Hi again, everyone! (ducks flying objects) Okay, okay! I know, I promised an update a week, but I have been so behind, and the last part of this chapter was such a bitch to write... okay, enough of my griping. On to the thanks!
Her Esteemed Talentedness: I am so, so sorry for not having reviewed your stories, and I'm even more sorry to tell you that I probably won't have the time to get to that until Christmas Break. I do appreciate your reviews, however, so please, continue your altruistic generosity with those! Who knows, maybe one day I'll find myself with a spare hour or two, and I can sit down and give your stories the attention they deserve! In any case, thanks for understanding, and I hope you enjoy this rather long chapter!
Kumori Sakusha formerly Saelbu: Less centralized is always a good thing. Hope I continue to do that in this chapter, and thanks for understanding that I'm only a human being!
Lady Shinigami: Bingo! They were called Shadows in DMC 1, and are blissfully absent from DMC 2... I hated those things too, but at least they were a welcome change from those stupid puppets... anyway, thanks for paying enough attention to my story to catch that, and I hope to see more reviews from you! Later!
Starfly: I'm glad you think I'm a kind person; I just see it as basic human decency to care about anyone in pain, but maybe that's just me. Thank you for accepting my humble offering, and I hope that my story continues to touch you and help you through this dark time of yours. Once again, if I can be of any help... yeah, yeah, you know the drill, right? Enjoy the next chapter of your story; I'm sorry it couldn't be up sooner!
Firewing: Hmph, self-deprecating... am so not! And nor am I a genius! (laughs) And now that you can't argue with me until you read this, I'm automatically right! (flips to Internet Explorer) Now, to your review... thanks for calling this story fresh and original; it's what I was aiming for! Thanks also for your services as beta; guess it's about time I reciprocated, huh? :P
Sapphire Siren/LL: LOL, your reviews always make me smile. Thanks for your continued readership, and I hope that you continue to grace my review page with your little dialogues. See ya soon!
Hema: Unfortunately, a bunch more people died in the explosion. (moment of silence) I love Buffy too, although this scene was modelled more on my independent magical studies than anything else... don't ask, LOL. Though I feel undeserving of your praise, I appreciate it nonetheless. Thank you very much for your friendship, your trust, and your feedback; all of those mean so much more to me than you'll ever know. Love ya lots!
Queen of Games: Now, now, what did we say about OC's not advancing the plot? :P Of course, I would love to see Elizabeth kick some ass, but then there might be some Mary-Sue accusations floating around, which I don't feel like fending off... LOL. The first fight is in the next chapter, so you'll see Seto's powers firsthand if you stick around that long. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you keep reading!
Bug-Chan: Aww, don't worry about calling Seto-kun endearing; he likes it! (grins) I agree, the supernatural thing adds so much to it, if I do say so myself, although I'm sorry to make you keep flipping back and forth. (grins) Thanks for the reviews, and I'll catch you soon! Later!
Warnings: Same as previously.
Disclaimer: I own nothing save my OC's, and the poem at the end. Speaking of which...
...the poem at the end of this chapter was written by me for this story, and is from Joey's POV on losing Seto. I decided to include it because I thought it was interesting, but if you don't like the idea, feel free to skip over it. If you do read it, however, please be sure to tell me what you think! I do appreciate any and all feedback. On the subject, thanks to my beta, Firewing, for fixing up the last stanza... you rock!
Chapter 6- Memories of a Blackened Dream
(Joey's POV)
Elizabeth and I are on the next flight back to Domino. Though there's nothing to see but the ocean, I spend more time staring out the window than talking to her. The water reminds me of him; so blue, and clear; cold, yet refreshing; outwardly calm yet inwardly chaotic.
I give a tiny snort of laughter, and Elizabeth looks up from the magazine she bought at the airport. "Everything reminds me of Seto," I confide, and she closes it immediately. "Like I need to be reminded at all."
She drapes an arm around me, and I lean against her as best I can with the armrest separating us. "I know," she says. "I can see it in your face."
"It'll be worse when we get back home," I say, and she sighs.
"Probably." She gives me a quick squeeze, and I force my mouth into a perfectly horizontal line, as close to a smile as I can muster. "But I'll be right there with you, and we'll get through it together, just like we always do."
"Thank you," I say for what seems to be the fiftieth time since this morning, and she grins bravely.
"Best friends are more than shopping buddies, right?" As soon as these words leave her lips, she becomes deadly serious. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," she says honestly, and I love her every bit as strongly as I ever loved Seto, though there's no comparing the two feelings. While it's true that both are deeply spiritual, Seto and I shared so much more, and that train of thought sends me back to the window.
I conjure Seto's image in my mind, concentrating not on his physical appearance but on the soul behind it, the part of him that I know survived the explosion. Can you hear me, Seto? Please, answer me if you can. Please let me know you're okay.
