Aria: I didn't think I'd be back again so soon! But I am compelled. Besides, I don't want to disappoint my loyal reviewers! Speaking of which...
Coley Carissa: I'm glad you like it so much! I can't wait to write the Jou/Seto portion, but I'm going to take my time and let them get there on their own. Cheers.
Dillon: Thanks! And I feel for him too, man, Kaiba has such angst-potential!
Tristan: Inner turmoil doesn't even begin to describe what I think that kid has wrong with him.
Aria: Quiet, you! I'm glad you like the story so far. And I was wondering if you might be willing to part with a few of those weasels...just in case I ever get flamed.
Oklina: Sorry if anything was unclear ^__^; I hope you like this chapter, and that it resolves the cliffhanger! Nice choice of words by the way. Very ironic.
Kagemihari: Thanks for the great review! I'm glad you liked the dream, and even gladder that you knew it was a dream...I was a little worried people might think it was actually happening...and though I won't rush the relationship, it's bound to happen. Cause they lurve each other!
Kaiba: *snarls*
Joey: *mutters*
Angel: Glad you approve...^__^; true it's dealt with, but what's next? Only the Shadow knows!
Bakura: Get a hold of yourself, you twit.
Aria: Just for that, YOU do the disclaimer, Bakura.
Bakura: *grumble grumble grumble*
Coon Queen: Thanks for the great review! I know the fire/ice thing is used a lot...but, after all, it IS sorta true, ain't it? It's an oldie and a goodie...I'm glad you like my writing. And here's your update!
Bakura: grumblegrumble Aria Marier doesn't own Yu-Gi-Oh grumblegrumble just a fic grumble grumble YOU'LL ALL DIE grumblegrumble...
Aria: Aah...thanks, um, Bakura. *pales* Onward!
RESCUE
Chapter 4
Beep.
Beep.
Beep beep beep beep be-
Numbers glowed sullenly at him from across the room. He groaned, and slammed a fist into his pillow. Just once, just once he'd like to hit the SNOOZE button on that stupid contraption, or, better, unplug the silly thing and slip seamlessly back into dreamland. Or not---he shifted a little as he recalled images of last night's dreams, snatched at them in the early-morning murkiness of his mind.
Wind. A teasing, loving wind that he longed to fall into and then---
And then. He frowned. Something had been holding him back...right? Was that right? Something locked around his waist, something warm and strong.
So thinking, he fell back asleep.
A soft knocking woke him, and he jerked up, looking around in confusion at the brilliant sunlight flooding his room. It was never this light when he woke up.
A voice came hesitantly from the hallway. "Big brother...?"
He looked at the clock. 7:48.
Shit.
He scrambled out of bed, tripping slightly on the clinging sheets and stumbled over to his dresser.
"Just a minute, Mokuba," he called as he sorted through his clothes feverishly, pulling on his school uniform and straightening his hair as best he could. Dammit.
"It's okay, Seto!" he heard Mokuba call from the hallway. "I've had breakfast and everything...I just wanted to wake you up to go to school."
But his gaze had fallen on his laptop, on that slab of plastic and metal that he made his living by. That blacklist---by now it would have hit every company, every newspaper. People would be talking, people would be wondering and accusing and he'd have to deal with it all NOW, because he saw, when he opened the computer, the little blink in the corner of his screen.
E-mail.
He clicked it open, shaking unruly sleep-shaggy hair out of his eyes, and perused the documents there.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: porter@nwo.net
Re: Discard
Kaiba---we've received the data you sent. Transfer successful; operation complete.
Incidentally, nice trap card.
L. Porter
New World Order
Trap?
Another:
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.net
From: clark.agent@ysadrel.net
You're in. Diamente Games is yours. A new toy to add to the collection. Aren't you the schoolyard bully, though?
Ryan Clark
"Seto?"
