AUTHOR NOTE

Warning, this chapter has minor graphic sexual references, and this might not be suitable for children!
The long awaited sixth chapter. I'm sorry I couldn't get this earlier, because I had this two seconds from being finished last week. I had Spring Break from highschool so I could have uploaded it last week but my modem wasn't working properly. Anyway, I apologize for the lateness and also for the really badly written last chapter. I know I could've worked more on it, and I really, really rushed Duke and Kaiba's relationship. But since I don't give a hoot about Duke, I don't feel too bad. If it was Ischizu's relationship with Kaiba I had rushed, I'd be really sad, since I wanted this piece of work to become one of the best Trust-Shipping fiction pieces out there. I'm sorry I'm rambling, but this chapter is way better, more descriptive, and about the length of the first chapter. It's 100 better than the last chapter, trust me. I put # in the text as small references and quirks. By the way, I'm reformatting my previous chapters! Enjoy!

c h a p t e r s i x

a l t e r c a t i o n s

Happiness leaked from the younger Kaiba as he hopped two steps at a time to the museum. His wide eyes watched the world in naive innocence. Ischizu stood at the front desk, conversing with the receptionist. Kaiba lingered at the door, his fingertips brushing the cool glass of the revolving door. Mokuba fled towards Ischizu, calling her name. Kaiba pressed his hand to his forehead, realizing it was warmer than it had been when he had left. His hand dug into his coat for his pillcase. Unfortunately, he had forgotten it at the Ishtar residence. Unbelievable, he scolded himself. He resigned himself to closely watching his brother converse with Ischizu. It was strange, how well they'd get along, and his eyes followed her chai-colored hands gently caress his sibling's cheek.

"Ischizu! I'm sorry we're a little late. We met Duke and went to the ice cream parlor." Mokuba explained, making hand gestures explaining Duke's driving style. Ischizu passed over an identification card to the receptionist, and the receptionist stamped it firmly, creating a silver, illuminating seal. It sparkled and glimmered in the dim light of the museum. The glimmer created soft, dim shapes on the metal doors in the hallway. There was a brief clank as Kaiba leaned against the metal door. The receptionist looked in his direction momentarily before changing her perspective. It was terribly chilled in the museum, the coldness preferred over the heat that might damage the museum displays and exhibits. The humid, moist air blew in from the cracks in the metal doors, as Kaiba had astutely noticed, reclining against the bulletin board. The thumb and post-it tacks bit into his back, but he refused to move. He had a neat view of the stack of newspapers with their blatant lies.

"It's all right. I had to speak with the manager anyway," she said softly. She viewed Kaiba from the top of Mokuba's head. He had leaned against the bulletin board in the corner, looking incredibly disinterested at the stack of newspapers on the floor. There was something that she needed desperately to speak with Kaiba about. Of course, being stubborn as he was, he would refuse her. His lean, slick body filled the tight, dark leather pants, creating creases as he impatiently flexed his leg from the back of his body to the front. Ischizu's eyes would wander, sometimes, follow the traces of his lean muscles as they created definitive ridges against his leather. In Battle City, she'd felt that slick material once or twice, and it had felt so warm, so strange, filled with this teenage boy who acted like an adult.

"I want to go home," she said, walking over to Kaiba. The small sparkles of her identification card had disappeared in the folds of a pocket in her skirt. The sparkle was replaced by a faint jingling sound of keys that were hooked on to Kaiba's sleek belt. The buckle of the belt hung just below his waist. It was strange how he dressed, but at the same time, it looked appropriate for him. He had traded in his older belt with the logo 'KC' on it for two dark brown leather belts that hung loosely around his waist. 1 He gazed at his younger brother, who stood with wide, round eyes. His eyes had been rounder when he was younger, Kaiba thought, a little disappointedly. Maybe Mokuba was turning into him. He didn't want that for him, not ever. He looked up to meet Ischizu's cool, stoic eyes.

"Best idea all afternoon," he remarked sarcastically, his hands immediately returning to his belt to retrieve the keys. Mokuba found that Ischizu and Kaiba had now retired to verbal dueling tactics. His brother had often, if not all the time, had the upper hand, but Ischizu was learning, and she was a worthy opponent. Anyone else would have easily been crushed by his brother's apathy. The walk to the car was a solemn, silent one. His brother's attitude had changed from quiet to angry, to burning. The burning episode often lasted for long periods of time. Ischizu's eyes flickered, darting from subject to subject, never stopping on one object too long. Mokuba traced her line of sight. Every so often, her eyes would dart back to his brother. I wish other people would understand my brother like Ischizu does, he thought, as he sighed. I wish someone could love him as much as I do.

"Ischizu, do you miss Japan?" The younger Kaiba made small talk in the car. He had leaned in from the backseat of the car to the front, his head semi-resting on her shoulder. A certain, warm glow emanated from the child, and her fingers went out to trace his cheek. Kaiba's eyes darted apprehensively in her direction as he drove. She was not to be trusted; he had not trusted anyone much with Mokuba in his life. Being the sole guardian of Mokuba was difficult and complex. A gentle sigh escaped Ischizu, her small chest rising and then falling much to Kaiba's discomfort. His eyes blurred and then refocused on the road. He was listening in to the conversation, the words that were being volleyed back and forth between Ischizu and Mokuba had suddenly become a spectator sport for him.

"Yes, very much so. I miss Yuugi and everyone else," she said, her hand playing with his dark locks. Kaiba wanted to swat her hand away from his brother but he was uncomfortable as Mokuba liked the affection, and reciprocated it. Mokuba nodded, falling back into the backseat, the belt that wrapped around his chest becoming a slight annoyance. The last few days had become so much of a distant memory to him. His brother fainting, Ischizu becoming somewhat of a mother figure to him, and meeting Duke. It was becoming a quick blur of three days. His older brother checked the rearview mirror to find his younger brother wiping his eyes. His eyes, his round eyes. Kaiba could see Ischizu's slender body turn to face his sibling, the smooth curve of her back similar to the letter 'S'. She always has a perfect posture, even now, he thought, noticing the thin lines formed in the loose cotton of her dress creating ripples down her back like a smooth waterfall.

