A/N: Yu-Gi-Oh ain't Yu-Gi-Oh without guns, is it? Please be forgiving because this is the first time I've written something as heavy as this. This oneshot is inspired by that one fanart of Kisara being Seto's bodyguard by saeoku on Tumblr.

Although the scene I've written doesn't play out like that, imagining Kisara as one of Seto's bodyguards doesn't bring happy endings to mind.

Have a blue eyes white Christmas, ya'll! Even if it's not even Christmas or the Eve haha.

...

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Frank Sinatra: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

"It's a cold, snowy day here in the Kaiba Dome. Fans don't seem to mind, however, as the heat of the competition tonight is keeping them all warm! Stay in tune for the annual Winter Exposition, brought to you by Kaiba Corporation! We wish all the viewers a happy holiday season!"

The chirpiness of the TV host blasting through hallway speakers did nothing to ease the panic that seethed in the body of a running bodyguard. Her white ponytail flailed behind her as her shoes made audible contact with the limestone floor of the dimly lit Kaiba Dome underground corridors. Her team had made a grave mistake tonight, a mistake that would cost several thousands of lives. The others didn't believe her. They claimed to have searched every nook and cranny during the pre-search of the Kaiba Dome, but they failed to adequately do so. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been sprinting like a madman.

From the first time she had joined Kaiba Corporations' security unit, she was treated like dirt. The attitude from the big men in the same black suit attire that she herself donned was tyrannical in the least. She was always assigned to the female representatives and her tasks weren't merely as significant as the men. Despite having the largest brain of the entire unit, some other bastard with balls would always take the spotlight. The others only listened to her when they needed her, and credit was never granted when due.

The costs of shoving her aside could be fatal tonight.

The woman barged through every damn door she could possibly administer, and she had managed to kick down every single one thus far. A part of her was grateful that whoever invented the underground hallway of the Kaiba Dome made sure all the doors opened away, but that was practically the only grateful thing she felt. Her legs didn't tire no matter how many doors she had hammered down and no matter how much she ran. Not tonight.

She found it. The room with the bomb. It was a TV room with multiple screens. The only fully-functioning one amidst the empty basement rooms of the Kaiba Dome.

"I know you're in here," her steely voice declared as she made sure one hand had a firm grip on her handgun.

"Bold of you to address someone who could kill you right on the spot," a guttural voice emerged from the shadows of the spacious room along with the dark, looming figure that it belonged to. He was garbed in practically all black. Aged lines on his face and grey hair on his head and chin, but good posture indicated late middle-aged. An eyepatch covered what would have been his left eye.

"I'm only addressing the voice in my head," her voice remained firm, "Akinari...aren't you?"

A maniacal laugh escaped the man's mouth before he responded, "You? You are the one that I have been taunting all this time? If I knew I was torturing a skinny little woman, I would have at least shown some sympathy!" Even after his declaration, he continued laughing as the lunatic he was.

Each laugh from his throat fueled the fire within the white haired woman's heart. For too long, she had nightmares of this man - this man who told her every night of the one he wanted to kill. Even during the day, she could hear him whisper death inside her ears. Because of him, she was led to Kaiba Corporations - to protect the target seated atop Domino City's most notorious gaming company.

"In my visions...you are the white dragon...heh," he paused and pointed straight at the wall of TV monitors, "You see that man? The man I want dead?"

She shifted her eyes quickly to catch Seto Kaiba's face appear on several screens, only to revert back her attention towards Akinari.

"I'm well aware of who you want dead. How can I not know?" Her voice started to falter, feeling her emotions get the best of her, "Every night I'm tormented by visions of you...you threatening and demonstrating how to kill him in every brutal way possible. Every day, I go to work distressed at the possibility of his death. No one listens to me...they all think I'm insane!"

"He took my white dragon!" Akinari exploded and pounded his chest with both hands. One hand in particular held a handgun. He continued, "Have you no clue what he did to my family...to convince me to give up my white dragon years ago?! That man who stands in front of brainwashed admirers is a murderer himself! I have never forgotten my white dragon! I see it in my dreams, and I only tell it ways of getting it back!"

