Disclaimer: I don't own. So if you sue me, I'll just have to give you my cheddar triscuits. And I might bite your arm off before I do that.
A/N: Please, for the love of all things, go and read "Wishes" before you read this. (If you already haven't.) This is a companion peice/sequel to it. And if you like it (or even if you don't) leave a little note, eh? Feed the author's ego, hmm?
So this was it then.
This was the end he'd been waiting for. For nearly three years he'd been searching for a loophole in the contract between Gozaburo Kaiba and Lord Nathaniel Marcus Witherspoon III. And he'd finally found it. It had been right in front of him all along.
Perhaps he'd even known about it earlier, and just hadn't acted on it. He wasn't a murderer, despite some of the rumors flying around. No divorce, no separation, no annulment.
But no one could stop death. Not even him.
Not that he'd tried very hard. Not that he cared anyway.
Why should he care that the woman was too stupid to be able to realize when she was seriously ill? Why should he care that she died because he was "so busy" and she didn't want to disturb him in his work? Why should he care about her at all?
Why was he even here, standing by her casket, staring blankly at it as if he'd never seen one before?
Oh, he knew why he was here. It was proper and right that he go to her funeral. He had been her husband, after all. She had given him two children, two fine, strong children who were growing and becoming healthier and healthier by the day.
Children he hadn't expected to love and care for. He had thought that they would be useless to him, that he could leave them with their mother until it was time for him to start training one or both in the art of business.
Then the woman had had the poor taste to die in childbirth and leave him with them. Alone. With twins.
He had no idea what the hell he was doing. And he found himself, for once, wishing she were there. It would be easier to share this load with someone else...
But her death was half the load. Damn her. She should have told him. Damned insufferable, stubborn, stupid woman! He hated her, he hated everything about her!
...and he almost... almost missed her. Sometimes, he would look at the twins and turn to say something to her- and she wouldn't be there.
And he couldn't look away from her casket. He'd been trying for the last half-hour to do so. His eyes wouldn't obey him.
Stupid woman had insisted on her Anglican funeral in her will. When she'd written it, he had no idea. Perhaps she'd known she was dying long before he had. Which wouldn't be hard. He hadn't known until ten minutes before she died.
Had there been something he could have done? Probably not. She hadn't been very strong, despite the front she put up. He'd gone back and read through her journals when she'd died, and had been surprised to learn how long she'd been trying to care for him.
She'd acted like she hated him. She'd loved him. And he had hated her.
And he still did. Damn the woman.
He hated her for making him care. He never wanted to care. He never wanted children. He never wanted anyone in his life other than Mokuba. When he'd agreed to renew their vows to have a proper ceremony, he did it more for her sake than he wanted to admit. And to get her to shut up. He hated that she could match him in cool arrogance and witty ripostes.
He hated the fact that she had died before he could tell her that he did care.
Thirty more seconds and I could've told her.
...No... that wasn't true. He never would have told her. He couldn't. That wasn't his way. That wasn't how he was.
No, he had to fail at the last moment. That was his record. He never could rescue his brother, he couldn't save his wife. He probably would fail his children too.
Stupid woman. This was her fault. She should have told him! His- their children were such high risks for kidnappings and the like... And he was on his own with them. No one else to help him now. Mokuba would, he'd promised... But Mokuba was growing up, and soon he would have a life beyond his niisama and his niece and nephew.
Damn woman.
He rubbed his jaw where her more than semi-hysterical older sister had slammed her fist into it while screaming about how he had let her die, how he had failed her, how he was a coward, a bastard, every name in the book, really. He'd stopped security from dragging her out and explained, in a cool, flat voice, that he'd had nothing to do with it, and it was hardly his fault that her dearly-departed sister was too much of an idiot to approach him for help when she'd fallen ill.
That had earned him a black eye, and he'd let security drag her off.
Isobel Granger- not Witherspoon, Tasmin had always stressed that fact- had been the only person from Tasmin's family to attend the funeral.
Piece by piece he was understanding her now, now that it was too late.
And he didn't care. There was nothing to care about. She was gone. There was no afterlife, she wasn't looking down at him (or up at him, or whatever) and scowling. What was in the casket was a shell and nothing more. Tasmin was gone. The end. Game over. Check, please.
Surely the crawling feeling of being watched was her sister glaring at him through a window.
Damn the woman. He saw now what she had been trying to emulate and had been too weak to do so. Too weak. Too damned weak to live.
That was it, wasn't it? Survival of the fittest?
And he had children to care for. He couldn't stand here much longer. Staring.
Wishing. Hoping.
"...I love you..."
He hadn't meant it.
He couldn't have. She was dead. There was no point in telling a dead woman you loved her.
But he said it anyway. And he didn't- couldn't- say things he didn't mean.
Damn the woman. Damn her for giving him hope, and then ripping it away.
Damn himself for succumbing to it. He was stronger than this. And he knew he was. He refused to show any emotion, because that was who he was. The press called him cold, he called it survival.
Besides, the press were idiots. They blew everything out of proportion. They had no idea what went on in his mind.
Damn them too. Damn everyone but Mokuba and his children, while he was at it.
He still couldn't look away. It was going on an hour now. He really should leave. He had work to do. Lots of work.
"So... busy..."
He ground his teeth at the ghosts of the past. There's no such thing as ghosts. I am not at fault for this!
As if, by telling himself, over and over, he could make himself believe it was true. No, it was true. He was not at fault. It was her fault.
Stupid woman.
I loved you.
He tore his eyes away from the casket and stalked out of the church. There was no reason for him to be here anymore. Her body would be interred at the cemetery on the grounds later.
And he had work to do anyway.
Reveiw? Please? Pretty please? And thanks to everyone who reviewed "Wishes"!