Vexen -- much like when he had been Even -- spends quite a lot of time being worried about his charge, because children and laboratories full of unlabelled beakers of chemicals, dangerous and sensitive equipment and parts of unsuccessful experiments do not mix and though Zexion outgrew the oral phase long ago, Vexen could never stop fretting that he'd be compelled to put something -- like, say, hydrofluoric acid -- into his mouth. Again. (Maybe trying to juggle a toddler, three beakers and his notes at once had been a poor idea. The memory of that particular event is seared into his brain and even though nobody was injured and the years and the lack of a Heart have dulled the terror, Vexen still shudders at it.) It doesn't matter that Zexion is almost an adult. It doesn't matter how sensible he is. Life is full of unlabelled beakers of hydrofluoric acid, just waiting for the moment that Vexen turns his attention away from Zexion. Sometimes he wonders why he ended up being in charge of him, all those years ago. Surely Lexaeus was more dependable and competent.

But letting Zexion know even a sliver of that would be embarrassing. It's none of his business what his guardian fee-- remembers feeling.

"Different points in time," scoffs Vexen, under his breath. Time magic is messy and imprecise and he dislikes dealing with it. If Norfinbury is somehow mixed up with it, he's going to be less than thrilled.

But no matter. There are other things to attend to, here. Very important and very confusing things.

"What?" he says, flatly, when Zexion brings up other means. Other means like what? But then he's distracted from that line of questioning. "The last thing-- Battling that upstart Sora, after the Replica failed to subdue him."