This feels like an epilogue already, she thinks. An epilogue to some half-crazed, nascent, aborted story that someone, in a daze, dipping into the wildness of a dream, had written, the ink spilling over the edges of the paper. Staining it through.
He is a lump in her throat. Despite everything, she can't swallow him down-push him into forgetfulness, into soft, silken memory that doesn't claw, doesn't dissolve at her at her the way it does. Does now. Has. Has always-ever since they'd parted ways at Alcatraz.
Disgusting cliches. The lot of them. Yet cliches become cliches because, somehow, at their core, there is a small grain of truth to them. Something that touches everyone beneath the skin. And it is true for her as well-he is an itch she cannot scratch-a wound, throbbing, below the surface, that won't quite heal. Partially covered by satiny skin, shiny, wrong under the sunlight, recovering-but not enough. There's always a rough edge to it. Festering.
Endlessly.
She knows she ought to have expected this. This ache. This void that nothing can quite fill. Make whole. She knows. Knows that of course doing that was a foolish idea-giving into those basest of desires, her lingering interest. Interest in that boy. His beauty. His authority. His innocence. Bravado. Wit. Intelligence. All of it.
Of course sleeping with Seto Kaiba was a stupid, stupid idea. These muddled feelings-she knows, knows now that she ought to have known herself better. Known that she-
-gets attached.
Got attached.
To him.
And he? She being his first? How could she have done that to him, knowing as they both did, as she ought to have remembered-before her lust for that boy unmade her completely-that nothing could come of it? Before she'd kissed him? Kissed him brazenly like that-more than kissed him, though, that was hardly her first mistake.
That had been letting him into her room in the first place. The moonlight pooling on linoleum tiles. The depth of the skies looming, cradling them in their flying cage. The intrigue. The idea of it-of him-of his body. Him learning. Learning from her. Learning what to do-how to make her feel that way-sense had departed her utterly as soon as he'd sighed into her kiss and returned it. More than returned it. Given her something as well.
Him. Reluctant to admit it to her… until he wasn't. Open. Afraid. A fragile bird in her hand-his heart? Something like it, perhaps?
What he had to give, at least, he'd given. Freely. That much she is sure of, even now, when nearly the only thing she is sure of is regretting. This. Regretting it all.
Everything.
Floating before her. Cruel.
His lips-his eyes regarding her with wonder and fear-lips-hands-his breath on her neck-hands-his fingers, shaking, moving against her-his eyes shutting in perfect agony as he moved within her-his hips-waist-skin-lips-his hands cradling her to him while he slept beside her-his legs twisted with her own-hair-lips caressing her own nervously-his sighing sounding like singing to her-
-everything-
And now-
And now he was there and she was here. Nothing connecting them.
She could call, she supposes. It wouldn't be hard to get ahold of him.
What to say?
What would hearing his voice accomplish, other than ripping the bandage away?
Better to wonder idly than to know.
And things were perfectly pleasant in Egypt, after all. Nothing to want for-Marik home, safe, he and Odion having found work as archeological researchers at the university in Cairo-working on dig sites, cataloguing, writing reports-neat, methodical work that suited Odion, and endless discovery out in the world, hot Egyptian sunlight beating down, for Marik to revel in.
And Ishizu? Back to the museum work. Back where she belonged. Elbow deep in plans. Exhibitions. Collections management. Things stretching out into the future and past the horizon, to where she couldn't see the end of it. Knowing it was there-looming. A promise. Tethering her here for the foreseeable and unforeseeable.
Visions had given way into dreams long before she'd given Yugi the Necklace. And dreams they remained until they crossed over into dangerous territory-into memory. Nothing like the pretense of a hope she'd gained from using the Item. Seeing him and not seeing him. At the same time.
She supposes that, despite that indefinable frightening thing in his eyes as she'd bade him goodbye at Alcatraz, despite what they'd shared that night, what seemed like forever ago even then-shared and stoked and made real, made come to vivid life for them both-despite everything…
She supposes that he's long since moved on by now.
There are many doors in Seto Kaiba's life he refuses to open.
There is the door to his life before the orphanage-what little of it he remembers, that is. Infant Mokuba. Mother and Father. A family. A happy home.
A last name he will never know.
The next door opens onto the orphanage. Delivered there unceremoniously. Him and Mokuba, the latter barely walking. Cherub cheeks. Round eyes. No one would take them. Those boys. The bullies.
The bruises.
Gozaburo is behind the next door. The devil he dealt with in order to save them. Save Mokuba. The devil he didn't know, until he knew him. Until it was too late. Until all youth was beaten from him. Kindness. Compassion. Rendered useless. Only to win. To conquer. To triumph.
He knew there was no turning back the day Gozaburo jumped.
That this is who he was now. Is now.
Will always be.
The other doors...
She lurks behind one of them.
Perhaps "lurks" is not the correct word. That word would imply that he fears her. Fear more than anything, when the truth is far less carved out, less cut-and-dry than that.
He fears what happens when she is near. When he thinks of her. Fears drowning in memory of her until Seto Kaiba is gone. Who would be left in his stead? Someone Seto doesn't know, never knew. Will never know.
Missing her would be foolish. Simpleton behavior. After all, she is the one who went back to Egypt. Told him goodbye in the shadow of the Duel Tower. Her voice level. Even. Carefully careless. As if it had not mattered.
The way she had touched him. Nothing. What she had given him. And taken. And shared. Disgusting to think of when nothing was to be done about it.
It does not help matters that dreams have slipped into memory. Of her. Her lips. Hands. Eyes. Eyelashes. All of it. In his arms. The look on her face-when he'd touched her. And touched her again, better-improving under her tutelage that one night in her room. Once. Twice. Three times. Never sated.
And never again.