"How was your trip to New York? After Battle City, I mean?" The words stung Kaiba, his shoulders twitching slightly. He could feel his own shoulder blade dig into the seat. The question had not been directed at him. Because if it was for him, he'd unknowingly blurt out other remnants of problems lingering in his mind. Mokuba piped up, always the optimist. Ischizu listened intently. Kaiba buried himself in false memories of his victory. Fate? He didn't believe in it. A minor mistake on his part had cost him the Dueling Championship. His chest swelled as he took in a handful of air. How would his life have been different had he won instead of that amateur, Yuugi? He had always been the favorite in all the championships, several opponents weeping in front of him on their knees at their defeat. But now Yuugi was always considered the favorite, no matter what the circumstances. His eyes blurred and focused on the road, trying to block out his thoughts. No more of the past, he mentally struggled to say, trying to think of other things.

"The company's influence is spreading in the United States, too. I'm really glad because we've become very successful." Mokuba gently drew circles and small shapes on the foggy backseat window. Kaiba's grip tightened on the steering wheel. Silence. He wanted silence. Sometimes he'd use his brother's talk as background noise so he could sleep. It brought comfort, sometimes reassurance. But now he wanted to sink into nothingness, like the swirl of milk in his coffee. Ischizu's tea-colored hand brushed his on the radio dial. He brought his hand immediately to the steering wheel, his head pounding. Comfort. Comfort. Comfort. If he thought it enough, it would come to him. He drowned out his thoughts, the background country music leaking into the recesses of his mind.

Mokuba now scribbled furiously on the foggy window. Ischizu refrained from asking any more questions as she saw Kaiba's extreme discomfort. His defined jaw line had been taut the entire car ride, his long fingers stiff and cold. She'd felt them as she'd turn the radio dial. His lips had become dry, and he licked them ever so often to keep them moist. Dry lips? She struggled to not comment. She wanted to say that it was bad for lips to be licked, that the saliva digested the soft tissue of the lips and caused them to be more chapped than before. Her lips quivered, and she brought a finger to gently trace her lips, and then fall slowly to her neck, gingerly rubbing at the unknown. He has the perfect profile, she thought, the small weaknesses running up and down her back. Ischizu could trace with her eyes the perfect forehead, a neat, sharp nose, a strong jaw, and delicious lips. Delicious? ..You have to stop, Ischizu. Your weaknesses are overriding your common sense, she thought, and drifted elsewhere.

The car halted. They all exited the car, Mokuba the only one refusing to acknowledge the tense atmosphere that had been building all afternoon. He supposed that it proliferated more, and more, wearing down his older brother. An unknown stress he wasn't aware of. Their solid entrance was met with an empty quiet. Mokuba collapsed on the sofa, deciding to take a short nap. Besides, he knew his brother would contest; that they needed to go back to Japan for meetings, meetings, and more meetings. He knew that the planner had been filled up for everyday. He'd checked it once or twice while his brother was not watching. A small ache made its way into his heart, as he watched his brother slowly disintegrate from love, and then slowly to pain. He shut his eyes, trying to remember a faint memory in the park, when his brother had slowly kissed his forehead.

"I will always protect you, Mokuba." He half-wished that his brother would think less of that promise as a duty and more of it as out of love. Mokuba remembered just last month, creeping into his Brother's room at near midnight. The mansion had been quiet, creating small echoes of his footsteps. He opened the door to find his brother back slumped into an S-shape as he sat on his bed, his shoulders twitching, forming spasmodic jerks into blank space. Sweat shimmered off his brother's back, and he heard Seto let out a small cry, a weak whimper of disgrace and shame. His brother's damp hair stuck near his neck, messy and unreformed. Seto's hands had been splayed out in front of him, supporting his thin frame. Something seized his brother's body, causing racks of spasmodic jerks of his spine.

This had continued for as long as he could remember. The episode would end, and Mokuba would climb back into his bed, half-wishing that he could go back to his brother's room and climb up into his elder's lap and cling onto a relic of love. He would wish that his brother's arms would then loop around him, creating a safety barrier from all harm, and then they would sleep, his small body cradled in his Brother's. It never happened. He refused to cause more distress to his brother. He refused to become more of an annoyance than he already was. Seto blatantly refused that he was a burden, yelling at Mokuba for even thinking the mere idea. Mokuba let a small hand go up to his forehead. It trembled slightly, the stress from this vacation building. He finally let the small shadows lurk elsewhere, giving in to sleep.

Seto watched as his brother found comfort on the sofa of the Ishtar residence. He let his eyes glance to the hallway. He'd be fine. He'd be just fine. He walked through the narrow hallway to what was Ischizu's room. Kaiba stopped as he found Ischizu removing her jewelry – as if she were beginning to undress. He forced his hand through the small opening of the door, parting it. Ischizu unhooked her small silver earring onto her dresser and looked up at him. Seto had noticed her small, frail frame. He could probably snap her neck with a simple twist, as he had been taught in his martial arts classes, but he'd hate to have anything mar that perfect, slim neck of hers. Stop, he struggled to say to himself, crushing his wild hormones. He'd been able to do so while he attended public highschool, but all those girls had been idiotic. Not that Ischizu was any less of an idiot than they were, but at least she could somewhat hold her own in a Duel Monsters battle.

"Yes?" Was a small, almost indifferent question. Weak. She was weak and frail, and sooner or later she'd be crushed by the harsh society around her. He almost felt sorry for her. But he was Kaiba, and years and years of discipline had forced him to feel otherwise. Something clicked inside his mind, bringing up a tidal wave of memories. Seto looked at her indifferently, his shoulders and body ramrod straight. He'd been beaten into obtaining that posture for years from Gozaburo, and only now he realized he could no longer slip into a slipshod posture without effort. I'd rather, move on with everything there is, than remember that snake, he thought.

"I'm using your shower. Get me some clothes and a towel." It was a fierce demand, but in an almost monotone voice. She creased her eyebrows, almost as if she wanted to refuse his possession of her. He treated her like a slave at times. At others, he was almost playfully sarcastic. She forced down her dignity and walked out of the room. Stepping into Marik's room, she opened a small cupboard-like appendage near the foot of his bed. She retrieved a white towel, the small fibers brushing against her skin. Making a small pile, she began to search for appropriate attire. Kaiba watched by the doorframe, nearly filling up the space, and creating a small, lengthy shadow. She fished out a dark blue button-up shirt and some dark slacks. Picking up the small pile, she handed them to Seto, who seemed incredibly distressed by this point. They returned to Ischizu's room, and he looked around almost blankly, which was an expression she had not seen on his features for a long time.