He closed the laptop and went to the door, opening it and watching in amusement as Mokuba practically fell through the suddenly open doorway. He knelt down to get to his brother's eye level.
"I don't think I'll be going to school today, Mokuba."
His brother made a face. "Work?"
He nodded. "Work. You've eaten?" The dark head before him bobbed up and down reluctantly. "Good. Have a good day at school---don't get into any trouble!"
He was rewarded by a small, mischievous grin, and then Mokuba turned and ran down the hall, his backpack bouncing behind him. He stood, feeling his knees crack, and stretched a little before turning back into his room and opening his laptop.
Blink.
Another message. He opened it.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: paige.mage@orphan.net
Re: Daniels
Kaiba. While going over the police blotter for today's news, I found this:
1:30 AM: Police were called to break down a locked door in an apartment building, and found a man bleeding heavily from several apparently self-inflicted gashes. The landlady told police she had seen him go into the room stumbling and smelling heavily of alcohol, and that he hadn't replied when she'd knocked on the door. The man was taken to Mercy Hospital, where he is recovering in intensive care.
He stared at the screen, and felt heat rise unwanted under his skin, up his neck, into his mind and brain and thoughts and self.
Almost immediately another message came, and he opened it, reading with dull eyes.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: dwires@kaibacorp.com
Re: Publicity
Sir-
The papers already have the story. We're not at fault---technically. I've given it to the publicity department, but you'll probably need to make a statement later on. Jesus, who knew he'd pull a stunt like this? The public isn't going to like this, but unless he gets an incredible lawyer, we should be in the clear.
Dwires
The heat was unbearable now---it flooded his neck and poured relentlessly through his bloodstream, steaming his mind and making it hard to think, to consider.
He had to get rid of the heat.
Then he could think. He longed for icy cold to clear his mind and make it ice-hard and quick.
He closed the laptop.
* * *
Joey yawned widely, his eyes squinting tightly shut as he stretched himself against a locker in the hallway. He opened them to find Tristan looking at him with amusement.
"What?"
Tristan shook his head. "You know, for someone who can sleep till one on a weekend, you sure are tired on the weekdays." He adopted a mothering tone, clucking over his friend and straightening the crumpled edges of Joey's uniform. "Not getting sleep, are we? Having bad dreams?"
"Get offa me," Joey said good-naturedly, brushing Tristan's hand away, but something in him shivered a little. He HAD been having dreams of late---no bad dreams, per say, but vivid and disturbing nonetheless. Dreams that ended with him waking to sweat-soaked sheets that twisted around his body, holding onto his pillow for dear life, as though he was afraid he might fall off the bed.
No. Not that he would fall off---
"Joey!"
He shook himself. "What?" he asked, annoyed.
Tristan grinned. "I dunno, you just looked a little spacier than usual. Pining for Kaiba?"
What?
"What?!?" he yelped, springing off the locker, a sudden flush of heat cascading down his spine, turning into shivers that spread deliciously through his body, traveling back across his stomach like a like warm breeze, so different from the cold raw violent wind of his dreams... "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, taking a bite out of the apple he held.
Tristan laughed. "Uh-oh, lover's spat," he said, spreading his hands before him. "I dunno, Joey, but we've been standing here for a while and I haven't seen Kaiba yet. And I KNOW how much you enjoy those little encounters."
"You take it back, man," Joey growled, his eyes flashing. "Or I'll make you eat those words." Tristan squirmed and laughed and pushed him away, but deep within Joey's mind something shivered. Where was Kaiba? Tristan was right---he'd never gone this long without running into the guy, or becoming the target of his sarcastic needling...he ticked over the times when he had expected to see Kaiba, when his pulse had begun to race in anticipation only to slow to a crawl when he turned the corner without finding the baleful blue stare.
He didn't want to think about the implication of that. Absently, he glanced at the clock, and something in his ribcage squeezed, once, hard. Almost eleven, and Kaiba was nowhere to be found. Joey thought uneasily about the kind of things that would throw Kaiba off his impeccably kept schedule, and then looked at the clock again. He hadn't thought there WERE things that could throw Kaiba off his schedule.
