CHAPTER 25: SOUL OF THE DUELIST

Sometimes obstacles are as obvious as the troll lurking under the bridge or the Balrog standing on top of it. Sometimes challenges exist in the moment: to be met, mastered and as easily forgotten.

Sometimes though, the real challenge isn't the one staring you in the face, but the one that smacks you in the back of the head just as you think that the danger's passed. When Luke Skywalker fought Darth Vadar in the Cloud City on Bespin, his goals were as simple as action-adventure movie goals usually are: to defeat his foe or at least escape alive. But maybe the true test only came after the battle had ended… maybe the real battle was living with the knowledge he'd met his father.

GOZABURO'S NARRATIVE

My own son would have lost that chess game.

Would it have been a lack of skill? A faltering of will? Or would Noa just have known it was his place to lose to me?

I'd made Seto into the person he was, and now he was trying to change, as if he could alter his character along with this program. As if, at this late date, he still thought he could deny me.

Publicly at least, Zorc seemed unconcerned by the changes my adoptive son had made to this virtual world. Then again, when we were together I maintained a façade of indifference as well. When I was alone I tried to counter Seto's changes, but I'd been effectively locked out. I'd scanned the alterations I could see, the ones he'd made before managing to find a way to hide his movements. There was a subtly to Seto's latest moves that reminded me of our last encounter, of how he'd tried to put a defensive perimeter around himself and everything he cared about. He'd done the same thing here.

He was rubbing his seeming victory in my face – or worse – making it clear that I'd never been more than a means to an end to him. I'd tried to brand into his heart that when you're on top everyone beneath you is just a tool to be used and discarded. And now the little bastard was trying to do the same to me.

Seto had lied to me from the first day we'd met. He'd told me he insisted on making his brother part of our deal because he wanted an audience for his victory. It could have been partly true. He was certainly enough of a show-off. But I'd known from the beginning better than to take anything he said at face value. Seto had been quick to grasp the advantages of knowing your enemy. He was slower to get that this applied to him as well.

It hadn't taken much to figure out that Mokuba was Seto's weak spot. At first I tried threatening the little mouse. It was the most obvious move. It reminded Seto of just how powerless he was. But it also welded them into an even tighter pair, which had never been my intention.

I'd used physical punishment as a way of breaking Seto, of course… returned to it again and again. But as pleasant as it was, I was after more than mere enjoyment. It was another effective way of proving to him just how puny and powerless he was, how totally under my control. It forced him to realize that for all his pretensions he was just a child; more importantly, he belonged to me now.

Noa had wanted to be my son. He'd failed at that task. Seto had wanted to be my heir, not my child. He looked like Noa. He'd even cut his hair the same way. That was enough to make me hate him on sight. I wanted to punish him for his presumption, for thinking a stray dog from the gutter like him could replace the irreplaceable. But for all that Seto had schemed to make it happen, he didn't have a clue what it meant to be my heir. He wanted to live in my house, enjoy all the trappings of my power and wealth and eventually run my company as he pleased. But if he was going to step into my shoes, I was going to break him and recast him in my own image first. And that didn't include a brother.

I could have simply removed Mokuba – I'd threatened it often enough – but that wouldn't have served my purpose. I didn't just want Mokuba gone, I wanted Seto being the one to give the order.

It was strange how every time I thought of the past it appeared in front of me – not that I minded revisiting this particular scene. I'd wanted Seto to hear Mokuba's name and feel remembered pain. And for that, a new strategy was needed.

Mokuba was six. It didn't take much for him to screw up – or for Seto to get caught trying to cover their tracks. I'd reassured Seto that I knew he wasn't the one to blame.

"Mokuba has to learn to behave better," I told Seto, enjoying the way his face paled. I always picked the middle of the night for these little visits, the time when my adoptive son was at his tiredest and most vulnerable, when he'd be least likely to be able to think things through.

"Mokuba's my responsibility. We agreed on that. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," Seto said urgently.

"There's still the matter of punishment. The misdeed needs to be paid for," I reminded him.

"I understand," he said.