He'd tried. Tried to lose himself that way. There had been women who had looked at him that way since Ishizu. Plenty. After all, now that he was familiar with the act-why not.
It had almost happened during a business conference a month afterwards. She was older. Likely thirty or so. Brash. American. Small lines like parentheses around her mouth. No ring, but that didn't mean anything. Body taut and lean. Yoga or somesuch thing.
Eyes startlingly familiar. Like they were hers.
Once the deal had been struck, she'd taken to putting her hand on his arm when he spoke. After several cocktails the hand moved to his knee. Perhaps those eyes watching him keenly made it all right for her to run her hands down his chest-hungrily. Her lips grazing his neck. Like she would devour him alive.
Her hotel key card left in front of him at the bar. Her walking to the elevators with a swing in her hips. Beckoning. An invitation.
He'd almost done it because her eyes were so familiar.
He cannot pretend he's felt the same way since. Wanting. Lack. Nothing except for her. Cannot pretend he's felt a damned thing like that.
She is a disease rooted within him. Rotting him.
He wishes he'd never had her that way. Wishes dreams had stayed awful, torturous dreams. At least he wouldn't feel her-know what it felt like to have.
To have and then to lose.
Wishes she'd sent him away. That night.
Instead of-
In spite of-
She'd done something shiveringly real. Something that loosed parts of himself he didn't know existed within him. Set him free. Not to think. Just to feel. A new sensation: to want and to be wanted in return.
Using and being used.
How could she take this from him-given this to him-then-goodbye?- simple as that? As if it weren't anything in particular she was going to be lacking as well?
What she'd said-
At Alcatraz-
He'd foolishly spoken first. It was his usual strategy-make the first move. Scare them. Let the fear beat within their veins. Blood in their ears.
He needed to hurt.
He ought to have held his tongue.
"Ishizu." She was lovely. Impossibly so. Simply standing in the shade of the Duel Tower, hands clasped behind her back.
"Seto." She nodded, acknowledging his presence, before turning her head back to that strange evening sky, handing rising to block the brightest point of sunlight.
Sunset-it had gone all pinky-red. Blooming. Bleeding.
His hand reached out for her own before he thought better of it.
As her hand brushed against his, like an afterthought-
-he ought not to have kissed her, tower looming overhead.
Like they hadn't a care in the world.
Like he didn't care who saw.
Going down this spiral-anything to forget this loss to Yugi, even if only for a moment-bitterness. Anger. Hatred. Hands to her waist. Her lips. A salve. Surprised. Then responding. Her hands finding his coat lapels. Closer.
Then her stiffening in his arms as his intention was made clear.
Her lips, breaking away from his.
"Ishizu…" He needed this. Needed to forget-to be reborn-
"Please, let's go back to the blimp. Back to your room. Please." Him nearly begging. Anything to lose himself. Anything so that he wouldn't have to feel this cancerous bile bubbling below the surface. Destruction itching at his fingertips. He could feel it coming on. Something cruel and awful and entirely Seto Kaiba.
A break.
Ishizu's eyes were uncommonly sad and pitying for an instant. By the time her expression evened out, he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.
He hated her.
"Seto-no." Her hands moving back to her sides. Taking a step back from him. Their shadows separating.
"This cannot happen…" Was that regret in her voice?
Or capriciousness?
As if…
As if nothing had happened at all between them.
A crack in the façade. Pale cheeks burning. Blue eyes nearly watering.
Recovering: "I said nothing."
He turned on his heel as her arm reached out to grab his own. "Seto-"
He glared down at her, everything going sour. "You said no; I'm going back alone. You can return later."
Her meaning had been taken.
Her voice coming out clear, each word a twist of the knife. "Seto-please understand. Nothing ought to have-I mean, as for what you might have expected from me…" She looked down at her sandaled feet. "I must return to Egypt. With my brother. To await the Pharaoh's return."
So she'd made her choice, then.
Some wild hope beat its wings and died.
He ground his teeth together in frustration, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Curling his lips into a half-hearted smirk. Saving face-voice dripping with condescension. "Well, Ishizu. Fuck your destiny crap-fuck your Pharaoh nonsense. You've made yourself quite clear. And don't get any ideas about what you think I wanted-you know nothing."
His coat swirled around him as he left her standing there. Something like a cry screaming within, tearing at his chest. Rising up through his throat. Demanding acknowledgment.
Even if it killed him, he would deny it.
She ought to have said something sooner as she saw him approach where she stood, taking in the sunset. It was something she appreciated fully each evening-after years underground with no sun, it still was a marvel. Each and every sunrise and sunset a miracle-something to thank the gods for.
What could she have done? Told him to go away? -Him, walking towards her slowly, face ashen, fists clenched-as if he were still being defeated-still losing to Yugi, even in his mind, over and over.
He would never let it go, she realized as he grew closer, trying to ignore her heart fluttering in her chest at his proximity.
Dangerously.
"Ishizu." Voice practiced, even. As if he imagined, as if he believed somehow that she could not feel him hurting in this way. All too much. All too well.
She sighed, bowing her head in welcome- "Seto-"-before turning and shading her eyes with her hand as the sun kissed the ocean, threatening to be swallowed whole by the golden-blue horizon.
His hand against her own-softly-fingers grasping at her wrist-then his mouth was on hers, and it-everything- didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing made sense when he kissed her like this-his hands holding her against him, hips pressed together-she unfurled herself in his arms, sliding her hands up his torso, pulling him even closer, tugging at his collar-
Then Ishizu's spine straightened suddenly-her discomfort with his intentions rushing through her body like ice-what he wanted from her, now-all too clear-and not something she could give without feeling the beginnings of guilt tearing into her.
I cannot. Not again. It wouldn't be fair-to leave him like that…
His voice was ragged, teeth scraping against her lips, hands on her waist shaking. "Ishizu- please-let's go back to the blimp-back to your room-please…" Tone wobbling, cadence unsteady.