Like he had thought there was nothing out there that could crack that icy exterior, and yet it had been just yesterday that he'd seen fear in those clear blue eyes---not as dark as he'd thought, but clear and alight with intelligence.
He wondered what they'd look like fired with passion.
He shook his head brutally, but the image cleared away to leave an even more disturbing one---yesterday Kaiba had fled. Today he was not at school.
He came to a decision.
"Come on," he said, throwing the apple away, grabbing Tristan by the upper arm and ignoring his friend's protests. "We're takin' a little field trip."
* * *
Splash.
The cold water was a shock to his over-heating body---he felt it bubble against his skin in protest as he slid through it, felt the bubbles change to silk against his body three strokes in.
Smooth, silken.
Cold.
He broke the surface, gasping for air at the other side of the pool. Chilly air rushed, tangy with chlorine, into his lungs. He gulped it gratefully, savoring the chill. He'd cut off the heat to the room, and the air was so cold his throat stung, but he took a deep breath, pushed off back into the cold clear water.
Stroke in. Out. Faster. Harder. Forget the day, forget the night. Forget the dreams, forget that image of Owen Daniels lying broken and moving weakly in his own blood. His body was trying to heat again, but the water and the air stole it faster than his heart could beat it out. Tiles. Turn. Dive. Breath.
Cold.
He was swimming much more slowly; his arms barely lifting from the water, his legs just trailing behind.
So cold.
He was so very cold.
He lifted his head slightly from the water. The edge was maybe ten yards away---he could see the blue tiles gleaming. Slowly---why was he going so slowly?---he pushed himself toward the edge of the pool. Slowly---was he moving at all? The edge didn't seem any closer---his frozen muscles reacted; laboriously, too cold for movement, too cold for pain. Blood ran thick and cold as syrup in his veins---reaching out a pale hand to the edge---finally there---he was shocked to see that his fingernails were almost the same shade of blue as the tile.
His fingers gripped the edge, locked. He slowly maneuvered his body close to the slick wall, and got ready to pull himself out.
He pulled.
Nothing happened. He barely moved an inch out of the water.
His heart thudded a little faster now; blood ran a little quicker through him, trying to wake his frozen muscles. He gritted his teeth, threw an arm over the edge, and pulled with all the strength he had, his arm slipping and scrabbling for purchase on the wet tile...but he moved. Slowly, so very slowly he levered himself up and out of the cold water, pulled himself onto the slick tiles, where he collapsed, his muscles shaking from exertion and cold.
He lay there for a long time, almost an eternity, before he tried to move again, and then he tried, and once again he failed. His arms would not obey him; his legs were like so many pieces of cordwood. They moved, but with no power and little direction. There seemed nothing to do but to lie down and sleep, and so he lay his head down on the glossy blue tiles, and felt the cold move through his body. There was a clanging noise in his ears, like running steps, and it reminded him, inexplicably, of his dream, in which he longed to fall into the wind that teased at him, and he moved to it, tried to embrace it but there were arms around him, warm arms that held him up and now he opened his eyes, blurry with chlorine and cold and watched in amazement how light glinted off the warm honey eyes and wheat-gold hair and conscious now of the arms that held him here, in his dream and not in his dream.
The mouth shaped a word. He squinted, but heard nothing, and felt only the faintest brush of warm breath against his face, smelling, incredibly, like apple.
Joey tried again.
"Kaiba..."
* * *
Aria: Cue dramatic music! Joey saves Seto from a fate worse then death...or that could lead to death, or...I dunno. Something. Read on, dear fellows, and be of stout heart, for the next chapter is limey and I don't mean everyone has British accents...Yeah. I've been reading Shakespeare. He always brings out my flair for the dramatic...Anyway. Reviews make me happy and keep me writing! So review! Cheers!
