Doctor's Note: Thank you again for your support! I'm gaining a lot of appreciation for Roland as I write this story. In my mind, even under Gozaburo's reign of tyranny, he stands by as a silent ally to Seto and Mokuba. These rare few days of time with the boys are when he first gets to know them, and the connections they forge here are quite significant. Enjoy Day Three! - Dr. Mini Pie
P.S. - Disney owns Aladdin. And Disney probably owns me. But what I don't know can't hurt me, I suppose.
The next morning, the sun rose behind a canvas of heathery gray sky. By now the thunder and lightning had worn out, and the rain was only a steady shower.
Seto lay in bed half-awake and, for the first time in a very long time, content. He'd slept much better that night after Roland had ushered the brothers up to their rooms—well, to Seto's room. Sleepy Mokuba proved to be even more stubborn than his wakeful counterpart and had clung to Seto with a vice-grip. Roland, with his signature shrug and look of anxious resignation, had left the brothers together.
Now Mokuba slept curled up at Seto's side, mouth wide open and hair sticking out at odd ends. Seto let himself match Mokuba's rhythmic breathing. He wondered what his brother might be dreaming about.
Beneath the peace, Seto felt his constant darkness rolling in and out like the tide. It was a dread without a name—the dry eyes of a slave who had been given one too many tastes of freedom to be fooled anymore by the hope it gave him. But it was so early, and this morning was so gentle, so sacred. Seto would not let his fear spoil Mokuba's dreams.
Into the contemplative quiet broke a familiar knock.
"Young Master Kaiba?" said Roland from outside the bedroom door. "Are you awake?"
Seto cringed at the noise and looked down at his brother, but Mokuba was not at all disturbed. He slept on as Seto slid out of his bed and tip-toed over to the door. Seto eased it open.
"Mokuba's still asleep," he whispered up to his temporary guardian.
"Oh! Forgive me," said Roland, hastily lowering his voice. He hunched over and beckoned for Seto to join him in the hallway. "If you don't mind," he hissed. Seto shook his head and stepped out, letting the door shut behind him with a faint 'click.'
"What is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes.
Roland tugged at his collar—another quirk Seto was starting to consider a trademark. He began in a whisper, "As you know, sir, today is Sunday."
It was still weird to be called 'sir,' but Seto rolled with it. "Yeah," he said, "what about it?"
Roland continued, "Well...just a moment ago I finished a phone call with...my mother." He seemed nervous and embarrassed. He adjusted the other half of his collar, and then switched back to the first half.
"She's aware of my role as your babysi—er, guardian—" Seto lowered his eyebrows doubtfully. "—and she...well." Roland gulped and sprinted through his finish: "She wants us all to accompany her to church this morning."
He waited for Seto's reaction.
A long time ago, now just a glimmer in the brightest corner of Seto's memory, Sunday morning had meant going to church. When his mother had traded her life for Mokuba's, their father had stopped going; he'd never liked it much in the first place. But before that, a very young Seto had glimpsed the formal expressions of his mother's deep faith almost every week.
He surprised both himself and Roland with his simple reply: "Sure."
Roland waited to see if this was a joke, but Seto's calm expression didn't budge. So Roland gave an incredulous nod and said, "O—okay, then. I'll call my mother back." He glanced at his watch. "Please be ready by nine o'clock, sir. We'll pick her up. In the limo." The thought made Roland's eyes light up, and he nearly winked at Seto before he bowed to dismiss himself and hurried down the hall.
Seto crept back into his own room and read the clock on his desk: 8:02 a.m. He had an hour to try and wake up Mokuba.
Naturally, getting ready for church did not come easy for two young boys and a barely-adult male. Sure, Roland dressed to the nines for his work at the Kaiba Mansion. But that uniform was both required and provided. He had no idea how to properly outfit himself for any formal occasion outside of work.
Seto and Mokuba found themselves in a similar predicament. What Mokuba considered his best clothes were not at all suitable for a church service: his new swim trunks and his favorite graphic tee, plus a bracelet he had won from a quarter machine at the grocery store. He screamed and hollered when Seto tried to pull a dress shirt over his head; Seto finally got him to compromise by wearing sweatpants instead of trunks and an orange blazer over his neon-green t-shirt.