He was pleading for her. Seto Kaiba-pleading. For this-for what had happened between them, once more-as if it were the only thing that could hold him together in this urgent, precarious moment of need.
She nearly wanted to cry at the look on his face-that emptiness. The devastation. The need that would consume him-consume them both if she would let it-
But what would remain?
She found she couldn't breathe, not so close to him, not where the very existence of him was clouding her judgment so…
She took a step back, hoping for solid ground. Anything. Please.
"Seto-no… this cannot happen…" Would that it could-
If wishes were horses-
If she didn't want this-want him-more than she could stand-
Her having him like that again. Connecting-severing-
It would only destroy them both.
He seemed to stop breathing right then-gone completely silent. Blue eyes devastatingly, blazingly bright-
"I said nothing." His pride…
His voice held more venom than she'd ever imagined him capable of.
He began to turn away, the sharp clatter of his boots snapping her to attention. Before she could regret it-before she could stop herself-she lunged forward, reached for his arm. Something-please-don't- "Seto-"
Her fingers snagged in the crook of his elbow as he regarded her coldly. "You said no; I'm going back alone. You can return later."
Her shoulders sagged slightly-he'd misunderstood. What she'd been trying, trying so damned hard-what was so painful-
She steeled herself, daring herself not to wilt under his gaze. "Seto-please understand- Nothing ought to have-I mean, as for what you might have expected from me…"
I should never have let him in…
I should never have given him cause to hope for something.
She dropped her gaze to the sand-dusted ground, trying to stop boiling frustration from leaking out of the corners of her eyes.
"I must return to Egypt with my brother… to await the Pharaoh's return." I cannot ignore this-I cannot consider anything else.
I should never have believed in anything else…
Egypt was home. Stability. Comfort. Logic. What would leaving that behind accomplish?
An uncertain future... with him? Without? In Domino?
It was almost ludicrous of him to anticipate that-if that was indeed what he had thought-
And oddly hopeful. How unlike him.
When she lifted her eyes, Seto was smirking at her, halfway to a grimace, arms folded in front of his chest. His voice, when he spoke, was torn through with loathing and arrogance-a strange mixture to hear-
"Well, Ishizu. Fuck your destiny crap-fuck your Pharaoh nonsense. You've made yourself quite clear."
If that's how he sees it, then…
His voice started to rasp along the edges. "And don't get any ideas about what you think I wanted-you know nothing."
She could only watch as he walked away once more, swallowing hard, swallowing something like tears. Composure. Grace. Poise. I must-
Seto Kaiba-that boy-he will never change, after all.
And nothing will change him.
It was something like a weight off her shoulders-her realizing she would never have to try.
She is grateful that-even in her overreaching foolishness- she never told anyone.
She's always been good at keeping secrets.
So when, suddenly-she sees it-him-arriving at the museum-she chalks it up to residual power from the Necklace residing in her veins, and does not reveal to either Marik or Odion the terror she feels upon receiving the vision.
Already. Having to see him again. Because of the Pharaoh…?
It's too soon.
It's been too long.
She shudders as the vision rents her in two-him-his nearness-returning. Coming to her as she sleeps, jolting her awake, panting, sweating. Fire coiling within her. The flash of a white coat. Black leather.
Blue eyes. Narrowed. Disdainful.
A sight she is used to.
A sight she wishes she could forget.
Back to pretending his presence alone isn't enough to render her to rubble.
She can do this.
And so she tells her brothers, voice even, face composed, body language revealing nothing. Placid. The surface of a lake. Controlled. They suspect nothing-express only surprise that she's been blessed with another vision after surrendering the Item.
She shrugs. It's not the part that most concerns her.
And then the day comes and she sees it from her office window- a speck in the sky, growing ever larger, ever closer.
As she and her brothers gather by the entrance to the museum, it becomes increasingly clear that it is him.
No one else would fly a Blue-Eyes White Dragon jet.
A pang. Stomach tightly knotting.
As the beast descends and lands, a cloud of smoke roiling in its wake, Marik says thoughtfully, "you were right, Ishizu. Kaiba did show up." His voice rather grave. He knows why Seto is here-it has reached that point in time. When he must accept his destiny and join the quest for the Pharaoh's memories.
He does not know why Ishizu bites her lip and stiffens slightly as the roof of the creature's head lifts, and, white coat swirling about him, Seto leaps from the pilot's seat.
He sees her. His eyes turn cold.
A change in expression no one but she would notice. And he knows it.
She supposes she's no longer on first-name terms with him.
His voice is low. Utterly scornful. "Who're you- the welcoming committee?"
As if he had no desire-none-to see her again. As if she is the same as the ground beneath his boots. Merely a fact of life. Nothing in particular worth remembering.
She ought to have expected that.
And so it is with a slight edge to her voice that Ishizu replies, "don't tell me you've forgotten us already."
Only he will catch her meaning, if he so deigns.
His voice is almost rumbling with sardonic laughter as he approaches them. "How could I forget the three freaks who turned my Battle City Tournament into a circus sideshow?"
The tournament you only held because of me. She is seething beneath the surface. Freaks. Never mind herself; he has no right to refer to her brothers that way.
And it stings at her for her own sake as well.
It takes everything she has not to reflexively glare at him-give herself away- as he continues, "now, if you'll step aside, I've got some work to do."
As if he could have any hope of doing it alone. Ha. She presses her lips together and responds, serene, nearly flippantly, "Don't bother. I'm afraid that what you've come to find is no longer in there." She turns her head to gesture to the museum façade.
He does not like surprises or deviations-it is evident in his tone. "Huh? Why's that?"
