Chapter Four: Sweet Silver Bells

Ah, God, I love my reviewers. It makes me so happy to see that little number underneath my story be one higher than yesterday ... thank you guys so much. You're truly wonderful. And so, I give you the fourth chapter of "Memories and Battle Scars." Please enjoy.

"Seto."

Go away, he thought. I don't want to get up.

"Seto ... "

Mokuba, leave me alone. Wait, what're you doing? Let go of me.

"If you don't wake up, I'm gonna bite you."

"Nng ... mutt?" Seto groaned and opened one eye. "Ow!"

His eyes flew open, his hand flying to the afflicted spot on his throat, and he shot an accusing glance at Jonouchi. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, mutt?"

"I said I was gonna bite you. You had fair warnin'."

"Damn it, I was getting up! That hurt!"

"Oops," Jou grinned, completely unabashed. "My bad."

Seto threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face. "Hey!"

"Let me sleep!" Seto snapped.

"I jus' thought I'd warn ya—I hear Yuug' comin'. You might wanna—"

Picture if you will, the panic-stricken expression of a hiker who's heard the first telltale rumblings of an avalanche. The terror of a hunter who's felt the first thunderings of a stampede.

"Yuugi! Slow down!"

"Hikariiii!"

"Jou, you'd better get Seto—"

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Thud.

"Augh!" Seto disappeared under a bouncy blur of black, gold and purple.

"—up," Ryou finished lamely.

Seto found himself flat on his back, wondering dimly why he was having difficulty breathing. Yuugi was sitting contentedly on his chest, beaming at him, and he could hear Jonouchi sniggering in a most undignified manner.

"Merry Christmas," Seto said thickly, mind still processing precisely what had happened.

"I'm sorry about that," Yami sighed, prying his hyperactive hikari off of Seto. "He gets overexcited about the holidays."

"I noticed." Seto gingerly massaged his bruised ribs, wincing. "Is he usually this cheerful?"

"Usually," Jou said, retrieving a shirt from Seto's drawer. "Who's makin' breakfast? I'm starvin'!"

"And one for Ryou ... ooh and one for me ... " Yuugi was having what was presumably the time of his life sorting through the rather large pile of presents stacked on Seto's dining room table. "And ... Otogi, I can't read your handwriting ... "

Otogi leaned over to peer at the tag. "Ah ... I think that says 'Yami.'"

Yuugi gave him an odd look. "You don't know what it says?" Otogi shrugged.

"Penmanship never was my strong point."

Seto glanced at Jonouchi. The blonde was toying with his spoon, swirling the miso soup around his bowl. That alone was cause to worry; Seto had never seen him pass up food.

"So," Otogi said conversationally, "What time are Anzu and Honda supposed to get here?"

Seto shrugged. "Since when am I their babysitter?" he snapped.

Otogi arched an eyebrow at him. "Well someone's PMSing." Seto short him a glare that would have made normal people scream and run away, but the actor just grinned at him. "You might have wanted to wear a turtleneck today, sweetheart."

Seto's hand flew to the reddening bite-mark on his throat, the barest hint of a self-conscious blush colouring his pale cheeks. "Jonouchi decided that the best way to wake me up would be to bite me."

"Yeah," Otogi said skeptically. "I'm sure." He gave Jonouchi a roguish wink, and the blonde turned positively scarlet. "I'm sure."

"Shut it, Otogi," Jonouchi snarled. "It'd be a shame t' smash dat pretty face a' yours."

Otogi gave an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, of course, the mutt's first resort is to violence. How very typical."

"I'm warnin' you—"

"Don't call him a mutt," Seto hissed at Otogi.

Otogi's eyes widened in feigned surprise. "What, only you're allowed to call him that?"

"That's right."

"How very ... possessive of you," Otogi purred at him. He glanced at Jonouchi. "So, was he any good?"

Jonouchi stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over. "You—!" he growled, fists clenched, face brilliant crimson.

"Otogi," Seto said calmly, leaning back in his chair. "Might I advise you to shut the hell up?"

Otogi snorted. "Touchy," he commented.

"Damn straight," Jou huffed, sinking back down into his chair, glaring daggers at the actor.

"I don't think it's too much to ask that you be polite," Seto commented. "Being an asshole in your own house is one thing, but you're my guest and I can throw you out if I want." He turned in response to the gentle tap on his shoulder, and found himself face-to-lens with a camera. "What the—" he jerked away violently, scrambling out of his chair.