All of a sudden it was ten past nine, and Seto wasn't dressed. He launched himself into his wardrobe and emerged in Lord knew what, just as Roland appeared at their door in khakis, sneakers, and a moisture-wicking golfer's polo to frantically usher them to the limo.
The drive to Roland's mother's house was short—perhaps due in part to Roland's I'm-speeding-but-I-have-kids-in-the-back-so-I'm-not-really-speeding style of driving. Seto and Mokuba peered out their rain-streaked windows at the cream-colored little structure and its well-kept garden.
"Stay here," said Roland over his shoulder as he wrestled to open his black Kaiba Corp. umbrella. "I'll be right back." They watched him maneuver around the limo and up the front walk to the red-painted door, where a small woman in a long dress already stood. Roland held out his arm for her, and she laid a hand on it. She clutched a pocketbook close to her chest as Roland led her under his umbrella through the rain.
"Who's that?" asked Mokuba.
"Roland's mom," said Seto.
"Really?" Mokuba leaned around Seto for a better view. "Does he like her?"
"I'm sure he likes her."
"I like her."
"Shh, here she is. Scoot over."
Roland opened the curbside door and stood holding the umbrella overhead while his mother struggled into the car. Mokuba slid to the opposite wall and Seto positioned himself in the middle, not sure if he should help the woman or not.
"Of course it rains on the day I wear this dress," she said, piling the skirt into the vehicle while maintaining a mighty grip on her pocketbook. "It always does. And the mud never washes all the way out of the hem, but that's just the way of things, and I'll grin and bear it like I always do. Rolly," she called to Roland, "be a doll and get the end of my skirt there for me—thank you, dear."
Roland made sure she was all the way in and shut the door. It was suddenly quiet and close. Seto and Mokuba watched her fuss with her dress, perm, and various other accoutrements. Roland climbed back into the driver's seat, himself soaking wet, and pulled back onto the road.
"Drive slower, Rolly, you see it's raining out," said Roland's mother. She produced a compact and a pink stick from her purse and carefully re-applied the stuff to her lips.
"Yes, Mom," said Roland, sheepish.
"And what is this car, this fancy limousine?" His mother squinted through her rain-clouded lenses all around the compartment. "Is this one of those Kaiba limousines? You drive these at work?"
"Sometimes—"
"I can't stand that man Kaiba, when I see him on T.V." Roland's mother carried right on as though she hadn't asked a question. "He's got a look like you can't trust him," she said, pursing her newly pink lips. "All that business with weapons and war—just unwholesome, you know, and if it weren't for the pay, Rolly, I'd say you ought to quit while you're ahead..."
At last she noticed the boys who sat staring beside her, and she grew quiet for a moment to look them up and down.
"And you're his boys," she said. "With the funny names."
"Mom!" cried Roland from up front.
"I remember because they rhyme with islands—what is it, Aruba and—another one. Some other island. Which one was it?" She waved her hand. Seto and Mokuba blinked, uncomprehending.
She continued her appraisal. "My God, you're so thin the wind would blow you over," she said to Seto, and as the words left her another emotion entered her face. "Did you boys eat breakfast this morning? Rolly, did you fix them breakfast?"
"We, uh—didn't have time—" Roland admitted, already wincing. And the blow did come.
Whap! Seto and Mokuba flinched. Roland's mother withdrew her pocketbook, glaring something fierce.
"That man Kaiba pays you to be the guardian of these two boys—"
"That's—that's not my normal job—"
Whap! "And you don't so much as fix the poor boys breakfast?!"
"We were running late, we had to pick you up, Mom—"
Whap! "Don't you blame this on me! I raised you better than that, Roland Michael—"
"He made us breakfast yesterday," Mokuba cut in out of the blue. Roland's mother swiveled to look at him, and he nodded. "I promise," added Mokuba.
She glanced at Seto, who was already nodding. "Waffles," he said quickly.
Though far from satisfied, Roland's mother seemed somewhat appeased. She brandished the pocketbook a final time before stuffing it under her arm.
"Right after church today, you're all coming to my house, and you're eating a real meal," she spoke as though issuing a royal decree.
"No, Mom—" Roland began, but caught sight of his mother's face in the rearview mirror and thought better of it.
"Right after church," she repeated. "I have a roast in the crockpot. You like roast?" She looked at the boys.
"Yeah," they said together.