Coley Carissa: I'm glad you like it so much! I can't wait to write the Jou/Seto portion, but I'm going to take my time and let them get there on their own. Cheers.
Dillon: Thanks! And I feel for him too, man, Kaiba has such angst-potential!
Tristan: Inner turmoil doesn't even begin to describe what I think that kid has wrong with him.
Aria: Quiet, you! I'm glad you like the story so far. And I was wondering if you might be willing to part with a few of those weasels...just in case I ever get flamed.
Oklina: Sorry if anything was unclear ^__^; I hope you like this chapter, and that it resolves the cliffhanger! Nice choice of words by the way. Very ironic.
Kagemihari: Thanks for the great review! I'm glad you liked the dream, and even gladder that you knew it was a dream...I was a little worried people might think it was actually happening...and though I won't rush the relationship, it's bound to happen. Cause they lurve each other!
Kaiba: *snarls*
Joey: *mutters*
Angel: Glad you approve...^__^; true it's dealt with, but what's next? Only the Shadow knows!
Bakura: Get a hold of yourself, you twit.
Aria: Just for that, YOU do the disclaimer, Bakura.
Bakura: *grumble grumble grumble*
Coon Queen: Thanks for the great review! I know the fire/ice thing is used a lot...but, after all, it IS sorta true, ain't it? It's an oldie and a goodie...I'm glad you like my writing. And here's your update!
Bakura: grumblegrumble Aria Marier doesn't own Yu-Gi-Oh grumblegrumble just a fic grumble grumble YOU'LL ALL DIE grumblegrumble...
Aria: Aah...thanks, um, Bakura. *pales* Onward!
RESCUE
Chapter 4
Beep.
Beep.
Beep beep beep beep be-
Numbers glowed sullenly at him from across the room. He groaned, and slammed a fist into his pillow. Just once, just once he'd like to hit the SNOOZE button on that stupid contraption, or, better, unplug the silly thing and slip seamlessly back into dreamland. Or not---he shifted a little as he recalled images of last night's dreams, snatched at them in the early-morning murkiness of his mind.
Wind. A teasing, loving wind that he longed to fall into and then---
And then. He frowned. Something had been holding him back...right? Was that right? Something locked around his waist, something warm and strong.
So thinking, he fell back asleep.
A soft knocking woke him, and he jerked up, looking around in confusion at the brilliant sunlight flooding his room. It was never this light when he woke up.
A voice came hesitantly from the hallway. "Big brother...?"
He looked at the clock. 7:48.
Shit.
He scrambled out of bed, tripping slightly on the clinging sheets and stumbled over to his dresser.
"Just a minute, Mokuba," he called as he sorted through his clothes feverishly, pulling on his school uniform and straightening his hair as best he could. Dammit.
"It's okay, Seto!" he heard Mokuba call from the hallway. "I've had breakfast and everything...I just wanted to wake you up to go to school."
But his gaze had fallen on his laptop, on that slab of plastic and metal that he made his living by. That blacklist---by now it would have hit every company, every newspaper. People would be talking, people would be wondering and accusing and he'd have to deal with it all NOW, because he saw, when he opened the computer, the little blink in the corner of his screen.
E-mail.
He clicked it open, shaking unruly sleep-shaggy hair out of his eyes, and perused the documents there.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: porter@nwo.net
Re: Discard
Kaiba---we've received the data you sent. Transfer successful; operation complete.
Incidentally, nice trap card.
L. Porter
New World Order
Trap?
Another:
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.net
From: clark.agent@ysadrel.net
You're in. Diamente Games is yours. A new toy to add to the collection. Aren't you the schoolyard bully, though?
Ryan Clark
"Seto?"
He closed the laptop and went to the door, opening it and watching in amusement as Mokuba practically fell through the suddenly open doorway. He knelt down to get to his brother's eye level.