"The stone tablet has been returned to its final resting place." She turns back towards him and cannot help relishing the look of confusion on his face. That's right. You don't know everything, Seto Kaiba. "That is what you seek, isn't it-the Pharaoh's tablet?"
His eyes widen slightly, face registering surprise as he responds, "Tablet? Not quite…"
She cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly. Let him shudder. "Then why did you come all this way, Kaiba?"
She cannot bring herself to hope-
Something flutters recklessly within her chest.
If the formal address bothers him, he does not reveal it. Instead, he reaches inside one of his inner coat pockets and withdraws-
The Millennium Eye-?
"Because of this." He holds it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. As if it, and all the strange magic it implies, are a bomb about to detonate any second now.
Then, almost carelessly, he encloses it in his fist. "That punk Bakura handed it to me just before he walked out on our duel. So I'm here to finish things."
So that is why he is here-
-For answers-
Has he accepted…?
Marik pipes up, voice high. "Bakura?" His face pales slightly at the thought of the white-haired Thief King. "He must be planning to prevent the Pharaoh from fulfilling his destiny…!"
She sees Seto's lip curl. A subtle movement likely lost on the other two.
"Oh no-!" Marik continues, an urgency creeping into his voice. "We have to make sure he fails! But how…?"
Seto rolls his eyes.
I don't like this-but I must. She meets his mocking gaze, lacing her words with a hesitance and venom directed only at him. "Kaiba, we need you-" the words taste sour on her tongue- "so I'll make you a deal. I'll help you locate Bakura if you help us to save the Pharaoh."
His eyebrow raises slightly, judging her, judging everything, as he lowers his hand.
They don't spare time for pleasantries as Marik and Odion retreat into the museum, leaving the two of them standing before one another. They know the game too well by now. They know one another too well by now.
They know it is pointless to try and pretend things between them are something they are not.
Ishizu smoothes out her dress. "This way, Kaiba." The hardness of his last name hurts. She can hardly get her mouth around it.
He follows her at a distance-nearly a good yard behind her-as she leads him to the Jeep parked out back, behind the museum.
The dusty vehicle sputters to life as she gently twists the key in the ignition. Seto tries not to laugh at the pathetic state of this heap of rust she honestly expects him to sit in. He picks a grain of dirt off his immaculate white coat and leans back in the worn seat, crossing his legs, crossing his arms. Closing himself off.
Trying to pretend her thigh is not but an inch from his. Beneath the cream-colored dress.
He could touch her from here if he so chose.
He cannot think that way.
"Your car is hilariously lacking, Ishizu." That was clearly the right thing to say…
She bristles as she pulls the car onto the sandy, lightly delineated road that runs alongside a line of palm trees, hands clutching at the wheel hard. How dare he. My car is of no bloody concern to him.
He just says things to be rude, doesn't he…?
She knows the answer inherently.
Knows that if she so chose-if she had the nerve-she would pull the car over.
Kiss him.
Thread her fingers in his hair.
Have him again.
Despite the anger pouring in her veins-his nearness-it's no good. No good. He's still there. Within her. Dragging his nails through her heart without even knowing it. His clear disgust towards her evident in every micromovement. Every tap of his finger on his arm as he impatiently awaits their arrival. The bored expression on his face-as if he cannot wait to exit the vehicle. To be away from her.
To be done with her.
It takes Seto every ounce of self-control to maintain his even expression. Every motion she makes as she drives-her thumbs drumming idly on the wheel, her unoccupied leg shaking, bouncing under her dress-ripples in cotton-threatens to ruin him.
Her.
It would be too simplistic to say she had broken things off.
After all-it wasn't things. It had never been a thing. To put it one way.
It had been one night. In her bed. Entangled with her. Breathing her in.
One night he wished he could purge from his memory. Allow to slip into the oblivion of a half-remembered nightmare.
The curse of his overactive mind-he rarely forgot anything.
That was all it had been.
That was all she had let it be.
His mouth tastes bitter. Sand slipping between his lips-or something else-he doesn't care to dwell upon.
He hates how she makes him feel.
The car steadily approaches a grove of trees. Ishizu calmly parks and hops out of the vehicle. "We have to continue the rest of the way on foot, Kaiba."
He grimaces at the thought of his coat, ruined, utterly ruined by endless drifting dirt and sand.
Rich boy doesn't like that?
That's rather too bad.
-His hands have always been soft- She supposes the soles of his feet-clad in those impractical boots-are similarly unused to long walks on sandy ground.
Don't think about his hands-
He keeps his distance once more-as a gust of wind blows from behind them, tugging his coat forward, it does not come close to brushing against what little of her calves are visible as the wind lifts her skirt slightly.
He looks.
He cannot help it at this point.
Something thick and sluggishly painful settles in his chest.
It is immensely disorienting to know he cannot even bear to be within a reasonable distance of her-that he is so repulsed by her that he must trail her like a reluctant small child.
Listlessly, she tries for some small talk. Knowing it is useless. Politeness never hurt anyone… Anything to break the silence of endlessly shuffling feet.
"I trust you had a pleasant flight."
I trust you had a pleasant flight.
The words wrack through him. Anchor him to the hard ground. He stops. Mind racing. Fists clenching automatically.
Words she would say to anyone.
As if he is merely anyone.
As if he is no one.
What else could he have expected?
She hears his footsteps die down and turns to look back at him, confused. What in the world-
An even, supercilious chuckle. "Don't speak to me, Ishizu. I have no interest in hearing any stupid thing you decide needs to be said." His voice is hoarse, however, giving him away. His anger. His hatred.
Directed at her.
It is all too clear now.
She retraces her steps and approaches him, ice settling in the pit of her stomach. Crosses her arms as she regards him, squinting slightly, as he is silhouetted against the endless bright blue of the sky, sun overhead. "You have no right to speak to me that way, Kaiba."
Reminders of another time she had told him off in a similar way tear through them both.