She gave a curt nod. "Good. Driver slower, Roland, or you'll send us all to heaven before we even get to church."
"Y-yes, Mom."
"What's a roast?" whispered Mokuba.
"You'll like it," Seto whispered back.
Apart from Mrs. Roland's-Mom's running commentary, they spent the remainder of the drive in subservient silence. Roland dropped them off at the front of the Clover Road Church of Christ—the limousine earning no small number of stares from their fellow church-goers—and drove off to find a parking space along the road.
Roland's mother gave her own appearance another scrutinizing pass while they waited for Roland under the awning. Unfortunately she turned her exacting eye on the boys next.
"Lord have mercy," she breathed in horror, "what in God's name are you boys wearing?"
Seto blushed and looked down at himself—a wrinkly dress shirt and pants, a crooked tie...and the sandals he had worn to the pool. With the socks he had slept in. Oh God—what a moron.
"I bought this," said Mokuba, thrusting an arm out to show the woman his bracelet. She was too affronted to compose a direct reply. Right then Roland jogged up the front steps to join them, and he immediately became their saving grace when his mother laid eyes on his wardrobe.
"Roland, you look like you stole the wrinkly old rags off a beggar's back."
Roland hung his head. "Sorry, Mom."
Her look of utter disappointment didn't waver. "Lead the boys to Bible class," she said. "I'm sure it's already started."
"Yes, Mom."
Mokuba and Seto followed Roland into the foyer and down a set of stairs to the basement, where a row of classrooms stretched out and around the corner.
"Master Mokuba's class is there, 'K' through two," said Roland, pointing to a door decorated with confetti and paper Bibles.
"We have to split up?" asked Seto, as usual far more anxious about the prospect than Mokuba seemed to be. Mokuba was already striding toward the classroom.
"Well—unless you want to stay with Master Mokuba, sir," said Roland. "But I think he'll be fine." They both watched Mokuba turn around and wave. He wore a broad smile.
"Bye, Seto! Bye, Roland!" he called, and disappeared into the classroom.
Seto frowned as he battled down his nerves. "Where's my classroom, then?" he demanded a bit harshly.
Roland gestured around the corner. "The middle school group meets toward the end of the hall, Young Master Kaiba." He added, "...Do you want me to escort you there?"
"No," mumbled Seto.
Roland looked down at his adolescent master, who stood clenching his fists and biting his lip, expending all his effort to maintain calm control—and Roland's heart gave a small lurch. He dared to rest a hand on Seto's slender shoulder and give a reassuring squeeze.
"Young Master Mokuba will be alright, sir," he said gently. "It's my job to make sure of that."
Seto didn't look up, but he didn't jerk away.
"Besides," said Roland, "we'll all have hell to pay if we don't all join my mom for roast after this."
At that Seto couldn't help but smirk a little. Roland let go of Seto's shoulder; and when Seto turned to glance up at him, Roland winked.
"Call if you need me, sir," he said. "I won't leave you."
Seto looked away and started down the hall to hide his blush of gratitude. "Yeah, alright," he said, and Roland watched him go.
Class wasn't so bad. It was forty-five minutes of Bible trivia, and since Seto was a guest, he was allowed to sit out. He endured quite a few proud, snobbish looks from the religious know-it-alls in the class, but he fired right back with his own glares of scathing disdain. When the bell rang, Seto leapt to his feet and made a beeline for the door, but the rest of the class snickered at him—it was apparently only the 'first bell,' the five-minute warning, and Seto was forced to skulk back to his seat and wait out the dreadful remainder.
The second bell resounded, and Seto marched out the door and down the hall before anyone else even stood up. He strode past rows of drab doors to his right and left, and he swept to a halt in front of Mokuba's classroom. The door stood ajar.
"Good job, today, everybody," Seto heard the teacher inside say in a sing-song manner, shouting overtop the clamor of the children. "Especially you, Mokuba. Thank you for sharing all your wonderful stories."
"You're welcome," chirped Mokuba. "Can I keep this?" Seto's heart surged with relief at the sound of his voice.
"Of course you can! Give it to your Mommy and Daddy, and tell them to please come back next week."
"Can I give it to my brother?"
"That's fine, dear."
The door flew wide open, and a stampede of five-year-olds emerged, all clutching scraggly, makeshift crafts between their grubby fingers. They shoved past Seto and into the arms of their parents—who'd flocked around Seto in the interim—until the last and littlest black-haired boy came tumbling out.