I close my eyes, allowing complete blankness to seep into my mind, but no answer comes. Tears form behind my eyelids, and I rub them away roughly as the peaceful, white canvas in my head is splashed with angry red. Politely, Elizabeth pretends not to notice.
What did I expect, a fucking visitation? Did I expect him to show up, to declare himself my guardian angel, to swear to stay with me forever and to love me for twice as long?
"That's already happened," I whisper, and Elizabeth's eyes flick in my direction. "And now he's gone. My life's all uphill from here."
Elizabeth says nothing. Evidently, not even she can put any sort of positive spin on that.
---
(Seto's POV)
An unfamiliar sound jars me awake, and as my eyes snap open, I am suddenly conscious of another presence in the abandoned store. Reflexively, my hands dart to my blades, though I haven't perfected their use by a long shot, and I scan my present surroundings. Across the room, the homeless man has lapsed into a catatonic trance, but there doesn't appear to be anything physically wrong with him. I don't suppose we're under attack, then. Maybe it was just another vagrant...
I turn to settle back against the least filthy wall in the abandoned husk of a building and come face to face with a sparkling pair of chestnut eyes. With a shout of surprise, I leap back, swinging the sword in my left hand, and the homeless man lifts his head just far enough to stare blankly at me.
My blade clashes against a bright orange gauntlet with a deafening clatter. "And here I thought you'd appreciate some actual company," laughs the Reaper, jabbing a thumb toward the homeless man. "Goodness knows you can't be having any sort of deep, meaningful conversations with him."
I growl, thrusting my swords through my belt as my eyes take in his Day-Glo tinted armour. "I thought your were supposed to wear black."
He sniffs. "You try wearing black for a few millennia, and we'll see how much you like it. I needed some variety."
"And none of your precious rules mention a dress code?" Dimly, I realize that we're engaged in inane banter, but being cut off from all other contact with sentient individuals for a few days has made me more than happy to take whatever interaction I can get.
"Even if they did, people usually have more on their minds than my wardrobe when we meet." Elegant features twist into an amused smirk. "I don't recall you whining about it last time; you were more worried about your precious lover."
I growl. "His name is Joey."
The Reaper snorts. "As though I care." He walks past me, spinning around again after a few steps. "You humans attach such importance to your names. You fight over who gets credit for what, over who will be mentioned in the history books. Yet they are so unimportant, so transient. Will anyone remember that you were once one of the ten richest men in two hundred years from now? Will anyone care who Seto Kaiba was, and that he died tragically in an explosion, even three months from this moment?" He stares at me, almost right through me. "Will you care that your lover was called Joey ten seconds after you're both dead? I doubt it very much."
Questions swirl around in my head, and I grasp one at random. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask, realizing as I speak that this is the kind of wisdom that people spend their whole lives trying to achieve.
He shrugs. "Just because I'm a supernatural being doesn't mean I need a reason for everything I do, you know," he says, his cavalier attitude back in place.
"Yet you must certainly have had a reason to come here in the first place," I parry gracefully, redirecting the conversation. "What is it?"
He sighs around a chuckle. "Always have to get to the point with you, don't I? Very well; your Joey is on his way back home as we speak."
The emphasis placed on Joey's name is lost amid the fog of panic that settles over me at his words. By the time I get there, anything could have happened. "Why did you wait so long to tell me this?!" I demand. "How the Hell am I supposed to get all the way to Japan before those bastards try something?"
"Well, you can't," he admitted. "Their spell is already cast."
My heart sinks to the floor. "Then it's over," I say, tearing my blades from my belt and throwing them down dejectedly. All the cold nights, the hunger, the pain of immolated muscles stretching with each movement... for what? I wasn't able to save him. "I let him down again."
"I didn't say that," replies the Reaper, and I hear a soft scraping as he retrieves my weapons from the ground. "You're lucky; this time, they chose to use a Summoning instead of an Invocation. Probably didn't want to create another freak accident so soon; might raise suspicions."
I stare at him blankly. "And in layman's terms, that means..."
"The summoned creature must reach him itself before it can do any damage." Though his voice is nothing like music, his words are sweeter than any lyrics I have ever had the pleasure of hearing. "You still have time, but we have to act fast." He flicks his wrists sharply, and the hilts of my blades are hovering before me, suspended in thin air. "Well? Do you want to try, or do I walk off with your soul right now?"
Silently, I take my blades and slide them back into my belt. "Okay. What do we do?"
He extends his hand, palm up, and a globe of brilliant orange light bathes the room in an incandescent glow. The homeless man cowers in a far corner, thoroughly terrified. "Lucky for us, Satanists aren't the only ones with magic," he says with a wink. "Take us to Domino City."