"I need a razor." He said, holding the clothes now, the request almost childish. She viewed his face and didn't think he needed one. But perhaps that was the reason his face was always smooth to the touch- not that she knew, but just by looking she could tell. Resigning herself to her dressing, she opened up a few of the small openings and used her hands as her eyes to search for a razor. Her hands stopped at a plastic package and a smooth bottle. She grabbed these out of the dresser and tossed them on the bed. A razor and shaving cream. Ischizu nearly chuckled at the sight. He now sat frustrated on the bed, his hand reaching up to his forehead. She was a woman, and she was inclined to forget these things. A woman? He'd nearly brought himself to call her a woman. Sometimes he wondered if she toyed with him, often using his own words against him, sometimes being sarcastic, and most of the time, stoic. She had full, cup-like breasts, which she often folded her arms in front of. Too bad, he thought, and then nearly mentally screamed at himself when he thought so. When she walked he had sometimes given a thought about the junction of her two, slender legs. Stop. He'd said it louder in his mind this time, shutting off all such thoughts immediately.

"What else?" She murmured out loud, and then the thought struck as her almost as if she had been slapped in the face. Ischizu apologized outwardly, running back to Marik's room and rummaging through his drawers. Seto followed nearby, his eyes averting to her back as she crouched down to search. He watched intently as she bent down to look. A jolt of teenage hormones rushed through his body, causing goosebumps over his skin. Those legs, he thought, I'd like to part those thighs, spread them apart, he thought, and then, he clenched his fist, his shoulder immediately tightening considerably. No, he thought, she is weak and useless. Immediately forcing them into his hands, she bit her lip and retired to busily searching for an unknown object on the dresser. He had been on the verge of embarrassment, his hands now full. He approached the bathroom in the corner of her room and closed the door. The shaft of light that had once created a block of golden on her bed disappeared.

She sighed inwardly. How was she to know that he needed undergarments? Marik would be thoroughly amused by her antics. She'd searched for boxers in her brother's wardrobe and found ones that Seto would not be able to disapprove of. With a sigh, she contentedly flopped down on her bed. Before she could rest, she immediately got up, crushed the lotus that had been placed on her dresser weeks before, and hid it in one of her drawers. She now resigned to the sounds of warm water hitting the bathtub floor. Her mind lulled into a state of nirvana.

She remembered Egypt, then, suddenly, and her encounter with Priest Set one clear night.

Isis crept towards the baths, the only place in the palace that would be empty by midnight. She knew she'd be scolded for wandering around after-hours, but she was a Priestess. Claiming that she also had some authority, she positioned herself behind a pillar. Perhaps tonight she could take a nice cool bath without being interrupted by immediate demands. She undressed, her white dress falling to the cemented sand.

She approached the waters, leaning a foot in timidly to check the temperature. Sighing, she let her body delve and part the waters. The cool water flowed around her, the coolness causing her to shiver involuntarily. The waters were best at night, since the night air would cause them to be fresher than in the morning.

Splash!

Her heart skipped a beat. She looked around wildly, hoping not to be seen. She knew if a Priestess's body was exposed to any male, that she would be further deposed of her position. She was not alone in the baths, as she heard frequent splashes. Isis mentally screamed, hoping that whoever it was would leave. She tread the waters and waded out, her body clinging to a wet rock near the water's edge. She finally found the stranger.

The almost pale body shimmered in the moonlight. She squinted to view the dark brown hair messily atop this lanky figure. The male stood in the water, using a bright metal pail to bring the water to his head, shoulders and mid-torso. The water created slivers of sparkling water down his back. Her heart lurched as she finally recognized the person. Just as her realization struck her, the male turned around and caught sight of her.

"Priest Set..?" she murmured almost weakly as she cringed and clung to the rock tighter. He had not seen her. He had not seen her. He had not seen her. His eyes narrowed into thin sapphire slits. He cast aside the pail, away from the waterline. He stood up at full height, the waters swirling dangerously around him. His body was of cruel, twisted laborious strength.

"Clothe yourself." He said firmly, his distant eyes now focusing and refocusing on her. He then turned away, his back facing her. She waded into the waters to reach the other side of the baths. She folded her body out of the water, and wiped herself off with a cloth strewn near the water's edge. She quickly tied the dress with slipshod performance around her. Now she could leave and pretend this never happened. But a voice came to her.

"You are fully aware that scribes and priests are allowed to bathe in the baths after-hours, Isis." He murmured, as he cast water over himself, repeating the motion and then blindly wiping sticky hair from his face. She nodded obediently, and just as she was about to turn away, saw a sly smile form on his face. Her chest pounded wildly as she exited the baths, parting the annoying silk sheets adorning the room. As she dashed through the hallway, she could hear faint laughter. 2

Ischizu sank into her pillows, trying to block out the memory. He had not repeated this incident to the Pharaoh, or the fellow Priests. She wondered what was going on his mind, but she let sleep overtake her. She needed comfort in blind obedience of sleep.

Seto had closed the bathroom door, gaining immediate privacy. He let the shaving cream and razor fall to the top of the sink. He immediately scrutinized his features, leaning in towards the mirror to get a closer look. Kaiba hadn't had facial hair for the longest time he could remember, but he couldn't risk it. Pressing the shaving cream can, it spurted out onto his face, and he lathered it evenly with his hands. Bringing the razor up to the side of his face, he pulled down, the feel of it as it scraped down his face somewhat exciting. He'd just recently started shaving, and it had been sparked when one of Yuugi's friends claimed that he was so 'manly' that he had to shave everyday. He was almost done, bringing down the razor to near his jawline. He remembered Yuugi, the faint memory of him trying to befriend him, and himself denying Yuugi every time.

"Hey, Kaiba!" The small teenager had climbed up on the lunchroom table next to him. He ignored him for the first part, and then when Yuugi did not go away, turned abruptly to face him. Yuugi enjoyed bothering him, and even worse, beating him in Duel Monsters. When did he not figure out that he didn't want friendship? The only thing Kaiba wanted from Yuugi was the Duel Monsters Championship. End of story.

"What?" He asked coldly, hoping that this little insect would go back to its hive of friends in the center of the lunchroom. Kaiba had often eaten lunch in the corner, deciding that he didn't need the attention of the fangirls and groupies he had accumulated in his highschool years.

