Gasp. An update. Stunning, isn't it? Same love to Mechante Fille and Raventide, goddess among goldfish that she is, as well as to reviewers in general, particularly with the e-mails, as you provide the guilt-trip necessary to make me post.

02: Proving Fate's Mutability

It was peculiar, how very quickly the sun came out from behind the clouds and the dreamy sort of haze that had lingered all of Sunday really just…evanesced, turned to nothing. Walking past the gates of the Peace Garden, it was funny to think that he'd been there, just barely out before the sun became visible, in that odd sort of half-light of dawn. It didn't seem real anymore, although the memory was more-or-less firm in his head. So strange, though, because it didn't feel familiar at all, for all that he knew he'd walked there dozens of times, for all that he could say with absolute authority that these were the gates he'd gone through, and that was the particular brick that had been level with Kaiba's head when he shoved him back, and that was the bar those bony fingers had curled around as he moaned, and

Yami felt nervy all at once, like something was about to come up and he was lingering in the last safe moment before impact.

When he'd become so jumpy, he couldn't begin to say, and it was such a normal setting, just walking home from the grocery with Yuugi, who'd guilt-tripped him into carrying the bags to make up for that ruined jacket…but these streets still weren't, after all this time, familiar, and he wasn't sure that he didn't still expect some masked foe to come leaping out from behind a streetlight, or that expensive car that had pulled over on the other side of the street to collect a passenger. He cast a suspicious glance at a girl who walked by him.

Maybe it was just the fact that he now had to do everything alone that made him so anxious.

The separation had been more of a blow than he'd expected, and the choice had been so spontaneous that he'd never really even formed a clear…expectation. It was a snap decision, a reflex choice; he'd heard the terms and known instantly what he had to do.

Atemu was dead, or at the very least, not who he had been; had he been entombed in that pyramid forever, he might have emerged the same man -- still a boy, really -- but the chrysalis had been shattered and the moth that clawed its way out half-formed had been altered by experience. How could he be the same person, when all his memories had to be replaced, when all his experiences were new and the only world he'd ever truly known was this one? Whatever, whoever he had been, back when he had memories and knew who he was, that creature was gone, and Yami was what remained.

Hideous to defy the natural order of things, but defiance he had in spades.

So, he'd said yes, or rather, he'd said no, refusing to go quietly to the afterlife. Somehow he thought that the piece of him that had been a pharaoh had gone on there some time ago, sometime when he'd stopped being "the nameless pharaoh" and had become simply Yami. The dark memory game and the choice given to him at the end had only made that all the more clear to him. In a world of memories that'd once felt like home, the only thing that had truly felt real had been Yuugi, and the rest of their friends, and that made a difference. That changed everything. If it meant throwing away the memories he was still trying to absorb, and changing the face of his destiny, it meant nothing; if he had a choice to remain with Yuugi, then how could he refuse?

He had a new name now, and a purpose that was not Atemu's, and he wasn't going to just fade to nothing like Sunday's mist and return to a death that wasn't his.

And that brought him right back to the other name, the one that'd been plaguing him lately: Seto Kaiba. Much as it surprised him, given how much their philosophies seemed incompatible, Kaiba's blind rejection of his past had rubbed off on him, after all. He wasn't sure whether that should grate or draw gratitude.

It was strange how often the boy seemed, through his own backhanded methods, to come to his aid, although he could never quite be sure that Kaiba had even meant to do it. True, there were too many accidents, too many times that Kaiba had been his deus ex machina for it to be anything but their lot; that'd been clear from the beginning. They were all tangled up in a destiny Kaiba didn't believe in, yes, and Yami knew that ultimately his way was right -- the past couldn't be refused, couldn't be erased the way Kaiba swore up and down he was capable of -- but he couldn't deny that the image of Isis's broken prophecy helped him.

There was Kaiba: defiant and blind and blinding -- ultimately not proving the nonexistence of fate, but proving fate's mutability. He'd carried out his destiny as much as any of them had, but he'd changed everything, in the same instant: the forces that were driving them were powerful, but not absolute. It'd allowed Yami to make the decision he did, given him the opportunity, although it wasn't what truly convinced him. Creating an opening was a small step, though vital, compared to the actual choice to continue forward. The crack that might flood the world with light was everything for a moment, but after that had to come the motivation to chip away at it until a pinprick of something brighter became a doorway out.

That, that final push, as it seemed like was always the case, had been Yuugi. Yami had realized, all at once, that he didn't want to go, and that had surprised him, because he'd thought so much of finding his memory, winning the game, righting wrongs and fighting evil and turning black to white. If Kaiba had shown him where grey lay, Yuugi had shown him that there was color, too: his bright purple eyes and Anzu's shining aquamarine and Jounouchi's warm gold and even Kaiba's steel blue; he'd shown him a life to live beyond the past and his vigilante duty. He'd shown him that he was more than trapped in amber, some surviving concept of world already quite dead.