I'd brought my riding crop. Seto had learned by now not to protest. He wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as he thought he was, though. His face flushed with humiliation as he bent over his desk chair, waiting for the first blow. I was sorry I couldn't see his face as it landed.

His chest was heaving by the time I'd finished. His breath was mingled with harsh sobs although, as usual, he'd managed to contain his tears.

"I don't care what you do to me," he said defiantly, facing me once more. The words, "Better me than Mokuba," seemed to hang in the air although he was too wary to say them aloud.

I answered him anyway. "You don't really think I'd beat a six year old for a minor transgression, do you?"

His mouth dropped open.

"You must have known he wasn't in any real danger," I repeated patiently.

He stared at me. He was exhausted, in pain and confused… just the way I wanted him for this conversation.

"He was safe?" he asked numbly.

"Of course he was. I'm training you, not your brother. Have I ever hurt him?"

Seto shook his head.

"So there was no need for this grand and unnecessary gesture. He was never in any danger. Admit it boy, you didn't do this for Mokuba, but for yourself. You just had to prove how tough you were, what a big man you were, regardless of the consequences. That's why I punished you."

I could almost see his doubts chasing each other sluggishly through his sleep deprived mind. He knew better than to trust me, but I'd never actually hurt Mokuba and he knew that too. Seto was eleven. He wanted more than anything to believe Mokuba was safe, but that would mean admitting I was right and that he was just a foolish child. He wasn't willing to risk Mokuba's well being by believing me, but he was halfway convinced I'd told the truth. His shoulders slumped. It was a matter of pride with him to always keep eye contact, no matter what. Now his gaze dropped to the floor.

Seto loved winning. With a little patience I could make his brother's name synonymous with defeat.

"It's obvious you were thinking of yourself," I said.

"No," Seto answered, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Don't forget you have work to finish," I said as I left the room. I waited until I was out of sight to smile triumphantly. Seto had been so eager to protect his brother that he'd forgotten he had a rare outing with him in the morning – an outing he was now in no shape to attend.

It was a win-win situation for me, one that repeated itself over the next five years. Again and again, Seto had to either cancel a treat that both he and his brother knew would never be rescheduled or he forced his injured body to go through with it – only to be rewarded by Mokuba's tears and increasingly frantic responses when Seto evaded his demands to be told what was wrong… each time Seto assured him everything was fine and under control.

It was an enjoyable game, but Seto should have remembered: moves are best made in combination. Before his twelfth birthday arrived, I'd started the second part of my attack.

I'd never minded Seto having a conscience. It made things easier. Once you break that, the rest follows. I routinely kept Seto deprived of sleep. For this next stage in his training, I'd cut his allotted rest time still further and sent him back to work without dinner on consecutive nights. My actions could have alerted him that I had something special planned, but it was a calculated risk. I'd done the same things often enough for no reason other than that I could. It was an effective way of keeping him off balance.

This time, I'd told Seto that if he completed his latest project by midnight – for once a goal that was well within his reach – he'd get 48 hours of uninterrupted rest. It was my usual reward.

Neither brother had realized yet just how extensive the surveillance system was. I'd watched Mokuba as he'd carefully constructed his game. First he turned a piece of paper sideways. Then he drew a row of six circles across the top and bottom edges, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. He paused. I wondered if he'd forgotten whatever markings came next. I wanted him to finish. Finally he added a long oval at either end, and started coloring in the page. He managed to stay within the lines but the result was crude. It looked like a child's scribble. Next Mokuba drew and cut out 48 smaller circles, stopping every now and then to count them. He colored them in as well using the pencils that were supposed to be reserved for his homework assignments.

He smiled in satisfaction at the result, oblivious to the flaws in its execution. He didn't have Seto's abilities or his drive for perfection. I didn't know what the game was but it didn't matter. Mokuba sat down and waited for the coast to be clear enough for him to sneak off to see his brother.