"You wanna come with us to the arcade after school?" Yuugi genuinely asked him, placing a hand on top of one of Seto's textbooks, forcing Kaiba to sincerely question this ridiculous request. At the center of the lunchroom, Tea Gardner rose, and walked swiftly next to Yuugi.

"Hello, Kaiba. We'd really appreciate it if you could come," she said warmly. Her smile had often caused Kaiba to cringe on certain occasions, but now he wondered why she even bothered. They knew he would refuse, and they also knew they'd come back another day, ask him for his companionship, and he would rudely refuse it. The friendship girl had continued to smile. Her smile did not bother him, it flustered him. And Kaiba did not get flustered.

"And this is the part where I rudely refuse and you all sulk back to your table, claiming that I'm a jerk. Why don't we just cut to the part where you leave?" He said coldly, picking up his textbooks. Gardner's smile faltered. Yuugi put on a weak smile, his eyes beginning to soften. Even Yuugi had his limits; Kaiba hoped that one day he'd crack.

"Maybe another time," Yuugi said softly, and he got up, and walked with friendship girl back to the table. The mutt began to converse, loudly insulting Kaiba. Seto walked past without listening. He'd heard the same things everyday, and it mattered none to him. He'd go on being the way he was, regardless of the success of it. Friends were weaknesses, friends were flaws in perfection..

The razor nicked the area near his cheekbone. A thin red line formed, and he scrambled to wash it out, the water causing it to sting. He used the hand towel on the side, causing it to form a dark, red area when he brought it back in his hands. He touched the wound with his index finger, the parting of the skin made apparent by two definite ridges. With an inhale, he relocated the shaving cream and razor near the sink. Seto began to undress, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off his shoulders. He faced the mirror, noticing that he had gotten thinner since last time. Thinner was better. He'd seen Ischizu glance at him, sometimes secretly, sometimes openly. It was strange, how he got a satisfaction out of her approval, but not of those stupid girls at his highschool whose eyes bulged whenever he exposed his body. In Physical Education, he had tossed off his shirt for basketball practice, and several girls swooned as he did so.

He even saw a rosy blush appear on the friendship girl's cheeks, the puppy looked at him oddly, and Yuugi remained oblivious. One freshman girl had fainted and had to be taken to the nurse's office. That particular day, he didn't break a sweat as he single-handedly defeated the puppy's basketball troupe, making eight three-pointers in less than five minutes. He remembered blocking the mutt's shot, slamming the ball hard against the wood polished floor. The idiotic pup had looked at him with wide eyes, claiming that Kaiba had cheated. Seto just smirked, leaving the gymnasium with the coach begging him to join the basketball team.

"Hn." He said out loud, to no one in particular. He brought his knuckles over his chest, feeling the muscles lining his upper body. Kaiba then brought it down to above his navel, the abdomen muscles clearly apparent in the mirror. With one hand, he wound it around his back, the back of his hand feeling the ridges of his spine. Frustrated, he began to unbuckle his belt, hearing the small clink! As it fell to the tile bathroom floor. He undid the other belt, creating the same clink! His pants had felt loose now, and his hands busily unbuttoned the first button. He unzipped his fly, tugging his pants off, his long legs now bare. He slid to the bathroom floor, clutching his head. Something ached, and dulled to an extremity. Ischizu..I'd like to feel those soft tender breasts, hold them in my hands, and explore the rest of her body by touch. His thoughts were unlike him. No! Kaiba screamed in his mind, I will do no such thing. I am not weak. How had it become so difficult, so awful to be around her? When had this weakness blossomed, crippling his senses? He had never liked her, but now he was noticing small details of her that he had wished he had never thought. Seto got up, his head pounding, and turned on the showerhead. Water sprayed out, and he jumped back from the coldness. 3

He fumbled with the locket that was wound around a dark cord around his neck. Kaiba refused to take it off; it was waterproof, besides. He slid off his remaining undergarment and stepped into the bathtub, the water was now lukewarm. Threads of water hung down his thin frame, clinging to him, and then desperately falling away. He liked the feel of water against his skin, causing ripples and gently soothing him. He washed his hair, which had become matted with sweat and dust. Seto liked his hair, and didn't dare think of cutting it. The brown locks were neat around his face, and framed it perfectly. Other times when the wind was powerful, and he was walking to school, it would blow in every direction, messing up his hair.

When he'd arrive at school and sit down in his seat, several girls would squeal with excitement. He remembered sliding into his seat, the mutt looked at him sneeringly, and Yuugi waved with his ridiculous grin. They are worthless, he thought inwardly, his hand rigorously washing his body. He would like to daydream, just for a little while, even if it was completely wrong, because he hated for those disgusting thoughts to invade otherwise more important time. Seto imagined his hands slipping inside Ischizu's smooth, silk blouse, tearing off the buttons and exposing her glorious breasts. His hands would fumble with the hook on the back, her face in a state of content as he did so. No more, he struggled, the soap slipping from his fingers. I can't do this anymore.

He tried to suppress the flashes of him unhooking her brassiere and her screaming his name. He was disgusted with himself when he found he sought satisfaction in the way his name rolled off her tongue. Seto. Not Kaiba, he thought. They all called him Kaiba. That was the name of his idiotic snake of a father. But now he sank into depression, thinking of touching Ischizu, gently holding her, kissing, and then it all faded. An image of them both asleep on a bed, white sheets strewn on top of them. Ischizu then rolling over to him, her body naked under the sheets, looping her arms around him saying softly, "Seto.." STOP!

No more. He liked the prison of water, but it was time to get out. He needed the time for other, more important and pressing concerns. He stepped out of the shower, his body still dripping with water. No matter. He shrugged his head, causing water drops to fall from his hair, and brought the towel up to thoroughly dry himself off. The clothes would only get wet if he put them on now. Half-agreeing with this thought, he dried off his legs and put on his slacks, buckling the metal buckle. He scooped up his shirt in one hand and the towel in the other, bringing it up to his head and trying to dry off his hair. He opened the door to find Ischizu sprawled on the bed, her cotton dress clinging to her curves. One hand was pressed against the pillow for her head to rest on, and the other was brought up to her chest, which rose and fell at rhythmic intervals.