"Look what I made, Seto!" said Mokuba, thrusting his craft into Seto's hands. It was a pasted wad of construction paper and Popsicle sticks that dripped with glitter. Something was drawn in crayon, but it was hard to tell what. Seto examined it thoroughly to show Mokuba he was pleased.
"It's really nice," he said. "Great job, kiddo."
"It's Daniel and a lion's den," said Mokuba proudly. "It's for you."
"Really? Thanks!" Seto ruffled his brother's hair.
"Welcome!" Mokuba beamed.
The hallway stood nearly vacant now, and the boys heard a drone of voices overhead. Just as Seto started to wonder what to do next, Roland appeared at the foot of the stairwell. He motioned for them to follow him back up, and they obeyed.
"How was class, sir?" Roland asked Seto as they hustled up the stairs.
"Okay," said Seto.
Roland nodded. "And for you, Young Master?" he asked Mokuba.
"Great!" said Mokuba. "Really fun!"
"I'm glad," said Roland in full sincerity. "Let's find my mom, and we'll sit with her during worship."
At the top of the stairs and through a set of heavy double-doors waited the expansive auditorium. The boys ogled at the rows of pews and the tall ceiling, and most of all, the podium up front and its splendid backdrop.
And it was crowded. Men and women in suits and dresses chatted and ambled down the aisle to claim their spots. Children crawled under the pews, scorning their mothers' rebukes; teens flirted near the back; babies wailed. Seto began to feel a bit overwhelmed; but with one hand bearing Mokuba's craft and the other grasping Mokuba's hand, he stayed grounded. He wove in and out of the throng of God's faithful, hot on Roland's heels, and he kept an eye out for Roland's mother.
Seto's eyes passed over every face—and it wasn't until several seconds after passing over one face in particular that they sparked in recognition and did a double-take.
What?
The?
Crap?!
No way. No way. There was no way.
Seto did a triple-take. But there was no way to deny it. It was him. Joey. Standing there beside an old woman, dressed in a frumpy shirt and tie and looking bored and stupid. He didn't see Seto.
"Sir, this way," Seto heard Roland call from his left, and Seto forced himself to tear his gaze away from the horrid spectacle. He and Mokuba shuffled into the pew and sat down, and everyone around them—including him—began to follow suit.
In spite of the serene memories the church service might have drawn up for Seto, Joey was all Seto could think about for the rest of the morning. He barely pretended to sing; he tuned out the sermon completely. He kept glancing over at Joey's pew, burning the back of that scruffy blonde head into his vision. The only thing he thanked God for during prayer was the tenuous fact that Mokuba hadn't noticed Joey at all yet—and that Joey hadn't noticed them.
Mokuba, for one, was enjoying himself immensely. Roland helped him follow along in both the Bible and the songbook, and he sang along to songs he didn't know with as much gusto as he could manage. When they prayed, he bowed his head in uttered a reverent, 'Amen,' every time.
"I learned that in class," he whispered to Seto. Seto hardly heard him.
How could Joey be here, of all places? Had Mokuba seen him yet? Clearly not, or Mokuba would've run over and hugged him and talked to him and—and been his friend.
He was like some kind of stalker-demon, creeping into every corner of Seto's life. Soon Seto'd wake up to find Joey lurking in a corner of his house, dragging a happy Mokuba off to the pool, stealing Mokuba away forever, laughing and having fun with Mokuba in a way Seto hadn't been able to do in a long time, and would probably never be able to do again...
"...And in Jesus' name we pray, Amen." Church was over. Mokuba returned his songbook to its slot in the back of the pew with great care. Roland helped his mother to her feet. Seto stared at Joey. When Joey started to turn toward Seto, Seto ducked so fast that he cracked his head on the corner of the pew, hard.
"Ouch!" he yelped before he could help it.
"Seto!" Mokuba cried.
"What's gotten into you?" said Roland's mother.
"Are you alright, sir?!" asked Roland.
"I'm fine," Seto lied, blinking back stars to get a better look at Joey, who still hadn't noticed them. He rubbed his head to dull the pain. But when he pulled his hand away, he found his fingers streaked with blood. He tried in vain to hide it in time.