But it still felt like a hollow victory, all the same. Everything should've been restored to its natural state, and Yami was not meant to be here. The lingering question of what he should've done, of if his presence here in the mortal world was the aberration it could be made out to be, would always be there, and Domino was not familiar, was not home yet, and he wasn't sure it could ever be. None of the people or places around him just now were any more real, meant any more to him than the long gone features of Egypt would've. He wasn't even sure he knew exactly where he was, although he'd walked this route from the grocery many times. The streets just seemed to have escaped him. That sleek black car, on the other hand, stuck out quite strangely in his memory.

Yami frowned as he recognized Kaiba's limo rolling down the street ahead of him, slowing down, and if he hadn't been startled then, he was certainly on guard when it stopped just a few feet past him, and the back window slid down. This was not how he'd expected to play out the second round of...of whatever game it was they'd started in that park. Which was a dangerous thing, considering that games with Kaiba always required total concentration and every edge he could find.

But he'd never backed away from a challenge before, and if Kaiba threw him off balance, he could shove Kaiba right back. He shifted Yuugi's groceries to his other side, then walked over to the car, leaning in to hear what Kaiba had to say.

"Get in," came a now familiar drawl. There was nothing more, save for the click of a lock disengaging.

How anyone could stare so intently and yet speak so indifferently was quite beyond him, but Yami opened the door and slipped onto the leather seat. Opening move, no expectations yet formed, all possibilities still very much on the table, which was a risky position to be in, but one he ultimately favored. It left them both on equal footing, and meant that there was no limitation yet on where this game could go. Quick glance back only to make sure Yuugi had seen him and wouldn't worry, then he shut the door and set his groceries by his feet.

"Make it quick, Kaiba; I have milk in this bag."

Kaiba smirked at that, blue eyes glinting from behind his messy bangs. He was lounging on the other side of the seat, leaning slightly against a large silver briefcase. "Don't worry. Your groceries will be returned unharmed. You'll probably beat your other half home." Then his good humor seemed to fade all at once; his voice darkened. "Yesterday, I met you in the park."

Yami just nodded, leaning slightly closer as he realized that this was business. That shifted the parameters of their game, giving him one hard rule at least to play off of, and he liked hard rules because they were easy to manipulate. People trusted in them, took them as absolutes, and every single one could provide a perfect veil to cover intentions until the last moment -- strike. That was the weakness in laying out the rules, of course. You accepted them too quickly, having created them yourself, and when all the pieces fell into place and locked and your opponent realized the perfect way to send them all spinning back into motion and right against you...you were lost. Tables turned.

And as to the physical reality of this, of course that was what Kaiba wanted; probably he just needed to preempt all possibility of future blackmail, although he should've known by now that Yami had no reason, and more importantly, no will to exploit whatever weakness Kaiba was guarding so fiercely. It was too petty, and what would it even gain him? He had no desire to ruin Kaiba's reputation, and that should've been clear from the start.

And for all his hidden motives and the tricks he employed in games, when it came to something that mattered, Yami liked everything out clear and in the open. Which is where he would put all of this, though Kaiba seemed to prefer leaving it in sentence fragments and ambiguous phrasing.

"You did, on a bridge, just past dawn," Yami prompted. He'd give Kaiba a chance to respond, give him something more, before he upset their little balance. Nothing came, and he glanced out the window, frowning. "I won't tell, if that's what you're worried about."

Kaiba's eyes were narrowed, when Yami looked back over at him, and he had sat up straighter, although he still kept one arm around the briefcase. "I'm not worried about anything," he said sharply. "And nothing happened for you to tell about, anyway."

His knuckles seemed to be going white where he gripped his luggage, but with skin so pale as his, it was rather hard to tell. And that was the wrong thing to think about, as Yami's head instantly filled with the image of his lips, all kiss-swollen and a suitably bruised red against the pallor of his cheeks, and all these absolutely asinine thoughts about how striking the contrast was and

"What are you staring at, Yu--Yami?"

The split second hesitation, the way Kaiba faltered trying to call his name, was enough to drag him from his musings. It was funny, how used he was to calling himself Yami, when up until the separation he'd responded to Yuugi by reflex, and no one had really called him that at all apart from Anzu and Yuugi, who was just as likely to call him simply "the other me," or, on occasion, "Pharaoh." Now that was a name that would never come off Seto Kaiba's lips. Another tangent, though; when had it become so hard to focus on what he -- what was important?

"You're quite a distraction," he answered softly.

It wasn't until Kaiba's eyes went wide (His control had slipped like quicksilver right through his fingers, hadn't it?) and his lips parted slightly in shock (They were dry and pale again, no trace of Sunday, just like the rain, and how fitting) that Yami realized how his answer might have been taken as (What was it called?) a come-on. Again his head was too full of ideas; he looked down, but that just put his gaze suspiciously in the vicinity of Kaiba's lap; he looked out the window hastily.

"What are you playing at?" Kaiba demanded, and he seemed to really want to know. Blue eyes wide like he was actually distressed; he set aside the suitcase and moved closer, as if the situation would make more sense that way, with a tighter focus.

