Light of Intervention

Atem stares down at the picture in his hands, each line carefully drawn and shaded. Soulful violet gazes back up at him, but it's not right. It's never quite right…

Turning to the next page, he starts again. Pencil hovering just above the clean white paper, he wonders what memory this next scene will be. Or try to be; it never ends up as it should.

Graphite is suddenly marring the pure surface, and in what seems like no time at all the black and white form of his Aibou graces the sheet. Almost absently he picks up a set of colored pencils, filling in crisp but pale lines.

He doesn't realize it's been hours since he first started as he holds up the finished drawing, staring at it and frowning.

It's not right.

Scowling, he pulls out the pencil he used before, flipping the sketchbook to a new page. Again and again and again, he tries and draws and colors. His hands ache, fingers stained black and rubbed raw.

It's not right. Why can't he do it? His Light's smile is forever etched in his memory; every shade and nuance, expression and color. Over and over again, but it's not right. Why won't it work?

He doesn't stop; not until there's no more empty sheets in the sketchbook. Every page, every side, every bit of white is filled with amethyst eyes and a cheerful smile. It's all wrong. Hands shaking, he nearly throws the book away in frustration. But there's red on the cover… How did it get there? He's been so careful not to smear.

Gently someone takes the sketchbook from him. Red streaks down as his fingers slide off the cardboard binding.

"These are really good," a voice murmurs softly, slender fingers turning the pages.

"No," Atem hisses. "No, there's always something wrong, something missing… I can't find it, I don't know what it is!"

"You're right," the voice replies. Crimson eyes blink in shock. No false assurances? No one has ever believed him before. No one has seen it the way he has.

Briefly there is the sound of paper being flipped, and a pale hand takes the pencil lying on the desk. Absently Atem notices that there's red on it, too.

Quiet scratching seems loud in the eerily silent room, and the sound continues steadily for the greater part of an hour. Then the pencil is returned, switched for the box of colors.

"Finished," the voice says finally, handing back the sketchbook. It's open, showing a scene drawn earlier with Yugi outside, smiling up at a clear sky. But it's different now. Another face, strikingly similar but with startlingly red eyes…

"He looks complete now, doesn't he?" the voice whispers, soft and familiar.

Atem whips around, book falling to the floor. The presence is gone.

He picks the sketchbook up again, the still-open page smearing with crimson from bleeding fingers. He doesn't mind though, because he knows what to do now.

Holding the pencil lightly he scans the room for blank paper. Snagging a sheet from a nearby printer he pauses. He can wait, at least until his hands are healed.

The next time he draws his Hikari, it will be the whole soul. Light and Dark.

Thank you, Yugi…