She shot his leg. He collapsed on one knee, but only displayed a full grin as he faced the woman. He reached into his pants to pull out a small, rectangular device.

"One push and this entire building falls," he hissed.

She raised her gun to point at the hand that held the detonator.

"Are you sure that's a good idea," he raised an eyebrow and asked, "How can you be so sure you'll hit my hand? And how can you be so sure that if you do, the button doesn't hit the floor?"

She lowered her gun and scowled. She was quite sure she could hit his hand, however, she couldn't be fast enough to secure the device or the people that cheered above their heads. Flashes of the Winter Exposition went through the television monitors. The acclamations from the crowd only served as white noise.

"Taking out a stadium of people innocent of your vendetta isn't substitute for the massacre of your family," she calmly said as she slowly took steps towards the increasingly unstable man.

"It's not enough to only murder him! He's taken everything from me, and the people still cheer for him! I'm his past he tries to bury! But that dragon he holds is evidence he can't...the dragon he builds his image and buildings upon...it belongs to me!" As he went off on his exuberant tangent, he failed to notice the woman's increasingly fast steps. He noticed as soon as she was within a foot and shot his own gun at her chest.

She winced. Despite the abdominal pain that the bullet delivered, she lunged and managed to swipe the loosely held detonator from Akinari's hand. She immediately fell, but made sure the detonator was safe from impact as she felt the cold hard floor meet her body.

As she curled from her wound, she spat with a raspy voice, "No...it doesn't want to be with you. The white dragon never belonged to you..." Her head reversed to stare back at the man. Eyes of blue never glared so brightly.

"What was that?" Akinari licked his lips as he wobbled on his functioning leg. He tried his best to stand over the afflicted body of the white haired woman. He tilted his head at the abysmal display and uttered, "Brave words. If I've tortured you mentally all this time, then it's only fair I do it physically now."

A glaze started to form above her retina as she could feel a veil of liquid soak through her clothes. It was undoubtedly her blood, yet she did not dare to tear her eyes away from the man. She could only stare at the sadistically vindictive face of her aggressor, whose handgun started firing more bullets into her already paralyzed body. He was smart. He didn't aim for immediate fatal areas. To describe her pain was futile. The immense physical agony coupled with her dying screams foretold her inevitable end. Her head remained untouched, forced to continue looking at her attacker.

Somehow, Akinari's face escaped from her fading sight. Another face emerged. It was not a kindhearted face, but a doleful one. Locks of honey brown fell over a set of woeful deep blue eyes.

Each second of his soft gaze quelled the fire within the white haired woman's heart. For too long, she had dreams of this man - this man who secretly cried for help. Even during the day, she could see him cower behind his metaphorical fortress of self-imposed mental solidity. Because of him, she was led to his kingdom, to risk her life for him once again. If only she had the strength to voice his name as her last breath.

Seto Kaiba released the handgun of one of his bodyguards from his hand, letting the metal make an ominous clink against the ground. Several of his bodyguards watched silently as their boss lowered his body to grab and hand off the detonator to one of the federal bomb squad's members. He lowered himself once again. This time, he placed both his arms underneath the blood-soaked corpse of the willowy white haired woman. He made sure he handled her with utmost tenderness, despite the glaring reality that she couldn't feel anything at that point. The warm stickiness of her blood didn't make him flinch. Raising his body with hers placed comfortably in his arms proved to be difficult, not because of her physical weight, but because of the mental weight of her sacrifice. As he struggled to raise himself, his bodyguards started walking toward him, but one asserting glare held them back.

He finally positioned himself correctly standing up. Walking towards the exit, he accidentally stepped on the hand of the man he had just fatally shot in cold blood.

Ah, right. It was the man who he plucked his second blue eyes from. The remaining victim of a mafia coercion gone wrong all those years ago.

He simply walked off. The lifeless body in his arms gnawed at his conscience. He would give anything to feel the tiniest bit of movement from her. He would give anything to go back in time.

"I don't ever want to see this person's application on my desk ever again," Seto sharply threw a yellow file off from his desk. White papers that the file held flew in all directions of his office. His bodyguards and office ladies scrambled to acquire all the pieces. He returned to his seat, unnerved.