Memories. This.
His knees grow unsteady.
He wishes he could stop. Could apologize.
Could kiss her now like she'd kissed him. Years ago.
Ask forgiveness.
No.
She bites the inside of her cheek, willing her frustration with his downright petulant behavior to recede. Not to impede her. Or run into her words-render them teary and weak-seeming. Giving him cause to laugh, to sneer at her. Something sexist and dismissive issuing from his lips.
The memory burns at her as she continues, voice tart and unforgiving. "Despite what may have previously occurred between us, Kaiba, I do not think it is out of the question to expect that you will treat me with respect. As an acquaintance."
She knows somehow that saying friend is pushing the boy too far.
Seto crosses his arms to mirror her position, acid rippling through him, lacing his words with poison. "Despite what may have occurred between us. How very diplomatic of you, Ishizu."
Acquaintance.
A disgusting, useless word.
He could almost swear she is colder than he. Hard to fathom such a thing. Yet true.
If that is truly how she sees things-
He looks down at her-her shining eyes-exposed shoulders-the gold jewelry in her hair-and his face turns stony. Impassive.
Ishizu swallows hard at his implications, a building fury clouding her vision, feeling every scratchy grain of sand digging into her skin. I am not in the wrong. I am not-
"What would you prefer, Kaiba- that I had given up everything because you decided you had feelings- that you decided it was time to play at being a human being?"
Her repeated use of his surname is perhaps the cruelest part of her missive.
"Decided to play at being a human being." He repeats her words almost mockingly. Hollow. Voice low to prevent it croaking out. Denying any reaction to her words. He steps in closer. Looks down his nose at her. Fixes her with the frostiest look he can manage. "So that is how you see me, Ishizu…?"
"I cannot help it if your self-advertising has been successful, Kaiba." She fights the quavery thread in her voice. "You've managed thus far to present yourself as such."
Didn't I know him better?
Didn't I, though?
That night-
Who was that boy-
And who is the boy here now, before me?
Her forehead begins to throb. Sharply. Like something mercilessly driving into her temples.
"I see I've done my work well." His voice is utterly contemptuous. His mind reeling. Unspooling. Fists clenching and unclenching in front of his chest. Nails digging into his palms. Deep enough to draw blood. Blood pounding in his ears.
"I guess it was too much to ask of you to actually think for a moment or two."
Digging a hole…
Ishizu nearly combusts, headache increasingly exponentially as she grinds her teeth together.
How dare he. "Think about what, Kaiba? If I recall correctly, you were the one who told me that I was in the wrong-that you told me that whatever I thought you'd meant at Alcatraz was-how did you say it, then-that I knew nothing?"
Remembering. His lips on hers that last time. Hands holding her to him.
How she'd pulled away-
"You are the one who said no."
His plea. He'd humiliated himself. In no way he could have ever before fathomed. Begged. For her.
And she'd denied him. Not only then. But the idea.
The thought of him.
As if she no longer had any interest in him.
Ishizu blanches at the quiet bitterness of his voice as she continues to burn. Spitting flames. Salt. Venom curling out of her with every breath.
Yet-
Disbelief?
A question-?
As if he had not anticipated this-her anger-
"And you are the one who wanted to use me- to fuck me so that you could forget-because that's what I could do for you-make you forget that you lost-"
Her breath coming in spurts. In gasps. Pain in her head nearly threatening to overtake her. The sun beating down only exacerbating her malaise.
If this were a story with a perfectly planned out happy ending, this is where they would attack one another. Lips on lips. Hands on cheeks. Waists. Hips grinding, pressing together. Anger giving way to passion. Hatred into something more frightening. Until they'd resolved their harsh words silently. With bodies. Speaking better that way than they'd ever manage to articulate otherwise.
Something approaching that terrifying feeling beating within both of them. Expressed.
This fleeting thought crosses both their minds. Cruelly.
She wraps her arms around herself suddenly. As if she will shiver into a wisp of smoke. Into nothing. She thinks she will scream. Because that is all she had ever been to him. She realizes it now. A means to an end. Relieving him of the burden of virginity. Then as solace. As mere comfort. Her body. Holding him. Reminding him what good felt like.
Once sated, he surely would have cast her aside.
She refuses to cry. In that, she is as stubborn as he is.
His face has gone sheet-white. She thinks he will scream at her.
Then:
"Is that what you think-"
His voice is resigned. Strange. Nearly quiet. His hands shaking with frustration-then falling still.
He looks hard at the ground, finding that his tongue is tripping over itself as she stands up straight once more. Features smoothing. Collected.
Her face is blank as she turns on her heel. Revealing nothing.
"This way, Kaiba."
He looks …dazed. Utterly changed. Something in his eyes. Logic he is struggling to contextualize.
And yet still the same. She knows this.
Cold. Scornful. Superior.
Or maybe Seto Kaiba is …seasick?
He stands by the ship's cabin. Arms crossed. Glaring at the sunset. Mokuba at his side. Somehow more of them had arrived as they had pulled up to the harbor. Yugi's grandfather. Duke. And his brother.
She feels almost ashamed having these lingering thoughts about him in the presence of the younger Kaiba.
Him. Looking so different from how he does now. Eyes wide. Lips parted-
It is a series she cannot hope to erase from where they have etched themselves into her mind.
His voice cuts into her thoughts. Disdainful. Snide.
"Enough already." As if this couldn't get any more ridiculous. The idiot squad professing their love for one another.
Enough to make me sick.
The blond mutt turning his head to face him. "What're ya still hangin' around for anyway, rich boy?"
Mokuba pipes up, raising a fist towards Joey. "We have our reasons!"
That's my brother.
Then, in a hushed voice: "What are our reasons again?"
Yes. That. My brother.
Yugi's voice is high. Curious. "Yeah, why did you come?"