He didn't give a damn, approaching her dresser for a comb. When he found none, he advanced towards her sleeping figure, wanting to shake her awake abruptly. Instead, his knee pushed against the side of the bed, her body shifting ever so slightly to the right. Now he had room to sit, on her immediate left. His hands went up to shake her, but stopped when she let out a small soft sound, similar to a kitten's mew. His chest swelled for no apparent reason. He dropped his shirt and towel to the floor, immediately interested in her. His fingers went out and gently traced her lips. I wonder what they taste like, he thought, and in flashed an image of him kissing her feverishly, his hands roaming her trim body. Disgusting, he mentally yelled at himself. His fingers trembled slightly and he cursed himself inwardly for being a weak, incompetent fool.

"Mmm." She murmured slightly, bringing up her head and allowing him full view of her slender neck. It was now that he leaned over her, dangerously, because he could, at any given moment, tip over. With amazing balance and finesse, he brought his hand down to touch her cheek. He wondered what it felt like, such foreign, exotic skin. Exotic? He immediately withdrew his hand. He could feel his chest now pounding, dissimilar to her small chest drawing up and down regularly. Suddenly she let out a muffled sound, and he found the source of it. A drop of water had slid down his chest and onto her cheek. As he touched her cheek, a surge of energy shot through his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he could feel himself float into another realm..

"Cousin," The young Set had reached the steps of the palace, his messy brown hair sticky with dirt. He'd helped that young girl, Kisara, escape from the village, and he'd seen the legendary Blue Eyed Dragon emerge from the burning ashes of that town. His slim figure trembled and buckled as he fell to the floor. The young, soon-to-be pharaoh let out a cry, and ran towards him, holding his limp, cold body in his arms. A guard that had witnessed this event immediately called for the nearest medic. Atemu held his cousin's head in his hands, burying his own head into his neck.

"Set, Set..please be okay," Atemu held the boy to his body as closely as he could as he carried him to a guest chamber. An elderly priest watched from the side, recognizing the boy. Son. The priest thought, and disappeared into the shadows of the hall to alert his brother, the Pharaoh. A clear breeze blew through the palace, alerting the scribes and priests of a new coming. The moon was shining overhead, and somewhere in the lofts of the palace, a young Egyptian girl looked up at the sky.

Set awoke in the damp guestroom, the moisture lining the walls beginning to condense. His cousin, Atemu, had fallen asleep next to him, an arm secured around his waist. Plucking off the security of Atemu's hand, he rose, only to see a young girl in the doorframe. Rising up, he touched the damp walls, pretending he did not see her. She was dressed in all white, her dark hair reaching her shoulders. She smiled gently.

"Hello. I am Isis. Who are you?" She approached Set and her cheeks gained a rosy colored blush. Set wiped tiredly at his eyes, and finally acknowledged her. An almost regal aura surrounded her.

"Set. I am the prince's cousin." He said, putting emphasis on 'prince'. He disliked Atemu's position, to be the next pharaoh. His fingers touched the side of his elongated shirt, which was torn in some places. She leaned over and smiled, her blue eyes shimmering and dancing with light.

"That's amazing. I'm the priestess-to-be," she said, and noticing the tear in his shirt, added, "I can fix that for you." He nodded, resting on the edge of the bed. She left the room to get her supplies and thought deeply. Everyone was someone special except for him. His good for nothing father had left his mother and himself to starve in the village. Set had only recently found out his connection with the royalty, deciding to stay in contact with Atemu has often as he could without coming to the palace.

As soon as the village had burned down, and he had seen the Blue-Eyed dragon, everything in his entire life had changed. It didn't help that he had somehow obtained the Millennium Rod from Atemu, who claimed that it meant to belong to him. He shook his head as the girl had appeared in the doorway.

"I brought you some water. My mother said that a traveler in Egypt must always be thirsty," she said, warmly. In her hands was a sewing needle, forged most probably from metal in the far east. Preferring not to move from his position, he sat with his legs spread out on the bed. Atemu was still sleeping next to him, and ever so often, he would let out a soft mumble. Isis had begun to hum gently as she sat in the space between his legs so she could work on his torn shirt. The needle was threaded in and out of his shirt dozens and dozens of times until she finally let a finger trace the finely stitched patch.

"I'll fix this up a bit too," she said, as she scooted in closer to stitch the tear at the collar of his shirt. Her head bumped underneath his chin and he jerked his head back.

"I apologize," Isis said, and brought his face closer to hers so that she could work easily on the tear. Atemu was getting restless on the side of the bed and awoke, mumbling, and wiping at his eyes. He yawned and stretched.

"Hello, Isis." She nodded, and did a semi-bow as best as she could while she was sitting. Atemu watched the scene, the small girl that folded somehow into his cousin's slim frame. Her agile fingers sewed with perfection, and she traced the stitch with her finger, still sitting in between his legs, and let out a small laugh.

"Look, prince, isn't it beautiful?" She touched Set's shoulder and his eyes were cast elsewhere, his mind on another plane of existence. He wasn't thinking of Atemu, or Isis – he was thinking of his father betraying him and his mother. His mother falling down inside the village, trying to save the neighbor's children. Set crying as his father left.

A warm hand settled on his cheek. His head snapped back into the present. Atemu smiled at him warmly. But it was not his hand; it was the younger girl's. The golden necklace that hung around her neck was most probably the Millenium Tauk.

"It will be all right. I know," she said, gently, and buried her small head into his chest. Atemu grinned, and got up from the bed, his figure had created a small indented shape on the bed. Set shrugged out of her grip, a sudden ache building in his chest. He rose from the bed, his head beginning to ache. He followed his cousin, turning slightly at the door to face Isis.

"Good-bye Set." She said, her hands in her lap, the white dress folding and creating creases. It stopped near her mid calves, and he viewed the round, shiny golden bangles around her ankles. The sunlight wafted in from the chiseled windows, illuminating the edges of her face, and throwing a dim shadow on the east wall. Right then and there, something tugged inside his chest, hard.

He rose, panting. Seto climbed off her bed, struggling to get up. To his right, Ischizu mumbled something in her sleep and faced him. If only he could strip those clothes off her, and taste those shoulders, those small shoulders. His chest pounded, his heart beating wildly. Ischizu was beginning to stir, and he immediately exited the room, locking the door behind him. A faint melody played in the living room, and déjà vu flooded his mind. Bringing his fingers to his temples, he realized his temperature was colder than usual. Mokuba lay on his stomach on the floor of the living room, typing away something at his laptop. Bringing his towel to dry his hair, he entered the living room, sitting cross-legged opposite from his younger brother. Good, something to distract me.