I made sure the hallway was busy with one servant or another until 10:00 PM. It was the perfect time. Any earlier and Seto could have finished their game and still completed his project if he rushed through it fast enough. Any later and Seto could have told himself he was trying to keep Mokuba from getting caught. This way, when Seto rejected Mokuba he'd be unable to pretend it was for any reason but the true one: he wanted his promised 48 hour respite.

I watched as Mokuba snuck down the hall, a smile on his face. The one on mine was bigger when Seto threw his brother out. I could hear the exhaustion in Seto's voice. Judging by the way he went sobbing back to his room, I'm guessing Mokuba only heard the anger.

I went to Seto's room at midnight. As expected the project had been completed.

"Good job," I said.

Seto looked up at that, startled at the praise.

"Go to bed. You've earned it," I said.

I waited until he'd staggered to bed and closed his eyes before adding, "By the way, did you see Mokuba earlier? I passed him in the hallway. He was crying."

Seto's eyes flew open. He was too young and too tired to watch his words. "Mokuba was crying? It's my fault. I sent him away."

"Quite right. After all what do his tears matter? He's nobody. Who cares if the brat cries himself sick? After all you're getting to go to sleep and you're the one that matters, not him. I knew you'd realize that eventually. I knew when it counted you'd put yourself first."

"No," he mumbled.

I couldn't believe it. Seto actually tried to get out of bed. He made it as far as sitting up before flopping back down, his eyes already closed. When I was sure he was out cold, I left the room.

It was another scene that played itself out over and over. Seto knew I was his enemy, he had to know I was setting him up. But he still felt guilty for each harsh word, for every shove. I'd figured that sooner or later he'd snap. I'd been right, after a fashion – after all he had tried to kill Mokuba. But maybe I'd had my eye on the wrong brother. That Mokuba stayed loyal to Seto argued nothing more than stupidity – but somehow, despite everything, he'd managed to hold on to Seto's loyalty as well.

I frowned. My thoughts were running on a well worn and increasingly unprofitable track.

Unexpectedly they were interrupted. Zorc's pet kid appeared in front of me. Icicles hung from his white hair. There was snow on his cheeks.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"Damn him!" he snarled.

"Who?" I asked. We'd ignored each other up 'til now. Whatever was eating him badly enough to make him want to talk to me could potentially be useful.

"That bastard you refer to as your adopted son. I boasted that he couldn't prevent me from finding them if the pharaoh used the Millennium Items. He took me up on it. He's taunting me – reminding me that unless I become a player in this game, there's nothing I can do to him or to the pharaoh."

"I didn't think you were the kind of wimp who'd settle for sitting on the sidelines," I observed.

"My master has…"

"I didn't think you were the kind of person who'd call someone else your master, either," I said, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

"I don't care about that!" he yelled. "Zorc has carried me safely through millennia so that I can avenge my family. He's promised I will see their deaths finally answered for."

"And you trust him to keep his promises? How touching," I sneered.

He stormed off without answering, but I was content to wait and see if my words brought fruit later. Besides, for the moment, waiting was all I could do. We could have chosen to be players in this game – we still could for what it was worth – facing whatever challenges it threw at us and taking on Seto and the rest directly. We'd chosen a different course. I'd set this game up to do my work for me; there'd been a delightful irony in letting Seto's game kill him while I stood by and watched. But Seto had thrown that challenge back in my face by locking me out of his program, by finding a way around my revisions as if I wasn't relevant anymore. I'd been his puppetmaster, pulling his strings. With a few commands he'd turned me into a mere bystander instead – then, as the final insult, he'd snatched even that demeaning role away. Although I knew staying on the sidelines was the game plan we'd agreed on, I agreed with the under-aged minion who'd just stalked off: it was becoming unacceptably unsatisfying.

YAMI'S NARRATIVE

I'd followed our meeting with Sugoroku by testing the Millennium Items again – the Scales this time. It had seemed preferable than another evening of not talking about almost kissing the night before. I'd learned a little more and fallen into a trance again – the only difference was that this time Bakura hadn't come to gloat. Kaiba had looked suspiciously smug at Bakura's non-appearance.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but what did you do?" I asked.