The globe flashes, and my vision fades into a wall of orange light brighter than any humanly ignited flame.
----
(Joey's POV)
Until our cab stopped in front of the mansion, I had thought that getting off the plane and walking past the bar where Seto, who was always a nervous flyer, had had his customary double shot of whiskey before we left would be the hardest thing I had ever done. Now, clutching the keys to our home in one sweaty hand, I know that that was just the warm-up.
But then Elizabeth's beside me, guiding my hand to the keyhole, and I somehow dredge up the energy to turn it in the lock.
The doors swing open on well-crafted and recently-oiled hinges. Ordinarily, a maid would be bustling around, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies and scrubbing at dirt that, though I've never seen it, Seto insists exists. Insisted. He's gone now, remember? Now, the entire staff's been given a month's paid vacation until I can decide what to do with this place, and with the rest of the gravel and sand that used to be my life.
Dazed, I wander through the entrance hall; Elizabeth stays back. She knows enough about me to know that I have to deal with my ghosts myself, or they'll just keep coming back to haunt me.
Climbing the stairs is completely out of the question; there is no way I can face the bed in which we spent so many nights, the closet full of our clothing, or the computer that stole so much of his time and soul first. Damn corporation killed him. God-damn thing destroyed everything good in my life. I hate it.
And yet, pipes up a voice in my mind, you're going to run it.
, pipes up a voice in my mind,I smile brokenly as I begin my journey into agony. It was what he wanted.
The living room is the first one I enter, my steps immediately becoming silent as I move from marble to linoleum. Slowly, my eyes take in the entire scene; the insanely huge TV set into the wall, the DVD player and VCR lying between it and the stereo that I fell in love with in the electronics store one day because it had a karaoke feature. We only used it once, and I can still hear his voice as the last notes of 'Because You Loved Me' faded into auditory oblivion. You can't sing worth a damn, Joey, but I like your version a hell of a lot better than Celine Dion's.
My fingers slide along the stereo's silver casing. "You always had a way of doing that, didn't you?" I whisper, imagining him standing right behind me. "Of wrapping a compliment in an insult in a compliment, until nobody knew where they stood anymore." I give a tiny sniff of laughter. "I spent so much time trying to dissect them, to figure out exactly what you were trying to say and how you meant for it to come out." Tears form at the corners of my eyes, but if I start crying on the first room, I'll never get through the whole house. "Maybe I should have spent it with you instead."
My eyes drift from the stereo to the couch, and I run my gaze over the single grease stain on the left armrest. He would never let anyone eat anything potentially messy anywhere but the kitchen or the dining room, but he had made an exception that one night because I said the movie wouldn't be the same without popcorn. Of course, I wound up dousing the couch in hot butter. I was so sure he would start screaming, but he just kissed my forehead, and whispered, Maybe next time you'll listen to me, hmm?
"You always kept me guessing," I sigh as I cross the entrance hall to the dining room. "Even after all that time, you still had that power, and I don't think I ever told you how much I liked being kept off balance like that." I bite my lip, staving off a whimper as I pass through Elizabeth's field of vision. The front is more from habit than anything else. "Did you know anyway?"
I can still remember the first time I saw this oak table; sanded and polished to perfection, I couldn't believe that it had once been a tree. It was too perfect, too artificial, to be anything but synthetic. My hands trail over the backs of the rows of chairs; I never understood why we needed such a big table. We never had people over, and our places never changed; he'd always be at the head, and I'd be right next to him. I drape my arms around the back of his chair, resting my chin against the top of it and closing my eyes, imagining I can breathe in the shards of his spirit left behind in the furniture.
Maybe if I can inhale enough of his soul, I'll get my own back.
---
Forty-five minutes later, the bedroom is all that's left. Elizabeth's in the living room, idly channel-surfing through muted television stations and fighting the urge to hurry me along, force her help on me, or both. Slowly, I go up the stairs, clutching the gilded banister. I'm completely exhausted, and I still have to face the worst part of this entire expedition. Briefly, I consider leaving the bedroom until another time, but shake my head violently almost immediately thereafter. If I stop now, I'll never have the guts to come back.
The guest rooms fly by, and I stop in front of an ornate door set into the right end of the hallway. It's slightly larger than the others, and I sigh heavily. Master bedroom. Come on, Joey, you can do it.
My hand hovers above the door handle, falls back to my side, and hovers again. Butterflies start slamming into my insides, and I suddenly remember the first time I stood in this very spot. We'd been going out for a year or so, and though I'd been over to the mansion a bunch of times, I had only stayed over once, and then in a guest room. Seto was the total opposite of every other guy I'd dated; he seemed to have no interest whatsoever in getting into my pants, although our making out always left us both breathless. I had offered him sex once, a few months into the relationship, and he had just smiled and kissed my lips softly. I can still feel his breath against my mouth as he whispered, When you're actually ready.