"I don't think I'll be going to school today, Mokuba."
His brother made a face. "Work?"
He nodded. "Work. You've eaten?" The dark head before him bobbed up and down reluctantly. "Good. Have a good day at school---don't get into any trouble!"
He was rewarded by a small, mischievous grin, and then Mokuba turned and ran down the hall, his backpack bouncing behind him. He stood, feeling his knees crack, and stretched a little before turning back into his room and opening his laptop.
Blink.
Another message. He opened it.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: paige.mage@orphan.net
Re: Daniels
Kaiba. While going over the police blotter for today's news, I found this:
1:30 AM: Police were called to break down a locked door in an apartment building, and found a man bleeding heavily from several apparently self-inflicted gashes. The landlady told police she had seen him go into the room stumbling and smelling heavily of alcohol, and that he hadn't replied when she'd knocked on the door. The man was taken to Mercy Hospital, where he is recovering in intensive care.
He stared at the screen, and felt heat rise unwanted under his skin, up his neck, into his mind and brain and thoughts and self.
Almost immediately another message came, and he opened it, reading with dull eyes.
To: skaiba@kaibacorp.com
From: dwires@kaibacorp.com
Re: Publicity
Sir-
The papers already have the story. We're not at fault---technically. I've given it to the publicity department, but you'll probably need to make a statement later on. Jesus, who knew he'd pull a stunt like this? The public isn't going to like this, but unless he gets an incredible lawyer, we should be in the clear.
Dwires
The heat was unbearable now---it flooded his neck and poured relentlessly through his bloodstream, steaming his mind and making it hard to think, to consider.
He had to get rid of the heat.
Then he could think. He longed for icy cold to clear his mind and make it ice-hard and quick.
He closed the laptop.
* * *
Joey yawned widely, his eyes squinting tightly shut as he stretched himself against a locker in the hallway. He opened them to find Tristan looking at him with amusement.
"What?"
Tristan shook his head. "You know, for someone who can sleep till one on a weekend, you sure are tired on the weekdays." He adopted a mothering tone, clucking over his friend and straightening the crumpled edges of Joey's uniform. "Not getting sleep, are we? Having bad dreams?"
"Get offa me," Joey said good-naturedly, brushing Tristan's hand away, but something in him shivered a little. He HAD been having dreams of late---no bad dreams, per say, but vivid and disturbing nonetheless. Dreams that ended with him waking to sweat-soaked sheets that twisted around his body, holding onto his pillow for dear life, as though he was afraid he might fall off the bed.
No. Not that he would fall off---
"Joey!"
He shook himself. "What?" he asked, annoyed.
Tristan grinned. "I dunno, you just looked a little spacier than usual. Pining for Kaiba?"
What?
"What?!?" he yelped, springing off the locker, a sudden flush of heat cascading down his spine, turning into shivers that spread deliciously through his body, traveling back across his stomach like a like warm breeze, so different from the cold raw violent wind of his dreams... "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, taking a bite out of the apple he held.
Tristan laughed. "Uh-oh, lover's spat," he said, spreading his hands before him. "I dunno, Joey, but we've been standing here for a while and I haven't seen Kaiba yet. And I KNOW how much you enjoy those little encounters."
"You take it back, man," Joey growled, his eyes flashing. "Or I'll make you eat those words." Tristan squirmed and laughed and pushed him away, but deep within Joey's mind something shivered. Where was Kaiba? Tristan was right---he'd never gone this long without running into the guy, or becoming the target of his sarcastic needling...he ticked over the times when he had expected to see Kaiba, when his pulse had begun to race in anticipation only to slow to a crawl when he turned the corner without finding the baleful blue stare.
He didn't want to think about the implication of that. Absently, he glanced at the clock, and something in his ribcage squeezed, once, hard. Almost eleven, and Kaiba was nowhere to be found. Joey thought uneasily about the kind of things that would throw Kaiba off his impeccably kept schedule, and then looked at the clock again. He hadn't thought there WERE things that could throw Kaiba off his schedule.