Three months passed by, and the same file landed on his desk. He did the same thing to the first one, but this time in a fit of rage.

"Did I not make myself clear the first time?!" His voice bellowed toward his staff as his hand slammed against his desk.

"Sir…" Isono hesitantly addressed his boss, "She has sent several more these past few months. If it's her ability you underestimate, her accreditations are superior. She is both highly intelligent, skillful in various martial arts disciplines, and her shooting arm is nearly impeccable. Please reconsider."

"Get rid of it before I get rid of your job."

Another three months had passed, and another file of the same kind ended up on his desk.

He had never gone through the entire file. One look at her photo was enough for his decision, but her persistence had torn his judgement.

"Isono," Seto called to his closest guard, "I will allow her to work. However, I don't want her near me. Have her do more menial assignments. Have the team discourage her. Whatever it takes to make her quit."

For all the possibilities that he could have followed to prevent tonight, fate had a cruel, unwanted hand. What notion of predestined drivel that once drove his mind insane started to plant its seed inside his heart. If this was the cost of his ignorance, then he would rather lay waste his own life in place of hers, for surely he was not deserving of being saved twice.

But tonight, this woman saved others. This woman whose warmth was slowly dissipating, like a washrag that gave its last heat to the ill, held the lives of thousands in her pale hand. Perhaps this was a decision fueled by her own will and not some secondhand reason like destiny. Maybe it was a sick combination of both. He would never know.

One foot into the outside world was one step toward releasing her. The wintry atmosphere of Domino City breathed and regurgitated the holiday season, from its abuse of multicolored fairy lights, queasy stench of gingerbread, and its ugly sweaters of assorted animals adorned by the people. The people watched him in crowds, nevermind the remaining possibility that the dome could still explode if the bomb squad was incapable of disassembling the explosive. The rational ones had already fled.

He felt himself trip in the freezing mush of snow, collapsing into its cold embrace. His accompanying men scrambled to help take the weight in his arms but he refused to give her up. Her blood splattered harrowing traces of carmine against the pure white of the snow as he stayed in the same cowering position for a good moment.

Looking at her face, now littered with flecks of snow, he wondered what she was doing and what she was like in this life. He wondered if she had a loving family to return to for Christmas. Maybe she had an adoring little sibling who looked up to her. Did she even enjoy Christmas? Did she partake in purchasing peppermint flavored coffee topped with excessive sugary foam, laughing and singing obnoxiously to rehashed tunes, and giving last-minute gifts to her canoodling friends?

He would regrettably never know those parts to her, those parts that weaved the niches of her identity. Eventually, he did stand up and face the flashes of reporters' cameras refrained from within five feet of his radius by his guards. He stumbled around as he walked toward blaring red lights matched with deafening wails.

The crowds started to cheer. He looked back to catch sight of the bomb squad evacuating the dome. The reporters had abandoned him to flock them instead. What was joyous for the masses couldn't alleviate the heavy feeling in his chest.

A recognizable cot on wheels was rushed to him. Paramedics in unsightly neon orange vests begged for him to place the woman into their care, but he refused to let them touch her. He would lay her down himself. They started covering her with a thick blanket from her feet to her head, but he stopped them as they reached her neck. His trembling hand stretched out to close those thin eyelids of hers, to relieve those nebulous blues from the unforgiving world, and then he covered her with the blanket himself.

The paramedics and two of his men would try their hardest not to stare at the blood-stained appearance of Seto Kaiba after they pushed the stretcher into the van. His once crisp white suit matched the equally white walls of the moving van, yet the blemishes resembled the ones that started soaking the blanket covering that woman. He only watched the permeating pools of blood expand with his deadpanned eyes.

One of the paramedics asked the big men, the ones in the same black suit attire that the woman herself once donned, for her name. They could only recall a last name, the one appropriately used for work.

Seto's attention lifted from the covered corpse and landed on the inquiring paramedic with bloodshot eyes bereft of traceable emotion.

He had never gone through the entire file. One look at her photo was enough for him to part his chapped lips and voice the only name he knew for his white dragon.

"Kisara."

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Frank Sinatra: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas