside, he wanted Ventus to listen. “Think about it. I know everything about you -- I am you. If you could resist lashing out when I provoke you, do you think you’d ever have to worry about anybody else?”

Ventus gave off a feeling of uncertainty and annoyance. His frown matched. “You’re giving me advice now?” he asked skeptically.

“More or less. Letting you fly off the handle made things easier in the past, but as long as we’re stuck like this, a little self-control would be appreciated,” Vanitas snapped. Not least of all because the strength of Ventus’ emotions was slightly unnerving; while Vanitas had reassumed control of their body at will minutes ago, it wasn’t as easy as he had thought. The second Ventus had felt resistance, he fought back, but not in the way Vanitas expected. Rather than a mental struggle, a brick wall of emotion -- love for Terra, the rock-steady desire to warn and protect him, and a desperate reluctance to be separated again -- had nearly knocked Vanitas’ mental grip loose.

Vanitas wasn’t even sure if Ventus had done that on purpose. He didn’t think so -- it had happened too fast to be a conscious attack -- but he’d rather not risk it again. As irritating as it was, he needed to avoid underestimating Ventus’ friendships.

“You know me by now. I’d never fall for being provoked,” Vanitas went on. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from me.”

“I don’t want to be like you--” Tugging hard against that iron grasp, Ventus twisted swiftly in place and slammed both legs against Vanitas’ knees.

This time Vanitas did snarl in discomfort, but caught himself with his free hand before he hit the ethereal ground. He released Ventus, recovered in a roll, and -- Screw it -- summoned his Keyblade as he swiveled back around in his low crouch--

--only for it to meet Ventus’ Keyblade in a clash. Despite the harsh shockwave that worked down each of their arms, the impact made no sound -- it was eerily silent except for Ventus’ sharp breathing.

They regarded one another coldly over their locked weapons, but only for a second: Vanitas shifted to a two-handed grip to throw all of his strength into batting the stalemate aside, switching his Keyblade to his left hand at the end of it. The window of opportunity was small, but he took it -- by diving forward and slamming his right forearm against Ventus’ throat to knock him back. They landed together and Vanitas planted his knees firmly on either side of Ventus’ hips, most of his weight shifting to his arm to keep him pinned. Ventus made a swing with his Keyblade, but Vanitas dismissed his own weapon and intercepted the hasty blow, catching Ventus’ fist and redirecting the blade narrowly over his side. A quick twist locked their arms together at the elbow, putting just enough uncomfortable pressure on the joint that Ventus couldn’t pull free unless he was willing to risk dislocating it. The recent slash on Vanitas’ arm throbbed in protest, but went ignored.

They came to a tensed standstill. Despite the flurry of activity, there wasn’t even the slightest hitch in either one’s breathing; it seemed physical activity was relative in this place, which made sense, considering they weren’t “physically” here at all. Regardless, the weight on Ventus’ neck was clearly uncomfortable: his face said so, as did his flare of annoyance, and Vanitas felt the ghost of pressure on his own throat. He kept perfectly still, drawing out the pause to let Ventus take in his own vulnerability, to let his frustration build.

“Almost,” Vanitas taunted, clearly unimpressed. “You really do have a chain a mile long, you know that?” Despite having effectively lost patience, he managed a condescending smirk. “Then again, I guess that’s fine with me. As misguided and overly dramatic as it is, I prefer all that anger.” He put more of his weight forward and pain echoed through his neck up to the back of his skull. Ventus struggled, pushing against him with his free hand, but Vanitas had the advantage and barely budged. “Maybe our Master had it all wrong,” he mused. “Maybe he could’ve skipped splitting us in two and just used your anger against you. Drawn out our darkness that way.”

“Wanna try it?” Ventus snapped, voice strained. Vanitas sneered at that, equal parts amusement and condescension as he held that narrow gaze.

“Nah. Even now, we’re still too separate. I know you can feel it, too.” He tilted his head considerately. “In here, at least. On the outside, though…” He made a noise, either a skeptical grunt or an ominous half-laugh. He would let Ventus guess which. “Hey, that might not be a half-bad idea, after all. Our body’s so limited by your light right now… maybe driving you over the edge could fix that.”

“It’s mine, not ours. I’ll get rid of you soon enough.”

The stubbornness was expected, but that was a surprisingly calm and collected remark, coming from Ventus. That cockiness touched something inside Vanitas, something very deep and dark and dangerous, and for an instant he wondered what would happen if he ran Ventus through with his Keyblade there and then, physical bond or not.

Like always, he swallowed the emotion and held back. He was better than that -- always had been -- and two could play this game, besides.

He pushed up against Ventus’ chin roughly, forcing his head back. It wasn’t as effective as a chokehold, but pain wasn’t Vanitas’ goal. Their link aside, Ventus would just bounce back from it like always. No, Vanitas wanted to prove that he didn’t need to hurt him to cause him pain. He wanted to make him well aware of his weakness, to strip all the optimism away from his flaws and reveal them for what they were, to give a solid kick to his irritating confidence -- because that, more than anything else about this, rubbed Vanitas the wrong way. Here he was, wondering whether it was even possible for him to come out of this matter alive, much less whole, but there had been no doubt or fear from Ventus this entire time. He was still so sure, still had the utmost faith in his friends coming to save him. If he had any misgivings, he was hiding them well.

Vanitas was more than happy to supply a reality check. Besides, if Ventus was so unconcerned about his problematic temper, why not put it to the test? Why not pull out as much negativity as he could and use it to smother those other, more powerful emotions?

It wasn’t as though Vanitas had anything better to do at the moment.

“It’s a shame you don’t remember fighting Aqua,” he remarked, going straight for the low blow. He felt Ventus stiffen underneath him and it brought him some petty satisfaction -- not only had his words hit home, but there was something gratifying about feeling that twinge, especially when it went so well with that angry look. Ventus had always been an open book, but now he would know without a doubt how futile it was to try hiding anything. “That was probably the only time she’d go all out against you. She’s not terrible, but kind of disappointing for a Master.”

“Who asked you?”

“Terra, though?” Vanitas went on. “He’s the opposite, just like you. Strong, but he’s a self-righteous martyr who’s all too easy to break when the right strings get pulled.”

In the corner of his eye Ventus’ left fist swung. He wouldn’t be able to build up much momentum at this range and any pain would be inconsequential, but that was beside the point. Vanitas let up on his pin-hold to jerk backwards, dodging the swing, and all but smacked Ventus’ arm out of the air to pin it above his head -- and, very intentionally, Vanitas drove the heel of his hand into that open, Keyblade-inflicted injury from before. Ventus hissed, jerked, but it did him no good.

Flashing the most insufferable grin he could muster, Vanitas suggested smugly, “There’s another similarity, too, isn’t there?” If looks could kill, he was quite certain Ventus would have managed to strike him down by now. “I never did get to fight him one-on-one. I wonder whose darkness is stronger: his or ours?”

Ventus actually kept his mouth shut for once, settling for the glare that seemed far too dark and bitter for his naive baby-face. With a low hmph, Vanitas let his posture sag until their foreheads nearly made contact. He could tell that Ventus hated being touched by him, hated the proximity; it hit some tender nerve, something that felt a lot like violent denial.

Vanitas sensed that now, along with a renewed wave of anger. Refusal. Frustration. Hatred. Backing negativity into a corner, he knew, was the best way of making it thrive.

“Let’s find out,” he said quietly, seriously. On one end it was a challenge, a dare, a sarcastic bet that he didn’t expect Ventus to take -- but on the other it was sincere. Ventus’ refusal to accept him -- if not his presence, period -- had to be the factor that was limiting their power. If it meant getting that power back, Vanitas wasn’t above cooperation, blackmail, or anything in-between. “Open up to me again. All the way this time. We’ll see if he comes running to save you or not.”

Ventus gave a sudden, sharp tug of his arm to try and break free, but Vanitas just tightened his grip -- hard, until his fingers hurt. Then he leaned closer still, over Ventus’ shoulder to speak into his ear, and was glad when he sensed that frustration-disgust-anger-hate doubling in intensity. He could have smiled, but his superior self-control kept it in check.

“Maybe you’re right,” Vanitas went on coolly, “and he’ll fight you, and win, and you’ll never have to see me again. Or…” He hesitated, letting Ventus’ imagination ponder the alternative for a moment -- and then suddenly ground his palm into that wound, harder, until Ventus cried out and writhed underneath him and Vanitas felt the warmth of fresh blood. “...maybe not.” He felt the pain just as clearly, but he forced himself with everything he had to remain still and composed. He didn’t have the same level of control over his voice, however, so his words were taut and his breath short. “Maybe he can’t, and watching your hero fall apart will be exactly what I need to break you completely.”

Somewhere, on some level, he felt something in Ventus falter. He couldn’t precisely pin it down, but he knew he’d managed to wedge in a little bit of doubt somewhere. That was good enough. Vanitas exhaled in a silent, snide laugh, the agonizing fire in his arm pushing his grim satisfaction to something near hysterical, almost giddy. “If you trust him so much, why don’t we let him decide?”

Ventus didn’t reply.

“Prove me wrong,” Vanitas urged eagerly, “if you can. Reach for my heart, just like before--”

“No.” The objection was quiet. Halfhearted.

“Become what we were meant to be. Accept what you were then and what you still are--” Vanitas’ voice cut off in a choke as pain suddenly exploded in his mouth: a sharp, intense, flooding pain that made him jerk in surprise, his grips on Ventus’ arms loosening slightly. Ventus was ready for it and wrenched his hips forcefully to the side, offsetting Vanitas’ balance and jerking an arm free. Still in startled agony, Vanitas scrambled backwards and prepared to block another punch -- but instead Ventus caught him around the middle to roll them both to the side. It was clumsy, but effective, because his Key hand came free in the tangle as well.

Vanitas hit his back with a heavy weight on his chest: Ventus pinned him, slamming the point of his weapon into the ground with barely an inch to spare between the blade and Vanitas’ cheek. He kept a fist on Vanitas’ collarbone, glaring with thin shoulders shaking, but otherwise didn’t go to any great lengths to restrain him.

Which made sense, Vanitas figured. Ventus was far too much of an honorable fighter for that kind of thing -- mostly. His mouth was still throbbing, but Vanitas had to smirk his approval when he noticed the blood at the corners of Ventus’ lips, smeared across his teeth as they were bared in a scowl. Sure enough, Vanitas swallowed and tasted copper.

“Not bad.” Slowly, he brought his hand around to his own mouth. His gloved fingertips came away with a wet sheen. “Heh. You’re a little sharper than I give you credit for.” It was a crude but clever tactic: Ventus had bitten down on his own tongue, using the transferred pain as a distraction. Had it even occurred to Vanitas as a possibility before, he never would have thought Ventus would actually do it. “I’m gonna bet your Master didn’t teach you to play dirty like that.”

It was subtle, but Vanitas felt him twitch. Ventus’ glare lingered, but turned distracted, somehow, and there was a glimpse of… uncertainty. Realization. Shame? Then, with a quiet snort, Ventus abruptly stood up and stepped back. “No.” Although his Keyblade remained in hand, although blood dribbled from his elbow to his wrist, his posture actually relaxed -- the pacifist once again. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

Vanitas gave his own dismissive snort as he sat up, only to quickly stop when Ventus reached for him -- no, when he offered an open hand. Dumbfounded, Vanitas defaulted to annoyance and shot him a narrow, suspicious look. “What’s that?”

“It’s called helping.”

Where did that come from?

Even with their emotional link, Vanitas couldn’t tell what had possessed Ventus to do that, or whether it was sincere. As naive as he was, it had to be, but... He was still angry, Vanitas could tell, still sore over those comments about his friends, but it was no longer a boiling rage. Something had helped him reign it in.

With an arrogant scoff Vanitas batted the hand aside, leaping easily to his feet on his own. Ventus took that cue to dismiss his Keyblade and wipe his good arm across his bloody mouth, but Vanitas went on eying him the way one regards something that might suddenly explode. Then he gave a tight, humorless smile.

“Don’t think you can hide behind your light, Ventus. Ignoring your darkness won’t make you shine any brighter -- not where it matters.”

Shaking his head, Ventus replied shortly, “It’s not that.” Vanitas blinked; Ventus angled his weight back casually on one heel, still distracted and annoyed -- but calm. “It’s just… you mentioned my Master. He always talked about how the worlds would be better off without darkness -- and I still believe that,” he added with a hint of emphasis. “But… he always talked about it in ifs. ‘Would that we could be rid of it,’ ‘if only it could be snuffed out completely.’ I didn’t understand then, but…”

He hesitated, thoughtful, but Vanitas didn’t offer any cutting remarks for once. If he was being honest with himself, he was genuinely curious about where this was headed.

“I lost my darkness,” Ventus continued, “but you keep coming back to haunt me. I think…” He tilted his head and -- way too trusting -- stared thoughtfully to the side. “...it might mean that darkness can’t be destroyed. Not totally. And if that’s right--” He met Vanitas’ gaze again -- and actually gave a stiff smile, but there was a distance about the expression that said it wasn’t meant for him. “--then I won’t try. But I won’t give into it, either.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ll balance it.”

Vanitas’ face darkened, but his mouth was a firm line. “Balance?” he echoed skeptically. “Seriously?”

Ventus nodded. “That’s right. With the way we are now, we can’t fight each other. You know that. But even if we could…” He frowned. “Even if I won… I’m not sure I can really get rid of you. But I’m not giving in to you, and I know you won’t give in to me -- so there’s only one thing left to do.”

“What?” Vanitas wondered sarcastically. “Shakes hands and play nice?” He didn’t want to admit that Ventus might have been on to something; at least, it didn’t sound wrong.

“Something like that,” Ventus quipped. “If you’re right, and there’s a chance that I could still give into my -- into our darkness,” he corrected, “then I won’t take that chance. Say and do whatever you want. I won’t play along.”

Well, that was disappointing. Vanitas, as he’d said, was more than willing to let Terra be the proverbial coin toss in the matter, and stressing Ventus’ anger seemed to be a legitimate solution. Judging by that self-righteous spiel, however, that possibility had just gone out the window. Regardless, while Vanitas was definitely irritated, he was surprised to find himself feeling almost grudgingly content. He didn’t place so much faith in their light, nor in waiting for others to help them, but that wasn’t it -- Ventus himself had caught his attention. He still looked the same on the outside and felt the same on the inside, but that show of poise and restraint just now was surprising.

Maybe Ventus had heeded his earlier advice, after all.

Vanitas didn’t admire it or anything so ridiculous -- rather, he was hit with a feeling along the lines of It’s about time. He had been angry and even insulted the first time they met after their separation, frustrated that his other, “more whole” half was such an immature, emotional weakling. Had Ventus been more like this back then…

...It wouldn’t have changed anything, ultimately. But Vanitas would have been spared some frustration.

Again he shrugged with a lazy twitch of his shoulder. “Fine. We’ll see if you can walk the way you talk. But,” he added, “I’m not about to sit around and wait forever for your white knights. If they don’t figure something out soon, I’ll take you up on that offer of yours and do what I have to.” His voice dropped a few degrees, losing its casual air. “Don’t think for a second that sharing our pain like this makes a difference to me. I’m willing to bet that you’d break long before I do.”

Ventus held his gaze evenly, coolly, and Vanitas couldn’t detect anything telling in his emotions, either. “It won’t come to that,” he said resolutely.

“You’d better hope so.”