Like he had thought there was nothing out there that could crack that icy exterior, and yet it had been just yesterday that he'd seen fear in those clear blue eyes---not as dark as he'd thought, but clear and alight with intelligence.
He wondered what they'd look like fired with passion.
He shook his head brutally, but the image cleared away to leave an even more disturbing one---yesterday Kaiba had fled. Today he was not at school.
He came to a decision.
"Come on," he said, throwing the apple away, grabbing Tristan by the upper arm and ignoring his friend's protests. "We're takin' a little field trip."
* * *
Splash.
The cold water was a shock to his over-heating body---he felt it bubble against his skin in protest as he slid through it, felt the bubbles change to silk against his body three strokes in.
Smooth, silken.
Cold.
He broke the surface, gasping for air at the other side of the pool. Chilly air rushed, tangy with chlorine, into his lungs. He gulped it gratefully, savoring the chill. He'd cut off the heat to the room, and the air was so cold his throat stung, but he took a deep breath, pushed off back into the cold clear water.
Stroke in. Out. Faster. Harder. Forget the day, forget the night. Forget the dreams, forget that image of Owen Daniels lying broken and moving weakly in his own blood. His body was trying to heat again, but the water and the air stole it faster than his heart could beat it out. Tiles. Turn. Dive. Breath.
Cold.
He was swimming much more slowly; his arms barely lifting from the water, his legs just trailing behind.
So cold.
He was so very cold.
He lifted his head slightly from the water. The edge was maybe ten yards away---he could see the blue tiles gleaming. Slowly---why was he going so slowly?---he pushed himself toward the edge of the pool. Slowly---was he moving at all? The edge didn't seem any closer---his frozen muscles reacted; laboriously, too cold for movement, too cold for pain. Blood ran thick and cold as syrup in his veins---reaching out a pale hand to the edge---finally there---he was shocked to see that his fingernails were almost the same shade of blue as the tile.
His fingers gripped the edge, locked. He slowly maneuvered his body close to the slick wall, and got ready to pull himself out.
He pulled.
Nothing happened. He barely moved an inch out of the water.
His heart thudded a little faster now; blood ran a little quicker through him, trying to wake his frozen muscles. He gritted his teeth, threw an arm over the edge, and pulled with all the strength he had, his arm slipping and scrabbling for purchase on the wet tile...but he moved. Slowly, so very slowly he levered himself up and out of the cold water, pulled himself onto the slick tiles, where he collapsed, his muscles shaking from exertion and cold.
He lay there for a long time, almost an eternity, before he tried to move again, and then he tried, and once again he failed. His arms would not obey him; his legs were like so many pieces of cordwood. They moved, but with no power and little direction. There seemed nothing to do but to lie down and sleep, and so he lay his head down on the glossy blue tiles, and felt the cold move through his body. There was a clanging noise in his ears, like running steps, and it reminded him, inexplicably, of his dream, in which he longed to fall into the wind that teased at him, and he moved to it, tried to embrace it but there were arms around him, warm arms that held him up and now he opened his eyes, blurry with chlorine and cold and watched in amazement how light glinted off the warm honey eyes and wheat-gold hair and conscious now of the arms that held him here, in his dream and not in his dream.
The mouth shaped a word. He squinted, but heard nothing, and felt only the faintest brush of warm breath against his face, smelling, incredibly, like apple.
Joey tried again.
"Kaiba..."
* * *
Aria: Cue dramatic music! Joey saves Seto from a fate worse then death...or that could lead to death, or...I dunno. Something. Read on, dear fellows, and be of stout heart, for the next chapter is limey and I don't mean everyone has British accents...Yeah. I've been reading Shakespeare. He always brings out my flair for the dramatic...Anyway. Reviews make me happy and keep me writing! So review! Cheers!