She almost smiles as she cuts in. "Although he'd never admit it, Kaiba is here for the same reason we're all here." She glances at him quickly, meaningfully. "To witness the Pharaoh's final rite of passage."
She knows.
Knows too much.
Understands.
And that frightens him.
She cannot sleep.
It is too hot.
A trickle of sweat runs down her spine. Feeling like the brush of a finger. Eyes snapping open. She rolls onto her back and gazes out vacantly.
Nothing but the darkness of her chamber. The thin sheets sticking to her legs. Her arms.
And outside-
Marik had invited them. The lot of them. Invited them to spend the night. After all, after the Pharaoh's final duel against Yugi Moto, his vessel, and the ride back across the sea, night had already fallen.
He had pouted. Narrowed his eyes. Attempted to leave. To hop in the jet and be done with it. With all of it.
With her.
Good riddance.
Yet Mokuba had persisted. He was tired. The jet wasn't comfortable enough.
And so he lies, likely asleep by now, beside his brother.
She remembers that he snores lightly.
This memory like pulling teeth.
Foolish thoughts. They do not leave easily.
She'd nearly drifted. It must have been an hour or so ago-time is endless in these catacombs. No windows. No sunlight or moonlight to track in the sky. Comforting. Enclosure. Safety.
She'd felt his hands on her thighs. Smoothing over the skin. Breath prickling against her navel, heating her from within.
Then his lips on her-
Not a vision. Certainly not.
And not a dream or a memory-
Something else.
A wish?
I am growing more foolish every minute I spend in his presence.
She closes her eyes once more. Lids are heavy. Wishing she could be carried away to where everyone else in the compound surely is by now. Across the river. Slumbering. Sleep blanketing them. Cradling them. Whispering dreams into their hair. Their dreams the dreams of untroubled minds.
Her heart is beating too quickly. She is too wound up to sleep. She rises to a seated position and fumbles for her robe at the end of the bed. Rises. Ties it around her.
She does not know precisely where she is going. But. But she needs out. Out. Above ground. Air. Starlight. The chill of life running through her. Something. Anything.
The cool night air is a needed slap across her heated cheeks. The sky endlessly blue. Violet. Clear. Dots of white and the moon. All Marik had wanted. All he had suffered for. A sky like this. The ability to see it. To feel it.
She wishes she could feel similarly free.
Mokuba talks in his sleep.
Seto had forgotten this. It has been years since the two shared a room. Let alone a bed. Mokuba stealing all the blankets. Food morsels-bread, an apple-tucked under their pillows to prevent other children at the orphanage from stealing them.
The vividness of that memory-
Like it occurred yesterday instead of nearly thirteen years ago.
Mokuba still babbles on. Incoherently. Softly. Like a child half his age.
Seto wishes he could be similarly untroubled. Similarly able to sleep at the drop of a hat.
The bed is rather too hard. He's grown spoiled, he realizes, as he bemoans the lack of his memory-foam pillow.
He rolls to one side. Eyes his coat. Belt. Boots. Lined up beside the bed on the floor. Neatly. Orderly. Like his life.
Until her.
Disrupting the fluidity of his thought processes. His neat four-hour sleep cycle.
Awakening him. To something strange and foreign that will never touch him again.
Teaching him something like fear. Something worse than fear.
She had to ruin everything.
And to think she doesn't even understand-what he'd made so clear to her-again and again-
He narrows his eyes at nothing in particular.
Then-he hears it. The creak of a door. Soft patter of bare feet.
Through the crack in the doorway he sees her. Pale robe. White nightgown. Like a vision burning his eyes. Emerging into the dark hallway. Up the stairs.
Moving past the room where he and Mokuba had been put up for the night. Against his particular wishes-that had been.
He'd wanted to run. Back to Domino. Away from Pharaohs. Destiny. Prophecy. Back to the numbers. Hard facts at his fingertips. Profits. Power. Things he understands better than foolish false magic.
Something bitter saturates his mouth again.
He cannot understand-refuses to understand-why he quietly rolls out of the bed to don his boots and coat before following her to the surface.
She is immediately visible to him once he exits the compound. Where she sits. A few feet away from the entrance. Back turned to him. Legs tucked beneath her. Head tilted upwards. Hair streaming along her back.
He is sure her expression is devastating-devastating-as she considers the faint star patterns in the sky.
His eyes feel dangerously wet as he walks towards her.
She hears heavy footsteps behind her and freezes. Hand reflexively flying to her neck. No necklace. A jolt of panic rips through her, electric, as she scrambles to her feet and turns towards the direction of the scuffling.
Makes him out in the darkness of night. Just barely.
Him.
Come to wound me again, doubtless.
That boy…
Her shoulders sag. She does not know what she expected. She does not know what she hoped for. Anything. Anything but this.
Not this.
Not now.
She is nearly tempted to brush past him without a word. Return to below the surface.
Yet she is frozen in place. Cannot make her feet move. Nothing. Not a prayer.
As he approaches, she remembers to breathe. In. Out. Same as always. That, at least, is something that will never change. Even as the ground feels unsteady beneath her bare feet. Grains of sand blowing in the tiny cool breeze ruffling around her ankles. Stinging at her calves.
He keeps his distance. Out of courtesy this time-something approximating courtesy-rather than rudeness. Stops at a point beside her and nods curtly, as if he had found her here by chance. Tilts his head up at the sky. Tries not to parse out her expression out of the corner of his eye as she considers him. Judges him.
Her lips trembling slightly-
Eyes half-closed-
Then-
-hands folding in front of her. Clasping gently. She bows her head. Ever polite. Ever poised. Ishizu Ishtar.
He cannot hope to imagine what thoughts are eating at her.
And so it is a surprise to him when she murmurs calmly, "it's much cooler up here, isn't it?"
Stating the obvious…
Maybe he will just go away if I bore him to tears.
I can surely handle his condescension now. His rudeness. Casual cruelty a dull blade against her skin now.
To her surprise, he nods. Crosses his arms in front of him. "Nn." Noncommittal-yet essentially in agreement.
Perhaps the first time such a thing has ever occurred between them in an ordinary context.
She could almost smile at the irony if it did not hurt quite so much.
What he'd said-the coldness of his words at Alcatraz.
"Well, Ishizu. Fuck your destiny crap-fuck your Pharaoh nonsense. You've made yourself quite clear. And don't get any ideas about what you think I wanted-you know nothing."
Not only rejecting her permanently. Negating the premise itself.
It flashes before her like an old vision. The way he'd wept after the first time. His wet eyes and distraught features. Him. As if he'd never felt anything-after a life of endless numbness, something. Too-muchness. As if she'd given him painful, wobbling life..
How he said he'd been happy.
Happy. Seto Kaiba, happy.
Could it have been an act?
It swirls inside her.
The idea that it had meant anything to him. What they had shared. The way he had seemingly wanted her in the shadow of the tower-needed her-desperately, more than anything in that instant-and then denied it. Making his true feelings on the subject known. What she could have predicted-the instant she failed to please him, things would cease to be.
She could never have gone back to Domino with him, knowing that. Knowing and not knowing.
And the cruelty he'd dealt her as she'd led him to the Tablet. She ought to have expected that. Her attempt at making conversation. Anything. Anything to fill the void between them. Patch it over. Bearable.
"You are the one who said no."
Acquaintances. That is what she had hoped for.
Like two people who had never fucked.
This boy.
This boy she hardly knew. Hardly knows.
This boy she'd wanted to save from herself.
It is now that she realizes that she had meant to save herself as well.
He will be her undoing if she is not more careful.
Even here.
Even now.
He cannot, for the life of him, think of anything to say.
Only salty, cruel words occur to him. In bits and pieces.
Words she had said. As she'd taken him to the Tablet-to "fulfill his destiny." Somesuch nonsense.
The heat of the desert surrounding them. Her retreating form before him. His asinine choice to follow at a distance. Already rejecting her before even speaking.
Then-
"What would you prefer, Kaiba- that I had given up everything because you decided you had feelings- that you decided it was time to play at being a human being?"
That had hurt more than he could have anticipated. Left him dry in the throat. Weak in the knees. Mind flailing. Struggling. Grasping at edges. Anything.
He presses his lips together, seeing her furious, violently beautiful features before him. Her anger. Matching his own.
For a woman who is supposed to be quite intelligent, she is rather thick in the head.
As if I have not-did not-make myself clear at Alcatraz. For her to think-
"And you are the one who wanted to use me- to fuck me so that you could forget-because that's what I could do for you-make you forget that you lost-"
And yet.
Yet.
She had not been wrong.
She had known. Read his urgency like an open book. His shame. His need to forget, if only for a moment-for a night-his humiliation at Yugi's hands.
Not Yugi-he reminds himself-the "Pharaoh". Or something. Something idiotic they all expect me to believe.
She is wrong about that being the only reason. Why he had come to her. Begged her.
Humiliated himself.
Yes.
The temporal reasoning was correct.
But the underlying reasoning was not.
I would not have asked in the first place if we hadn't-
If she hadn't-
If she hadn't been her.
That is what she thinks. All of it-
That I only wanted her for that-
The shudder in her voice as she had spoken.
As if she had been hurt by him in turn…?
Had he even fathomed having that power over her? The way she held it over him?
It's almost funny.
"Kaiba."
Her voice raking through the vast darkness.
At her insistent, continued use of his last name-the name he was forced to adopt, part of the devil's bargain-he feels himself twist into a vise. Distance. Separating. Himself from his name.
A measure to arm herself against him. Against the way she'd said his given name before.
"Seto-"
Curiously. Then the way she'd murmured it back then. Wanting him.
-needing him-
"Do not call me Kaiba." Please. His voice at first commanding. Insistent.
Ragged.
Something in his voice-that strangeness again-what she'd heard from him years ago. The implied please. Then him uttering it-
"Please."
She flicks her eyes towards him, careful, uncertain if he's said the word now or if she's imagined it.
He uncurls his arms, shoving his hands into the pockets of that coat so that she cannot see them tremble. He feels as though he could be sick at any moment. Words. Struggling to be given voice. Life. Actualization.
His eyelashes flutter weakly as he closes his eyes for a moment. Steeling himself.
Ishizu notices the sudden shift in his features and holds her breath. Completely unexpected.
Openness.
Vulnerability.
Needing.
"Ishizu…" What to say? What could he possibly say to make things clear-
Why couldn't she just understand? Understand without him having to… to debase himself in this sordid way?
When he continues, his voice increases in intensity. Slightly petulant. "You didn't even give me a chance to ask, Ishizu-" He crosses his arms again. Tries not to let his frustration bleed into his voice.
Ishizu finds herself blushing. Half in surprise at his admission.
Half-something else.
"Seto-" the name like music on her lips. In his ears. His chest uncurling, opening rapidly- "Seto- despite what I may or may not think of you- you know why I said no."
Do I know why I said no?
Duty is a valid reason, surely enough. Duty to my work. Duty to my brother. Duty to the Pharaoh.
Or-
Fear.
That feeling within her. No. It wasn't quite fear she felt when she thought of him-every time a memory of him dripped into her mind. When she looked at him-his image searing itself behind her eyelids.
Something more-something that mingled coyly with the shameful lust that flooded her. Nightly. Daily. Something more frightening than fear.
She doesn't dare think of it.