"Hey, calm down, I just wanted a picture." Anzu peered out from behind the lens, giving Kaiba a hurt look. "I didn't mean to scare you." She'd arrived half an hour before, laden down with presents for her friends and enough Christmas cheer to make Seto throw up what little he'd eaten. He could handle Anzu only in very small doses, and the girl was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"I don't like cameras," he said, turning away so she couldn't see his face, much less photograph it. "Get the damn thing out of my face."

Otogi arched an eyebrow at him, but wisely stayed silent.

"Done!" Yuugi trilled, spreading his arms wide to indicate the piles of packages.

"Onii-chan?"

Seto glanced up at his brother. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He smiled at Jonouchi, asleep on Seto's chest. "I guess I didn't have to worry about that."

Seto absently ran slim fingers through Jonouchi's hair, careful not to wake the smaller man. "He said I make a good pillow." Seto's ice-chip eyes softened ever-so-slightly. Anyone but Mokuba would have completely missed the almost-smile.

Mokuba smirked. "I heard what he said, onii-chan. He called you a teddy bear."

Seto glared at Mokuba. "I am not a teddy bear." He was leaned against the plush arm of his favourite couch, with Jonouchi sprawled out next to him, resting his head on Seto. Someone (Mokuba wasn't sure who, but he hoped no one had let Yuugi play with matches) had lit the fire, and a warm blaze crackled cheerfully in the fireplace, throwing playful shadows on the hikaris and yamis dozing on chairs, couches, and (in Ryou's case) the floor. It was kind of ... cute, if one could call Marik and Bakura cute. Anyways, they were considerably less deadly-looking when asleep. Honda, Anzu and Otogi were still sitting at Seto's dining room table, talking quietly so as to not wake their friends. Up until about thirty seconds ago, Mokuba had been sitting with them.

"That's pretty," Mokuba said, gesturing to the thin silver bracelet that hung around Seto's wrist. Seto glanced down at it, wondering why Jonouchi had spent so much money on him.

The body of an ornate silver dragon wound around his wrist, its minute teeth glimmering in the firelight as it bit down on its own tail, tiny sapphire eyes gleaming fiercely as it fought to keep its grip, Seto imagined. Needle-sharp silver talons clawed wildly at the air, searching for something to clasp onto in its furious, self-inflicted battle.

"Yeah" Seto agreed, still staring at the bracelet with questioning eyes. "I'm just glad it's not another damn Blue-Eyes sculpture or something."

Mokuba cocked his head. "I dunno," he said. "It's a silver dragon with blue eyes. What's the difference?"

"It's a traditional dragon, not a holographic one." Seto said, running the pad of his thumb over the dragon's head. "I like it."

Mokuba shook his head and grinned. He loved seeing his brother like this, not glaring, cursing or throwing things at anyone. He seemed more human, somehow.

The last two days had been rough on him, not to mention the last twenty-seven years. Seto deserved a bit of happiness.

"So are you gonna go out with him?"

This, evidently, had been the wrong thing to say. Seto's face fell, and he pulled his hand away from Jou's hair quickly, as if the golden locks had burned him. "No."

"What?" Mokuba stared at his brother incredulously. "Are you insane? He ... you ... you've had a crush on him ever since I can remember!"

"He doesn't deserve this much stress."

"Here we go," Mokuba said, rolling his eyes. "Stop being a martyr for once."

"I. Am not. A martyr."

"You're fucking acting like one. Look, he wasn't disgusted, or sickened or whatever the hell you think he should have been when he found out what happened, was he?"

"No."

"So what's the problem?"

"That is the problem."

"Ah," Mokuba said sarcastically. "I get it. You expect people you date to hate you as much as you hate yourself? Let me tell you, you're going to get interesting relationships out of that."

"I do not hate myself!"

"I read the fucking psychiatrist's reports, onii-chan!" Mokuba hissed, not raising his voice for fear of waking his friends. "Don't bullshit me."

"Leave me alone."

"That pretty much seems to be your reply to everything, onii-sama," Mokuba snapped. "You're gonna have a hell of a time convincing him to stay away." Mokuba whirled around and stalked away, raven hair flying.

Seto sighed, glaring down at the armful of sleeping puppy he currently held. Why was it that his mouth always seemed insistent on saying the opposite of what he was thinking?