"Come here," he said, gently. Mokuba looked up from his typing and saw the softened look in his brother's eyes; he hopped into his brother's lap. Seto's body was warm, but his hands were cold, the fingertips icily reaching into his hair. Now Kaiba had encircled his arms around his sibling. Mokuba faced away from his brother and reached for the laptop, and flipped it open, placing it snugly above his legs. Seto looked above his brother's shoulder and viewed what his brother was currently looking at.

"A lotus?" Seto questioned, his head gently nudging his brother's head to move a little to the right so he could see better. Mokuba ducked his head, and held up the laptop so that the screen was right in front of Kaiba's face. Seto immediately took it from him, placing it on the floor, hunched over Mokuba's small frame to start typing. The lotus? He was sure he'd seen one in Ischizu's room earlier. Or in his dream. He wasn't sure which, and it was beginning to frustrate him and invade his mind in the small, idle moments that he had. A hand reached up to touch the screen and pointed to the flower's star shaped petals.

"Yeah, Ischizu showed it to me. She says it's her favorite flower and wanted to grow it, but the soil in Egypt is only fertile along the Nile." Mokuba said knowledgeably. He could feel his Brother's bare chest sink in from inhaling. Seto's shoulders then brushed against his shirt, one wrapping around him protectively. A sudden thought began to turn its way over in his mind, and it sunk in, protruding from pieces of evidence he'd been mentally collecting during his stay.

"It would be somewhat difficult to obtain this flower, especially in this part of the town, right?" Seto asked, his hand now touching his forehead. He was quite sure he'd seen one, and if it only grew along the Nile, it would be unlikely that Ischizu had gone all the way there just for a single flower. The thought began to mutate into other possibilities. Mokuba folded his arms, the top of his head bristling against his older brother's neck.

"It's unlikely this flower even grew here. The lotus isn't exactly an Egyptian flower." Mokuba reasoned. He removed his brother's arm from around his waist and got up, examining the laptop screen. A silent tension hung in the air. Seto didn't think that the lotus in Ischizu's room was important- it was a flower, just a flower. It had no significance, no importance at all. But why did it continue to bother him, and the dulling ache remerging every time he was around her or that flower. He didn't believe in the supernatural, and he wouldn't start now. It was just a stupid flower. Just a stupid flower.

"I saw one in Ischizu's room, I think," Mokuba piped up. "I found it strange, so I looked it up. I think it stands for marriage, because a lot of people in Egypt used to arrange marriages for their children and when the time was right, would send a lotus to the person that their child would marry." Something flickered in Seto's eyes, but the feeling sank, drowning amidst the chaos that swirled inside of him. The faint melody had ceased; it was the sound of a carousel in those amusement parks that Mokuba would drag him to. The back door of the kitchen could be heard opening from the side, and it was apparent that one of the Ishtar's had returned home. Marik briskly walked into the living room, greeted them, and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the hallway. Seto saw his brother's blank look at the laptop screen.

"We are going home tomorrow," Seto said, running his knuckles down his other arm. Immediately Mokuba jerked back and scowled at him. He sighed, leaning down to kiss Mokuba's forehead when he turned his face to the side.

"That's not fair, Seto, it's not," Mokuba said, pushing his brother's hands away. "This happens every time. We've been here three days. How many days off have we ever taken in an entire work year? We don't even take Christmas off," Mokuba said, his bottom lip quivering. It all made sense, and every year, Seto would refuse to take a day off. Sometimes Mokuba would come home from school and his brother would not be at home until 10 or 11 o'clock. He would wait, and then he'd call his older brother, and beg him to come home. Seto would argue, saying that he needed to get his work finished. Work. Work. Work. At least that was what Mokuba would think, sinking into a cold bed, in an empty mansion.

"Mokuba, we can't be playing around. There's a meeting in two days.." Seto was cut off as his brother rose to his feet, his dark brown eyes blazing. His brother's small body tightened, tensing up with clenched fists.

"A meeting that you scheduled! I checked your planner, Seto. You rescheduled it from next week to this week!" Gasoline that had been left, neglected in Mokuba's heart, began to rise in flames from the sparks of his brother's inconsiderate nature.

"Mokuba!" Seto scolded him, and immediately Mokuba sat down, his hands fidgeting. Rebellion blossomed in his young, adolescent heart. His brother was oppressing him, keeping him from growing from mistakes. He wanted to keep his younger brother away from the exposure he had been born with. The death of his mother had been hid, safely away in a neat drawer in Seto's heart. Never to be discussed again. The melody from the carousel returned, plaguing Mokuba. A soft, humming melody. Father. He loved carousels. A soft whimper rose from Mokuba's form, as he hunched his back away from the couch. 4

"Unless you are dying and are in dire need of medical assistance, we are leaving tomorrow." The firm, business tone, once again. Not the fatherly one, as he would gently caress his hair. Not the brotherly one as he would kiss his forehead in the park.

The melody was loud, too loud. It grew and expanded as his brother continued to neglect him. He wanted love, not protection. Love. It was a faint, almost childlike request. He wanted to envelope Seto with his wide, expanse of love. It was like a field, and it grew as time went on. But now Seto was neglecting that field, the flowers were crippling, and Mokuba struggled to obey his every whim. No longer would the flowers bloom. On the eve of his father's death, that field stood still, the wind no longer blew. But now it wasn't necessary. The flowers would continue to ripple in the wind; some would bend and turn underneath the undying pressure. 5

"No! You treat me as a child, as if my opinion doesn't matter at all! I love you Seto, but sometimes I don't think you feel the same way!" With this, he sobbed into his brother's chest, letting the cathartic tears flow freely in threadlike rivulets down his cheeks. 6 A whisper of freedom, that's all he needed. His brother's warm body was a refuge, a silent sanctuary. Seto would keep quiet, he'd talk, and their relationship was complementary in that sense. He clung onto his brother, the kind one, the one who smiled and kissed him. I love you, no matter how much you hate me.