She clears her throat. Tried to make her voice even. Reasonable. "After all, Seto-it was one night- that's all there's ever been. That is, when you haven't been utterly rude to me and scornful of my beliefs at every possible turn…"
Seto's cheeks flush. He looks away. Stares hard at the ground. Tries not to retort something foolish.
She bites back a heavy breath as she tentatively- carefully- places her hand on his arm. Feeling the smooth black leather beneath her palm. Him.
He reacts as if she'd pinched him. Skin erupting into gooseflesh, a small cry issuing from his lips.
She hasn't touched him-no one has touched him that way-in years.
He only now realizes that this is a thing one could miss.
"Ishizu-but you're not-you knew that it was meaningful. Not only to me-to you-" The words stumble over his tongue.
It had to have been. It cannot be otherwise-
"I never said it wasn't." Her voice is surprised. Cautious. Uncertain at what he is trying to sputter out.
"Nothing to say that one night cannot be meaningful…"
He pushes down the rising whine in his throat. His voice coming out nearly breathless. "I mean-when I did try-at Alcatraz…" He slows down as the words slur together in a rush.
She looks at him curiously. Her heart is in her throat. Her hand still clutching at his arm. Gently.
He drops his gaze to the ground beneath them. The sand. His boots. Her bare feet. His ears feel hot. Embarrassed. Caught.
"You were right at Alcatraz…" He swallows hard, unable to meet her gaze, sure she is tensing up again.
Ready to fire. Loose the cannons.
Ready to hurt and be hurt once more.
"I-I was foolish, Ishizu. I thought-you were right, Ishizu. I thought-that if we could-"
She almost grins to herself as the particulars evade him. His cheeks reddening slightly under the moonlight. His pride. His youth.
"... then it wouldn't hurt so much. I mean-my own tournament. And I lose. Again. To that twerp."
She ignores his rude address of the Pharaoh and finds herself squeezing his arm sympathetically. Encouraging. Please.
Tell me.
"But when you said no-and when you said-what you said… I thought…"
I thought you didn't want this-me-any longer.
That you were done.
Given.
Taken.
Gone.
Seto's voice grows thick. I will not cry. Fuck. I won't.
I won't…
He wants to run. Anxiety courses through him, sharp and jittery. Wants to cover his face with his hands and run. Fuck the compound. Back to the jet. Away. Away from this.
To forget. Everything. To the extent that one could forget this.
Could forget her.
This strange woman.
This infuriating woman.
Ishizu inhales a shuddering, drawn-out breath, cool air squeaking against her teeth.
"Your pride will be your undoing, Seto…" The sad truth of it is threaded into her words.
A reprimand.
A warning.
He tenses. Nods. Accepts.
She turns to face him. Head bowed. Solemn. Then she lifts it, and her vision is startlingly clear.
"I thought…" she begins. Stops. Starts again. Sanding down the rough edges of her voice. "You… I wanted to save you. Seto. I thought-well, at first I thought you wanted me to-to come back to Domino… with you." She looks at him. Lifts her hand. Tugs his chin up with one finger so that their eyes meet again.
Ice.
Seawater.
He lets out a huffed breath, almost a wry chuckle, acknowledging her adroitness, his own outlandishness, as she continues. "Seto-you do know why I couldn't do that, right? -I mean… not only this. My home. And the Pharaoh. My duty. Even if your destiny had changed, mine had not…"
He presses his lips together. Body tensing once more as she squeezes his arm gently. Almost soothingly. As if to heal all wounds.
"Ishizu-"
"...but Seto- I… I know that you might think you feel a certain way towards me. You've gotten attached. Because I'm the only one you've ever been with. Like that. It will pass. It was one night." Her voice picks up in speed, pulse racing in her veins. "You cannot have honestly expected me to uproot myself on the basis of that one night…"
No matter how much it meant to me as well…
That-
That is a path she cannot let herself travel down again. Knowing where it leads.
To that feeling.
Something more, frighteningly more than lust. Than simple want. Something she is not entirely sure of. How to articulate. How to categorize it.
She sees something like it reflected in his gaze.
It scares her.
More than any threat of Rare Hunters or a doomed destiny ever could.
Seto grimaces. Hunches over. Head lowering. Chin nearly touching his chest. Hiding even as he stands.
Ishizu nods to herself. As if something dangerous, something terrible has begun to finally make sense to her.
"Seto…" her hand slides to his heated cheek. His eyes flutter shut. Thick lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and she is startled by his sudden beauty. Almost ethereal. Unreal. Something she'd never thought she could touch. Except to mar with her profane hand.
"And if-when-I had ceased to be of interest to you-what would I have done then?"
He almost cuts her off, reply thick with repressed emotion. "It wouldn't have happened."
Blunt. Leaking. Eyes wet. Weakness. This-
Lips wobbling. That way that makes a rush tear through her.
Like she wants to press her own lips to them. Stop any uncertainties from eating at him. Stop the world. Only the two of them. Existing like this.
She daren't. Daren't.
Gods. This boy…
"You don't know that, Seto-"
"And on the basis of that stupid, groundless fear alone, you-" he stops himself from saying something spiteful. Exasperated. Meant to draw blood.
Tempering himself.
The night swirls around them. Cooling. Endless stars glittering above. Endless darkness spreading out towards the horizon. The earth is endlessly round and nothing is allowing her to make sense of it. Of anything.
Ishizu pauses for a moment. Meets his eyes.
He doesn't look away.
She breathes in sharply-walks in closer-and leans her head onto his shoulder.
She can practically feel his heartbeat thrumming. Resonating. Throughout his body. Every fiber. Every cell. Coming alive under her touch.
He slides his hand down. Praying she won't run. Not this time.
His fingers weave themselves into hers and the air is utterly still for that moment.
And she clutches back at him, fingers sure and strong.
This thing. Indefinable thing. Between them.
It might not be what it could have been. Not now.
But it is not an ending.