I wasn't made for socializing, he decided, easing Jou onto a pillow and out of his lap. Jou whimpered slightly at the loss of his human teddy bear, and tightened his hold on the pillow, as if, even asleep, he could tell that Seto had rejected him. Seto brushed gentle, cautious fingers over the fine bones of Jou's cheek, eyes softening when the blonde arched toward his touch.

This is what I do, he thought, jamming his hands into his pockets. I like being alone.

So why was it so hard to walk away?

Jonouchi woke up confused and alone. He didn't like feeling like that, didn't like waking up on a cold couch, cuddling a pillow instead of the warm lap he'd fallen asleep on. "'Ey, Mokuba."

"Nrgh," Mokuba responded, swatting at Jou as if he were a particularly annoying fly. "Go 'way. Wanna sleep."

"Where's Seto?"

"Don' know. Don' care." The raven-haired teen snuggled deeper into the sleeping Otogi's lap.

Casting a quick glance at his watch (2 AM), Jonouchi trotted down the cold, moonlit hallway in search of Seto. "Seto," he called softly "Seto, where are you?"

Catching sight of a sliver of light underneath a doorway, he grinned. "Caught ya," he whispered victoriously, heading for the door in question.

"Hey, Seto, why are you—Seto?" Jonouchi glanced around the room, and, deeming it Seto-less was about to move on when—

"Wha's this?" He cradled the picture frame gently, studying the faded smiles of the people trapped behind that thin pane of glass. Mokuba and a tall, brunette boy with sparkling cerulean eyes, the elder with his arm slung around the younger's shoulders, grinning at the camera in a moment of frozen bliss. Jonouchi took a second to wonder why it had taken him a moment to recognize Seto's face, and then it struck him. It was because Seto never smiled.

He smirked, sure, that arrogant "I'll-sue-you-if-you-so-much-as-breathe-on-me" grin that he'd always secretly found endearing, in its own bizarre way. But he'd never given much thought to Seto's apparent lack of happiness. He always just assumed that Seto was stoic by nature.

But this picture belied his suspicions. For him to barely be recognizable when he smiled ... Jou found himself wondering what Seto would look like now, flashing those even white teeth in a grin. He couldn't picture it, and that scared him. Jonouchi's imagination had never failed him before.

Seto, he thought miserably, running his fingertips over the dusty surface, leaving trails behind.

What was this room, anyways? He hadn't seen much evidence in the Kaiba manor that anyone lived here at all; the walls were free of photographs, no indication that the Kaiba brothers even existed. It was strange to compare this cold, icy fortress to a home; his own, while admittedly not perfect, had been littered with baby albums, pictures, self-portraits drawn in Crayola scribbles from back when Jou was in primary school. Kaiba's house was so ... impersonal.

But this room ... row after row of picture albums lined the bookcase that engulfed an entire wall, file cabinets and boxes were stacked against another. A battered-looking shelf held a myriad of old arts-and-crafts projects, all bearing the name 'Mokuba' in hastily scrawled kanji. It was as if their memories had been packed into this tiny room, shunted to the side and forgotten.

But none of the projects belonged to Seto. Of the picture frames scattered on the shelves, very few included him. And the albums ... Jou pulled a thick book bound in crimson leather off a shelf at eye level and leafed through report cards, grinning photographs of Mokuba, tiny locks of raven-dark hair, and a few illustrations by the younger Kaiba. It was almost as if Seto had never had a childhood, as if he'd never really existed. He remembered vaguely a smaller, more panicked version of Mokuba crying, telling him that onii-chan wasn't bad, not really. It wasn't his fault he was so cruel, it was their father's. He wondered why he hadn't cared at the time.

It was just ... Seto always seemed so unshakable, so solid. Sure, he was crazy, obsessed with revenge and possibly psychotic, but he'd never imagined that Seto's past could have held such horrors. And now it seemed he'd opened the proverbial can of worms; he was learning more than he ever wanted to know.

Jou slid the book back on the shelf and his eyes fell on a thin black one, bound in silk and secured with a delicate silver lock. A lock that was easily snapped off the cover, apparently serving decorative purposes better than security ones. Jou glanced up and found at least another six or seven of these identical albums, shoved between the thicker leather-bound ones, as if someone had shoved them there and forgotten them. He flipped open the book, screamed, and nearly dropped it.

Well, it looked like he'd found Seto's albums.

Yes, yes, a cliffie. I'm horrible, I know.