"Why do you think like that?" was the warm, gentle voice now. It always became gentle after they would fight. They'd argue and argue and argue. And the younger would always crack, by either crying or getting angry. They'd let loose all their fears and for a little while, both of their emotions were plainly seen. Seto curled his arm around his younger brother's bottom, cradling him. The melody was fading, the soft clinking of chimes was known only in the distance. Looping his arms around him, he sunk his head into his younger brother's hair.

"I don't know, I don't know," Mokuba sniffled, curling his small fingers around his brother's strong neck. "I'm sorry that I'm such a crybaby. I'm almost thirteen and I still cry all the time-" " His eyebrows creased, and he let the tears keep coming. Seto pushed back his dark locks and kissed his forehead. A gentle, reassuring caress followed, and soon, he was wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. Seto handed him a handkerchief, and Mokuba wiped rigorously at his cheeks and up and around his eyes.

"Go wash up," Seto said, and kissed him again. Brother! Mokuba thought faintly, and bounded out of the protection of his arms and into the hallway to the bathroom. He could hear footsteps nearing towards him, lighter and more uniform than Mokuba's. Seto snapped the laptop screen shut, and rose to face Ischizu. Her small footsteps had alerted him, her hands folded neatly around the shirt that he had left in her room. Her golden bangles on her wrists shimmered in the damp, humid light of the living room.

"Seto, you forgot your shirt," she said plainly, as she tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. Ischizu handed him the cloth shirt over to him, and he snatched it from her hands a little too fast. He wrapped it around himself, and buttoned it up to the second-highest button. He was taken aback when a hand reached up, so subtly, to brush away some locks, and then touch his cheek. She furrowed her eyebrows with concern, and brought her hand back to examine it.

"It's bleeding. You should know that bleeding that occurs on the face does not stop immediately," she said, knowledgeably. He shrunk back from her touch, and decided to follow her into her room where she rummaged through the drawers to find her first aid kit. He stood, his fingers wiping the blood from the razor cut on his cheekbone. As she pulled out items, she placed a crumpled lotus flower on the dresser absentmindedly. He immediately took it up from her dresser and curled his fist around it, crushing the already crippled flower.

"Where did you get this?" He said, his voice on a strange tone he had not believed he could manage. It was almost polite. He unpried his fingers to give her full view of the crushed pink lotus. It was a strange, odd flower. It was neither beautiful nor ugly. It was an ordinary flower, nothing significant making it stand out from other flowers that Seto had encountered in his life. Then again, he found plants utterly useless. They were a continuous time-sink; stealing away time from gardeners. They were weak on their own, and would die the second they were not pampered. He utterly abhorred them. 7

"It is not important," she murmured, as she failed to find the first aid kit. She now traversed over the carpet to the bathroom, where she located her desired item. Ischizu pulled out an almost transparent bandage and some sterilizing liquid. A ripple of strength extended from Seto's upper arm to the tips of his fingers. He unhooked his fingers from the crushed lotus, placing the dislocated flower on her dresser once again. She busily poured the sterilizing liquid from the white bottle to a piece of guaze-like material.

"Most people would be..happy if they received a lotus. It is traditionally an optimistic symbol," she said, gently. Seto had taken his place on the foot of her bed, where she scooted towards him, taking a moderate, clean swipe on the cut. He repelled from her nursing, turning his face to the side. The liquid ran down his cheekbone, and he quickly disposed of it with his sleeve. A gentle rapping sound had come from the wind blowing from outside. She closed the windows, and pulled his chin up to face her. It was a strange, compromising position. She cleaned his wound, as a nurse to a fallen soldier. His hands moistened considerably at his sides. Seto wiped them impatiently on the wool blanket.

"And most people would be overjoyed at the prospect of marriage," she began again, this time dousing his wound with more sterile liquid. The cut was beginning to become bothersome. Seto now held her wrist firmly, pushing her hand away and at the same time demanding answers. She ignored his refusal of aid and leaned forward, pulling the wax strip from the back of the band-aid and applying the clear, round, sticky, paper-like object on his cheekbone. The windows banged hard as the wind burst through the thick layer of trees outside. A chill ran up Seto's spine, and his fingers went up to touch the band-aid. A strange coolness emanated from it.

"Then what's the problem?" He literally snapped at her, his hands now wiping fervently at the sides of his leather pants to rid his hands of moisture. This went unnoticed by Ischizu. She had resigned from fidgeting nervously. Ischizu sat, with one leg under her, her hands busily putting away the first aid items back in the rectangular-shaped box. A soft sigh erupted from her.

"I am not like most people," she said, her voice obtaining a position of strength. He rose from her bed, and strangely enough, propped his back against her dresser, facing her. It was not that he needed conversation, or desired it. He sought refuge in the bliss of words and sentences and strewn together paragraphs and recollections. He hated sound, and he loved it. Seto would seek sanctuary in the strong fortitude of words. 8 Folding his arms across his chest, he viewed her as she went into the corner of the room to place the kit back in its original location.

"That's because most people don't live in the past and spew forth ridiculous nonsense all the time." He said, as politely as he could. She stood up, her eyes ablaze.

"You would not even begin to fathom the situation that I am in!" Her voice quivered at the end, and it had a childlike quality to it.

"What sort of situation!" He said, almost as if he didn't believe her outlandish outburst. It was strange talking to her. And at the same time, it was pleasant. Bitter. It reminded him of bitterness. A strange entrancing quality was attached to the bitterness that hung suspenseful, in the air. It dangled on two, invisible threads, each dangerously dipping close to falling to the floor.

"I am getting married to a man whom I do not love!" She nearly yelled out, her face returning to her hands, her hopeless, wretched figure distraught, stretched tight with tension. Wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she looked at up at him distraught. His legs had uncrossed, his arms now dangling at his sides. Her small chest rose and fell quicker.

"I don't have sympathy for you," he said, his eyes now flickering up and down her frame. A faint click was heard down the hallway. Her eyes glimmered with traces of sparkling tears. "It's for the weak." He emphasized the word 'weak', and a lone sob racked her slender body. She gulped the enormous lump that had been forming in her throat, and turned away from him.

"I did not expect any," she said, her voice gaining stability. She sniffled a little, not allowing her face to be seen by him. He advanced towards her, turning her around roughly by his arm. He leaned his body close to hers, his hand pinning her to the foot of the bed. He tilted her chin towards him.