"Since he told me that he tracked the Items, I inserted a bounce pattern for anyone but us who tried hooking into them."

"Where did you send him?"

Kaiba gave a bark of laughter. "To the polar region. I figured he needed to cool off."

I'd laughed, but our rapport was over almost as soon as it began. I wasn't surprised Kaiba wasn't ready to talk about what had happened between us. I didn't know what to say myself. I'd gone to sleep expecting the next day to be awkward.

It was.

The best thing I could say about it as evening approached was that the day was almost over. Kaiba and I stopped and set up our camp in silence. As soon as we finished, Kaiba went to try and contact Noa. We were hungry for news. Kaiba walked as far away from me as he could without dragging me along as part of the Puzzle he wore around his neck, until he was screened by the trees. I wondered if he wanted privacy for himself, or if he assumed that Noa might not appear if there was an audience.

Kaiba shrugged as he returned. "Mokuba and Yugi are okay." He paused, paced the ground, then stopped and shrugged again. Relieved as he was, Kaiba was also wired. We'd stopped for the night, but clearly he'd be unable to sleep for a while. "I figured it would be like summoning a duel monster."

"Was it?" I asked.

"No. I don't like being in Noa's debt. I figured he'd gloat."

"Did he?" I asked, wondering if that was what had Kaiba so uptight. But he seemed bothered rather than angry.

"No. He was decent. I don't get it. I mean it's not like we've ever been… friends or whatever…" Kaiba went back to pacing, as if movement would help him sort things out. He shook his head. "Noa surprised me. He'd asked me a question in return, something about Mokuba and my biological father. I wasn't sure why he was interested, but I didn't mind a little quid pro quo. There wasn't much to say anyway. We didn't see much of him after our mom died. Noa just nodded though like he was adding something to his store of knowledge," Kaiba laughed abruptly. "Noa once boasted that since he existed electronically, he had all the knowledge in the world. I guess he's rethinking that one. He told me: 'Sometimes death takes the people left behind as well, doesn't it?' Then he disappeared without waiting for an answer."

"Did you have one?" I asked.

Kaiba shrugged yet again. "I don't even know who he was talking about… his family… my original one… him… me… I'm not sure it matters. I had Mokuba. That's the answer. That's always been the answer. It might not have been enough for my father, but I'm not my father. I'd rather be anything than a nonentity, even…"

"You're not your adoptive father, either," I said.

Kaiba whirled around at that like he was under attack. I was surprised his sword hadn't appeared in his hand, he was that tense. He let out a breath, but I wasn't fooled. His back was ramrod straight; the muscles in his shoulders and neck were bunched and strained.

"Stop doing that!" he ordered.

"What?" I asked.

"Trying to make me feel better. It's unnerving."

I laughed. He glared at me, but his shoulders finally relaxed.

"It's the truth," I said. "Neither is Noa. It's harder to write him off as an enemy when he's being a friend, isn't it?"

"I don't know what he wants," Kaiba said.

"It sounds like he wanted to talk," I pointed out.

Kaiba snorted. "That's all I need – a chatty ghost."

I rolled my eyes, thinking Kaiba hardly needed to be deliberately obtuse.

He looked at our bedrolls and said, "You might as well get some sleep."

I wondered if he was trying to avoid talking about how he felt about Noa – or about us.

"I can't right now," I admitted.

Kaiba nodded but didn't say anything else. That was par for the course. We still hadn't talked about that kiss. It had hung over us since we had almost done it, taking on a life of its own, until I was sure it would become the centerpiece of some new challenge. But none had appeared. Or was the game subtler than that? A challenge would have been a relief.

I wondered if Kaiba was aware of how closely he stood to me, of how often his hand brushed against mine, drifted across my shoulder or back. Probably not, or he would have controlled his movements more carefully.

Every time his gaze dropped to my lips, I felt the urge to press them against his. But then I thought of the waif-like ghosts I'd met – and of how alone they'd been, how fragile beneath the hard surface they presented to the world, and I'd held back. I wanted Kaiba. I was pretty sure he felt the same. But those little phantoms hadn't known how to want anything but Mokuba's safety, and I wasn't sure anything had changed with the years.

If there was one thing I'd learned since entering this game it was that if Kaiba was even braver than I'd known, he was also more brittle… sleeping badly when he slept at all, pushing himself too hard, listening for too long to whatever harsh voices were echoing in his head… refusing to share any of it, even with me. I remembered applying a healing salve to Kaiba's body, tracing his injuries, new and old, as he'd lain, stiff and tense beneath me. How he'd twitched every time I touched him, unconsciously preparing for an attack before forcing himself to relax.

I'd told Sugoroku that touch was special. Now I wondered, had anyone but Mokuba ever hugged him before? Even Sugoroku – who seemed to care about him – had held back. And if affection was an unknown and suspect thing – what must he make of desire?

I looked at the Puzzle hanging around Kaiba's neck, the proof we were joined somehow. I'd tried to learn from the other Items; I'd left the Puzzle untouched. But maybe if I knew who I'd been, I'd know what to do next.

"May I?" I asked, stepping forward, coming close enough to hold the Puzzle as it lay against Kaiba's chest.

"It's yours not mine," he answered, his voice surprisingly low.

At first all I was aware of was Kaiba… the warmth radiating from his body, the slight intake of breath as the back of my hands grazed his chest, the faint, pleasantly musky scent I'd come to associate with him. Then the pull of the present abruptly let go.

Unlike the last times, I didn't fall into a single scene, but a series of them, each one lingering only long enough for me to register it. A tall man, his face half hidden by the hood of his robe led a troop of soldiers on horseback; they were riding away from a burning village… I gasped as I saw Shadi and the previous incarnation of Seto pushing their way through a screaming mob. They stopped at the center of the crowd, staring in shock at the unconscious body of a young woman lying on the pavement, her silver-white hair fanning out around her. I'd told Sugoroku that he looked familiar. Now his double winked at Isis; the appreciative gleam in his eye was the same then as now.

The scenes were coming faster now… Bakura laughing wildly as he stripped the wrappings off a mummy… Seto calling up a strange monster… Bakura laughing again as he destroyed it. My council – or what was left of it – surrounded me. They were crying. I was in front of them performing a ritual that I suddenly knew would seal me in the Puzzle, would strip me of my memories…

And I still didn't know why.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Every time I'd starred into the Items, darkness had encompassed me. I saw now they'd been precursors to this moment of dissolution. I was losing myself… reflexes slowing… sight dimming. I was joining the darkness that was surrounding me, that was welcoming me into its embrace like a long lost son. I wanted to see Yugi again… to see Kaiba… to see… but the pull of the darkness was too insistent. Yet instead of nothingness, I suddenly thought of that day in Kaiba's office and one of Pegasus' cards flashed through my mind – the gentle light falling from the clouds above. "Light of Hope" it had been called. But what good was hope without a future?

"Yami!"

It was Kaiba. Air whooshed into my lungs. I hadn't been aware of anything, even falling to the ground, but I opened my eyes to see Kaiba kneeling beside me. I had the oddest feeling he'd just lifted his head from mine. His fingers were at my neck, pressing just under my jawline. As I stared at him, his fingers slid to my shoulder. I gasped and leaned over coughing, then lay back down.

"What the fuck just happened?" Kaiba said.

"I saw death. My death. You were right. I almost chased the past right into my own grave," I said.

"You stopped breathing! I thought…"

I couldn't tell if the emotion in his voice was anger, or – more unbelievably – fear. Abruptly he swung one long leg across my torso, straddling me. His hands gripped my shoulders and pinned me to the ground.

"You're alive," he insisted. Before I could decide which one of us Kaiba was trying to convince, he leaned forward and kissed me. He did it slowly, almost experimentally, as if he wasn't sure what would happen, even as his tongue entered my mouth.

Kaiba's kiss was faintly bitter. Like the first drink of water from a fountain in spring, it carried the metallic tang of something that had lain unused and dormant for far too long.

He lifted his head slightly from mine.