That night, we had come back to his place after eating at some new restaurant. I remember that the bill was something crazy, but he paid it like it was nothing more than a few dollars. I'm used to money, he had said on one of our first dates, but even though you might see me throwing it around sometimes, it's not because I take it for granted. I just don't see any other use for it but making those you care about happy. So, I had gotten kind of used to him spending hundreds of dollars on dates, even though my mouth always dried up when I saw him sign off on the bill.
Anyway, we were lying on the couch with the TV on when I looked up at him and asked to sleep over. He raised an eyebrow, nodded slowly, and asked whether the same guest room would do once more. I seem to remember smiling innocently as I shook my head, leaned over his chest to kiss his left ear, and whispered, "I'd rather try out the master bedroom this time, if it's all the same to you."
There had been no doubt in my mind that that was what I wanted, not what I thought he wanted of me, but once we got to the bedroom, I was so nervous that I could barely lift my hand to open the door. I remember being scared that I wouldn't be good enough, that I'd do or say something wrong. Most clearly of all, though, I remember the way his arms slid across my chest, pulling me against him as he kissed my hair. No matter what happens, tonight or any night, I'll still love you. My only wish is that you will continue to grace my life with your presence once we've crossed this line.
I was never scared to enter our room again after that; not until today, at least.
Frowning, I force myself to imagine his body against me, just as it was that first night. I feel the smoothness of his mouth, the gentleness of his embrace. Drunk on these imagined feelings like I never was on alcohol, I push open the door before my fear can stop me again.
The room's dark, and the first thing I do is push the curtains back. Immediately, I wish I hadn't; in the light, I can see every piece of familiar furniture, and the memories attached to them slam into my mind all at once.
I look at the chair where he would always sit and read before bed, and I see him, turn the page gracefully, the same way he always did everything. I look at our wardrobe, and see him adjusting his trench coat in the mirrored doors, his briefcase on the floor beside his feet. Do you think the arm belts are a bit much for a board meeting? I hear him ask, and my lips trace out the reply. Who cares? Aren't you the boss?
The Playstation 2 attached to the huge television reminds me of us attempting to play Dance Dance Revolution, and I walk over to it dazedly, remembering the way he used to move, as though his body were made totally of water. Just another thing I admired about him without ever letting him know it.
Finally, I turn to face the computer desk. The screen is dark, almost dead. The black keys are covered in a thin layer of dust, and I run my hands over them, feeling the especially smooth spots that his fingers would hit so many times a night. I love it because he seemed to, and hate it for the same reason.
In a sudden fit of rage, I tear the power strip's cord out of the wall socket before shoving the monitor to the floor. The screen shatters, but that sound is lost among the noise that follows as I overturn the desk, sending diskettes, CD's, and blueprints scattering all over the place.
"God damn you to fucking Hell!" I cry, rage and sorrow twisting my voice as I kick the wreckage of the screen, succeeding only in hurting my foot in the process. Grunting, I hop back, crushing a bunch of disks with a satisfying noise. "I hate this! I hate everything! If it weren't for the fucking Corporation.... if he wasn't a Kaiba... if he wasn't so damn gifted... I'd still have him!" My fury slowly bleeds back into a crippling, depressing pain, and I leave the scrap metal behind, shuffling over to our bed as though in a daze.
"But if he wasn't... he would never have been Seto to begin with." My voice drops to a low mumble, and I climb into our bed fully clothed, sinking into silk sheets and feather pillows. "He wouldn't have been the same man I fell in love with. I would never have known him at all, and no matter what the trade-off, I'm glad I had that much, at least." I bury my face in his pillow, breathing deeply, imagining that he's just in the shower, or fixing breakfast. "I just wish it had been so much more."
An intense mental exhaustion hits me then, and I lack even the strength to hold my eyes open for another agonizing second. I miss you, Seto, I think as I drift off, believing with the desperate faith of those whose hope has been completely shattered that he will be able to hear me.
Though I never believed in life after death before, I sure as Hell do now. The thought of even his spirit disappearing completely is too much for me to bear.
Memories of a Blackened Dream
Your soul is forever imprinted on mine,
A jewel which sparkles like the finest wine.
It is my security, my foil, my chain,
That which will forever keep us bound in twain.
Willingly, I was bound to you,
And this pain tears me just as you made me new.
In the wake of such passion, I can't help but feel
So empty, so soulless, my happiness sealed.
I drift between bitter tears and blind rage
Until my mind is again an empty page
Stained only by the dull, harsh red
That soaked it when they declared you dead.
Those cruel words, I shall never believe,
As my endless agony remains unrelieved.
Under ashes lie our life's scheme;
Death is nothing but a blackened dream.