"Then what did you expect?" He asked huskily, the warm quality of his voice exciting her. It tickled her neck and ran chills around her shoulders. It had obtained a tender, soft quality that was foreign to him. He wanted answers. He wanted to rid of all of his weaknesses, now. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she turned her head to the side. Get rid of this weakness, he mentally echoed.

"Nothing at all." She said, jerking her head back from his touch. Ischizu stared intently at the lotus, wishing for once that it would disappear into the cracks and shadows of her room. His hand had not removed itself from its place next to her hip. His lean body moved forward, forcing her to be pushed against the soft fabric of her blankets. Ischizu's hand darted up to lift herself up, but he did not budge. If she fully got up and stood at full height, she'd be slammed against his body. She arched her back to fit snugly against the nook of her bed.

"Sometimes, th-they're, I mean, s-so fast, we're in s-such compromising p-positions," 9 She managed to choke out, and he leaned forward, his hand now resting on her slim waist. It was more like he was holding her down rather than holding her romantically, she thought frantically, pushing ideas and memories out of her mind. She remembered Egypt, and Priest Set, and suddenly things were flashing in and out of her mind like channels on cable television. Images flashed one after another, Priest Set, the baths, Seto-

"You are a weakness, Ischizu," he said firmly, as he pinned her to the bed, "and you already know what I think of weaknesses."

AUTHOR NOTE


This chapter utilizes a "cliffhanger"! Yay! Okay, now for the references notes and quirky things in the text that you can find defined here. If you can't find the numbers, go to 'Find' and type in a number. There are only seven of them, and they're little easter eggs for my sweet, wonderful readers.

EASTER EGGS

1 Okay, I know this contradicts what I said last chapter, since Kaiba changes his clothes. But don't worry, it's not the main chunk of text, and I only found out the problem with this after I was done with more than 2/3 of the text. There was no way I was going back and changing the text. Sorry about such an amateur mistake, but this is about my only longest serious fiction piece in a long while. Also, he is wearing two belts because it's fashionable, not that it's weird. Think Squall Leonheart from Final Fantasy 8, and it's exactly what he's wearing. If you don't know who he is, or what he looks like, type it up in Google Image Search.

2 I totally stole this from another fanfiction work by another trustshipping author. To be honest, it was a subconscious stealing, and I'm sorry I totally ripped it off. I truly didn't mean to, and when I get to editing this chapter, it will be removed, so no worries.

3 I really didn't want to put too much graphic stuff in this chapter, or in this entire work, but when I was writing it, it seemed to fit. For one, if you think about it, it describes his nakedness to life, how his emotions can be easily stirred and affected, even though he doesn't let others know about it. When I wrote this paragraph, I thought critically about what it would do to represent Kaiba, not just for pure fun. Sorry to the people who don't like graphic content.

4 Okay for people who are totally confused, there is no melody. This is in Kaiba and Mokuba's heads. I wanted it to relate to how their relationship was torn away from them, drifting off, never to be seen again. Notice how nobody else can hear the melody save for these two? Well put two and two together. This is entirely in their heads.

5 The metaphor is weird and strange, but I don't give a hoot. I think I portray a very good Mokuba, a much more decent one than most fanfiction display him as. He's not too mischievous, and he's not too kiddy. To tell you the truth, I put him too adult-like in the section with him and the reporters. Here I'm displaying his softer, weak side. I really like the usage of the 'field of flowers'. I can almost imagine those flowers rippling in the wind.

6 Reference to A Tidewater Morning by William Styron. If you haven't read it yet, you should, since it's a great book. That's where I blatantly stole the 'cathartic tears' part from.

7 I really thought this is what Seto felt about flowers. It matched his personality, and no, this isn't how he really feels about flowers, I just made it up, like the part about their father liking carousels.

8 I know that a lot of people would disagree on the whole 'sound' issue, but to be honest I really do think he'd sink himself in words to escape reality at times. Even though Seto seems like a down to earth person, he also seems like the person that would outright deny things if they were beyond his scope of belief. For example, the whole Egypt issue. It's ludicrous to him mainly because he has never believed in such a thing in his life.

9 Ripped off of A Streetcar Named Desire, which is also a great book. Read it if you have the chance, or like reading, but there's a movie out, and you should definitely read it. I stole the line ..'Sometimes, so fast.." from a character named Blanche in the book.

Also, I put in some parts about Seto in highschool because I felt that neither the anime or manga talked much about it at all. Plus it's totally unfair since they only had one episode with him in school, and half the time I wished that they would show another highschool episode.

EXPLANATION OF SORTS?

Also, a lot of people don't understand the whole 'lotus' and 'aching' thing. I'll hopefully clear it up for you, even though I didn't intend to do this from the beginning. Seto is using anti-depressants, and you know this because he gets really defensive about the newspaper. Second, you know Ischizu is suffering from clinical depression because she is getting married to someone whom she doesn't know or like. The lotus represents a prison for her. For Mokuba and Kaiba, it's just a flower that means marriage. Of course, Kaiba gets closer to the true meaning of it early on, but still, he doesn't full understand her situation.

You can tell that she doesn't know the guy she's marrying because arranged marriages do not normally have the two get together. The whole Mokuba being sad bit is because his brother is treating him like a child and not letting him do the things he wants to do. Duke, in the last chapter, was the closest thing Kaiba had to a friend, and even then, Kaiba chose to run away from his problems. Marik represents a person who is stuck; his older sister is in love with a Japanese man whom he thinks she barely even knows.

About the ancient Egypt bits..normally, I don't like this in fanfiction, but I thought it'd be helpful since Ischizu doesn't know Kaiba that well, but she can associate him with Priest Set, who his alike him in many ways. But do remember – Priest Set was in many aspects different from the egotistic Kaiba that we all know and love. Basically, Set coming to Atemu's palace was made-up, but I do think it's entirely plausible in many senses.

ABOUT THE NEXT CHAPTER

Okay, that's about it. I'll put at least five hidden easter eggs in the next one. If you can explain them, you get a cookie. Hopefully I can squeeze in Rebecca and Duke in the next chapter, if I get that far. The next chapter, by the way, will take some time, since this chapter was long as heck, (82KB without the author notes and easter eggs) Anyway, I haven't been getting too many reviews, and so be kind and review! Don't be scared about hurting my feelings, because hey, I get it all the time, besides, I wouldn't be a writer if I couldn't take criticism. Read and review, kids!