"Yami…" he whispered. How could something said so softly hit me with the impact of a runaway train?

I grabbed his head and yanked it back to mine, where it belonged. I was sick of all the times we'd clasped hands, all the times we'd brushed against each other as we walked, the time we'd almost kissed. I wanted this moment beyond doubt.

I pressed my mouth against his, pushed my tongue past his lips, explored the interior of his mouth only to meet another contradiction: how could something be moist and incendiary at the same time?

I'd felt so many new things since coming here. This one was beyond imagining. I wanted 100 hands so I could feel every inch of Kaiba all at once, so I could devour him with one caress. Everything he stroked in turn… my neck, the hollow beneath the ridge of my collarbones, my chest, my nipples… left me impatient for the next touch, the next place his hand would land and claim.

I knew these feeling were my own. I hugged them to me. And I realized I'd gained the ultimate prize in this world: what I felt wasn't affection or respect or even desire – although it had all those things at its core – but a strange, intoxicating amalgam of them all. Sugoroku had said that touch was special. I'd agreed. I hadn't had a clue what touch was.

Kaiba's first kiss had been soft… tentative, almost. Now we were glued together as if our mouths couldn't stand to be parted, even for the moments it took me to taste Kaiba's neck or for his tongue to dip into the well of my ear… as if our tongues were made to be intertwined. I'd reveled in having a body… in feeling the sun and wind caress it… in feeling my own breath enter and leave. But those had all been such solitary joys. This had the heat and intensity of a duel, but the aim was not to triumph but to join. My mouth was made to explore Kaiba's, my hands to stroke his body, my skin to be touched in return.

How had the buttons on his shirt come undone? I didn't remember. I hadn't been conscious of our rolling over, but now I was the one straddling him; one knee was between his legs. One hand slid beneath his now opened shirt, had moved to play with the pinpricks of his nipples. His own hands had moved under my shirt and reached around to my back to hold me in place.

My lips followed the path of my hands, down the column of Kaiba's neck. My tongue tickled the hollow at the juncture of his collarbone, and finally circled each nipple in turn. At his harsh moan, I returned to possess his mouth again.

Kaiba's hands had been at my back, pressing me to him, keeping our hips joined. Suddenly, they shifted to my shoulders. Abruptly, he pushed me away. My head snapped back with the force of his shove.

I glared at him, too angry to yell. How could he lead me to this new world of touch and feeling, only to snatch it away… only to leave me empty, suddenly aware of the cool air swirling against my heated skin. I bit back a snarl. Kaiba had said often enough he wanted to beat me at something, anything… and denying what he was feeling – if he'd felt anything at all – while leaving me exposed, was a game Kaiba had to know he would win.

But the hateful person of my angry imagination wasn't the person Kaiba had grown to be. I knew that, but I was overpowered by the sense of loss, as if I'd been given my own body to suddenly feel alone inside of it.

Then I got a good look at Kaiba's face, and was glad I'd managed to contain my own anger. His expression was open for once; the mixture of desire, frustration, guilt, shame and confusion was as easy to read as the attributes on a duel monster card. It was hard to feel anger – or anything but wonder at how beautiful Kaiba's face was when it was this unguarded.

I knew what word was going to escape before he spoke…

KAIBA'S NARRATIVE

I gasped in shock at how abruptly things ended, even though I was the one pushing Yami away. It stung, anyway. I didn't blame Yami for glaring at me. I'd never refused to follow-through on something I'd begun before. Then as I watched something – understanding, maybe – came into his face. My arms ached with the effort of holding him in place, slightly away from me (and how the hell had he wound up on top, anyway?) but I couldn't let go; it was all I could do to keep from yanking him back down, to reclaiming his body's heat.

I gasped the word out like a drowning man…

"Mokuba…"

Shit.