"Oh, Lord!" Roland's mother exclaimed. "He's busted his head. He's bleeding, Roland. He's bleeding, take him to the restroom." She pushed Roland and Seto out of the pew and ushered them down the side aisle. A frightened Mokuba ran along behind.
By now the scene was attracting unwanted attention, and Seto did his best to keep hidden as Roland led him to the restroom. His head did hurt, but he knew it wasn't serious—cuts on the head always bled a lot—but if Joey saw him, saw him bleeding, and getting patched up by a grown-up—Seto'd never forgive himself.
The whole church seemed to have caught wind of the mishap, and passed along the shred of gossip as their small group hurried past. Could Seto get away with it?
They made it to the restroom, where Roland had Seto hold a wad of paper towels to his forehead while he left to find a first-aid kit. Mokuba waited there with Seto, a nervous wreck, pacing to and fro.
"Are you okay, Seto? Are you bleeding a lot? Are you gonna be okay?" Mokuba bombarded him with anxious questions. Seto nodded impatiently, and his head throbbed.
"I'll be fine," he said, watching the door and praying that Joey wouldn't come down to the restroom.
"Are you sure?" Poor Mokuba fretted further when he didn't get Seto's full attention. "Really? Are you gonna be okay?"
"Really. I'll be okay," Seto snapped. His eyes never left the door. So he was startled when Mokuba spoke next through a gurgle of tears.
"Nuh-uh! You won't be okay!"
"Huh?" Seto finally looked down at his brother, who glared up at him through watery, betrayed eyes.
"You're lying!" Mokuba wailed.
"What?! No I'm not!"
But Mokuba's sobs only grew louder. "Yes-huh! You're hurt really bad!"
Seto was telling the truth, and he didn't know what to do. Mokuba's tears were unnerving—they wrenched Seto's heart. He reached out a hand, but it was still splattered with drying blood, and Mokuba flinched away.
"Mokuba!" Seto entreated, and felt tears sting his own eyes. "Come on! I would never lie to you!"
Mokuba only cried and cried. Seto stood, jamming the wad of paper against his head, baffled and helpless.
Roland presently returned with the first aid kit and fixed up Seto's forehead with little trouble. The cut wasn't deep enough to warrant any stitches. Roland then tried to address Mokuba's inconsolable state, but Mokuba would have none of it. He followed them all back to the limo but refused to hold anyone's hand. He sat as far as he could away from Seto in the backseat. Only when they arrived at Roland's mother's house, and sat down around the pleasantly decorated dining room table for roast, did Mokuba finally relax enough to interact.
Joey had never found them. And Seto wanted to feel relieved. But the incident with Mokuba left him too shaken.
And awful thoughts began to swirl and take shape in his head. Not only did Mokuba not need Seto, but he didn't even trust him. Mokuba trusted some charming and friendly kid that he'd only met two days ago, more than he trusted him.
That evening, Mokuba seemed very much back to normal, though his gaze often wandered up to the bandage on Seto's forehead and lingered for a while.
It was time again for Aladdin. Seto paid only half-attention to the movie, up until the scene when the eponymous hero reached out a hand and asked the girl he loved, "Do you trust me?"
Seto looked down at Mokuba. Mokuba remained enraptured—oblivious, of course, to the question's pertinence. He was five. The movie was all magic and colors and songs to him, and that's all it ought to've been.
Seto watched Aladdin lie through his teeth to Jasmine, and watched Jasmine want to believe him. But it was easy to see she didn't.
It was almost the end of their third day of freedom. Tomorrow was their last day together. Mokuba had begged to return to the pool all afternoon, so they'd be going there tomorrow without question, rain or shine. Joey would more than likely be there, loitering about the poolside. Looking forward to hanging out with Mokuba. Not knowing it would be the last time.
Seto wondered if he himself was as transparent to Mokuba as Aladdin was to Jasmine. Could someone so small see through him so easily? Was there anything Seto could do to protect his brother, to keep those retching sobs of worry out of Mokuba's tiny heart? He'd thought he'd done a good job so far—or at least a decent one—until today.
After Aladdin, Mokuba wanted to pray before bed, and Seto indulged him. As Mokuba sweetly repeated the things he'd learned in Bible class that morning, Seto bowed his aching head and silently asked for courage.
Tomorrow he would need all the courage he could get.