Whenever I invoked Mokuba's name, whenever anyone guessed just how much he meant to me, bad things happened. Pegasus… Gozaburo… hell, going all the way back to the orphanage bullies… everyone knew enough to zero in on him. I closed my eyes and saw myself telling Mokuba that the way to be happy was never to reveal your feelings. He was so close I could have reached out and ruffled his mop of hair. Abruptly I saw Gozaburo's face the night we'd arrived at the mansion; I heard him asking, "Why did you bring along the little mouse?" knowing all the while that the wrong answer could prove fatal…

Why was I even thinking of this crap? It was okay. Yami knew all that. He wasn't Gozaburo. He wasn't like anyone I had ever met before. I could trust Yami. I knew that, but believing it was harder, even though Yami had proven it over and over. I was safe with him… if such a thing as safety existed.

A different face flashed before my eyes – Mokuba's as he asked me to let my bitterness and hatred sink into the ocean along with the ruins of Alcatraz.

I hadn't had an answer for Mokuba then. I still didn't.

I swallowed and opened my eyes. Yami's worried face was above mine. He was still too close.

"Kaiba? Are you all right?" he asked urgently

I tried for a sarcastic comment, but nothing came to mind. I wasn't mad at Yami anyway, but at myself for rolling around on the ground with him when I didn't know where Mokuba was. Sugoroku and Noa had both said that Mokuba had been okay when they'd checked in on him… but how did I know that was still true? Anything could have happened. It wasn't like he'd reached a safe house where at least I'd feel like I was still looking out for him instead of shoving him aside in my rush to grab what I wanted.

Protecting Mokuba had always been my first responsibility. And here I was hyped up over Yami, having to hold myself back from kissing him again, unable to stop remembering how unbelievably good it had felt to put everything aside, to just let the sensations wash over me. I shrugged as well as I could while still holding Yami up like I was bench pressing him.

"I understand," he said.

He probably did. Yami shifted so we were side by side; his arms were around me, but loosely enough that I could have easily moved away. He was holding me, but at the same time I had space and air.

"How the hell can you do this while Yugi's out there?" I demanded.

"You judgmental bastard! Like you're the only one who's worried about someone you love?" Yami yelled. Yami had been furious at me often enough, but seen up close like this, he looked even madder than usual. He tightened his grip on my arms, his fingers pushed past the muscle to find the bone. I frowned. I'd been determined not to piss him off, when he wasn't the one I was mad at, but I wasn't going to back down either.

"I know that, asshole! That's why I asked – how can you do this?" I repeated.

He relaxed his grip and smiled, although I had no idea what was funny. "Oh," he said. "For once you were asking a question, not hurling an accusation." He paused and looked at the sky somewhere over my right shoulder. "Yugi's never very far from my thoughts. But he's strong… stronger than I am in a lot of ways, more balanced, more intuitive. At first I thought I had to take care of him, that without me he'd be helpless. I was right to protect him, but wrong about everything else. I trust him to take care of himself."

"It's always been Mokuba and me," I said. Yami knew that; I wanted to tell him anyway.

"And it's hard to let go of that, isn't it?" He paused again. "But Mokuba isn't the only Kaiba brother you need to take care of."

I didn't bother pretending he was talking about Noa. After all, in one way or another, Yami had been saying that for a while. I wasn't sure I was ready to listen, but unexpectedly, I didn't want to argue the point, either. I half expected Yami to pull me closer, to try to take up where we'd left off, since we weren't yelling and it was pretty obvious I wanted him, even if I knew I shouldn't want anything but Mokuba's safety right now. But we both knew I was hungry for everything I'd just pushed away… his mouth on mine, insistent, driving out anything but the taste of him on my tongue… his hands, sure and graceful as in a duel, caressing me… finally feeling the strength hidden in his slender body as it pressed against mine.

And it was Yami's nature, as much as mine, to press his advantages home.

Yami backed off slightly instead. He didn't let go, but he didn't lean in either. I stared at him, confused. Yami liked being in charge as much as I did. And here he was, leaving the decision up to me, letting me call the shots on what happened next.

I didn't get it.

"It's okay, Kaiba. We'll find them. They'll be safe," he said.

My name suddenly sounded so formal.

"You know better," I said. "There are no guarantees."

"You created this world. No matter how it's been twisted, I don't believe it would hurt Mokuba."

"Why not?" I laughed. "I did."

There was a pause.

"Damn," I said. "Why haven't I wound up at Death-T every time I entered this damn world? Why haven't I seen Mokuba's face in that Death Simulation chamber following me everywhere, instead of the Wicked Worm Beast?"

"Are you really afraid you'd try to kill your brother again?" Yami asked.

I stared at him; I'd never stood still long enough to ask myself that question.

"No. I may fail Mokuba, but I'll never betray him again," I said. For the first time it was a statement, not an oath. It wasn't that simple, of course. But for now, it would do.

Yami shifted positions again. He sat up. He wasn't pushing me away though like I'd done to him. I wasn't sure how he did it but he maneuvered so my head ended up against his side, almost in his lap. Yami should have been angry. It was the first time I'd ever called a halt in the middle of a match. Hell, I was pissed off enough at myself for the both of us – for starting, for stopping, for wondering what would have happened if Yami had pressed the point. And here Yami was, holding me, giving me room, telling me that everything would be okay – and not expecting a return on any of it. Was this some part of his friendship code that I hadn't gotten around to reading yet? And did any of that apply after his tongue had been down my throat?

"You can move away now," I said.

"Why? I'm comfortable," he answered.

I didn't need to look up to know he had that smug smile on his face.

"You don't need to play nice. We seem to have established we're going to jump each other while Mokuba's out there somewhere," I pointed out.

I could feel Yami vibrating against me as he sighed. His hand briefly stroked my hair. Like everything else this night, I liked it, but also like everything else, it was too much; I was too aware of each stroke to feel comfortable. Before I could decide which outweighed the other, his hand dropped to my shoulder.

"I want you," Yami confirmed, "but that's not the sum of my desire. Sometimes, it's enough to be able to hold on to the people you care for."

His words reminded me; he'd been a spirit, unable to do that very thing. I reached up and quickly circled his waist with my arms before dropping them back to my sides. Yami's hand returned to my hair.

"Get some rest, Kaiba. We'll figure it all out. I promise," he said quietly.

Was it this place? The unfamiliar familiarity of having my hair stroked? Whatever the reason, I trusted him. I closed my eyes, for once ready to sleep.

Thanks to Bnomiko for betaing this chapter through all its revisions.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was a little worried that this chapter was too long, but before I showed Kaiba literally being unable to put aside his worry over Mokuba – and feeling guilty for being involved in his own needs and desires – I wanted a flashback that showed one part of why this feeling might be so engrained. I think there's more to it of course – Seto from a very young age believed that if they were going to stay together, everything in him had to go all out to accomplish that, and I think concern for himself was probably the first casualty in that drive. I also think that as difficult a time as he would have admitting to, or feeling comfortable with desire, he'd have an even more difficult time understanding affection.

Mokuba Game Note: Figuring out what game Mokuba would be drawing was more difficult than I had thought. Given that he was playing chess at five, I figured I had some latitude in terms of what would be age appropriate.

At first I thought of having him draw a chess board, but I realized that not only was that the one game Seto was likely to be allowed to keep, but I had already shown Seto and Gozaburo playing chess in Seto's room in an earlier chapter ^^;;;;;;; I considered Duel Monsters partly because Mokuba draws a Blue Eyes White Dragon card for Seto, but given Mokuba's skill level (or more precisely, his lack of skill at Duelists Kingdom) I doubted Seto had ever taught him to play, and I have a hard time imagining them playing together. I ended up picking Mancala because it's a fairly simple game to draw, and as a math/logic game I figured it would appeal to Seto, and might have been something they'd played together. I did get a kick out of the idea that Gozaburo would look at a seven year-old kid's craft project and then essentially say that it looked like something a child would draw.

Review Note: I reply directly to all signed reviews. I post responses to unsigned reviews on my Live Journal account. The link is on my biopage. Anyone who wants to see a summary of all my responses can also check it out. Responses to the previous chapters will be posted when a new chapter is updated.

As always, comments would be adored…