Would that really work? And what were they playing at? And it was 'they' because if he was playing anything, they were matching each other move for move. Yami couldn't focus on anything, and the nearer Kaiba came, the harder it was just to think at all. Vaguely he wished he could think of something to do, to convince Kaiba to stop being so…to change this game so that it made more sense, stayed with a clear purpose and a clear set of rules. How did any of this work, if the rules seemed to change with Kaiba's temperament and everything could swing right back around into open hostility? Any peace between them had always been fragile, but -- in the park -- things had seemed -- Kaiba was -- or he was -- different.

"Stop staring into space and answer me. What the hell is this all about?"

Yami didn't know what to say, found himself for once at a loss, and wanted to claim he didn't understand the question, because then he would've looked like an idiot, but he would've been ignorant instead of wrong. His head was buzzing; there was something just wrong about all of this. Suddenly he felt oddly sick, and for the first time, he found himself with no available strategy. This was a game he didn't know how to play, and now, stunned by the concept of it even as he was, he found himself completely disoriented. Always before he'd been able to fake it, to hold his own until he'd absorbed the rules and begun to understand.

Was that the consequence of rejecting fate? This uncertainty? Now, adrift, no hope but in keeping the game moving until perhaps something would come to him, he threw the first counter he could think of: "What were you doing in the park?"

Kaiba blinked; maybe this game was new to him, too. That was good. If he was struggling, maybe they were at an equal advantage...and maybe they could learn the rules together. That made the game fair, and Yami could handle himself in anything, once the field was leveled.

"It's none of your business," Kaiba answered finally, jaw tight and words clipped. He crossed his arms, and that was a gambit Yami answered with an eyeroll and mirroring of the gesture; that was second nature by now. "It's my park. What were you doing there?"

But give and take wouldn't work here; reciprocal questions and answers couldn't take them anywhere but around in circles, not when neither side would truly give. Yami shook his head, tried to focus, felt oddly numb. Bit his tongue in frustration at the way the pieces wouldn't line up, when always before it'd been instinctive. Kaiba was watching him expectantly, eyes narrowed with increasing suspicion and Yami -- Yami couldn't remember why he'd been in the park in the first place, why he'd wanted to be, or even how he got there. He'd just been there...and hadn't Kaiba just been there too?

"You kissed me," Yami said slowly, trying to make sense of at least one thing. That was the strategy, then -- assess the situation before making a false move. Every single element one at a time, if he had to. Bring to light every single step taken along the way, momentarily arrest all actions and reveal all motives; demand an explanation. Eventually he'd have solid ground under his feet again, and he'd be able to take a more confident step forward.

That made more sense, and he could be direct now that he had an idea, maybe not a clear one but the beginnings of one, of where he was going. "Kaiba -- why did you kiss me?"

Now Kaiba scowled as if he'd just been accused of something. For someone who hid so many of his intentions, his face could be an open book at times. Did that speak to a lack of caring or a lack of ability? "Why did you kiss me?" Moreover, it was his eyes, Yami realized; they showed anxiousness and something close to fear, whereas his mouth was just deceptive, pressed in a tight line: anger. Did Kaiba know that his eyes betrayed him like that? No, no, if he had, he would've worn sunglasses, surely.

"Because I wanted to," Yami said, not even bothering to try to answer with another question. Never expect from your opponents what you are willing to give them, but give all the same if it costs you nothing and can lead to progress. He wasn't going to play this particular kind of game, run circles around the issue like Kaiba seemed content to. It wasn't worth it anyway, and any clever thought he could've assembled would've been drowned out by the blood running in his ears, anyway.

Funny, the tiny things that made living in his own body so much different. Before, only occasionally in control, and even then not himself, he never would've been able to feel his head beginning to ring and his hands starting to get sweaty and his fingers moving restlessly. Strange, the tiny things he'd never noticed, like how breathing became increasingly difficult whenever Kaiba stared at him that particular way that he did -- or maybe that was new, or maybe, more likely, that was not a reaction anyone else would've had. Did that mean it was wrong, or rare, or both?

"You what?" Kaiba echoed, and then Yami could see that they were even, wide blue eyes and tense posture effectively canceling out his own ringing ears and uneven breathing. Blow for blow, that was always how it worked: counter his opponent at every movement and give away nothing. Falling wasn't falling when he brought Kaiba down with him.

Which meant it was something of a reassurance, to know that at least Kaiba wasn't faring any better than he. Equals -- that was the way it was meant to be, the way it always had been, and that couldn't change, no more than a game of chess could be played with a set of grey and grey. He wondered, though, why this had been so simple, effortless, a day before. It'd been less real, in the park, perhaps, the consequences less immediate. Maybe it'd been the rain.

Kaiba was now right beside him, and it occurred to him that this, aside from Sunday, was probably the closest they'd ever been. Always before, Kaiba had been careful to keep his distance, and yet now he was inches away; what had changed? Yami wished he knew, distantly, but didn't really mind so long as he wasn't the only one who was lost.

He hardly looked like Seto Kaiba, with his lips ever so slightly apart like that, sharp jaw slack. Nothing ever got to him before, but Yami seemed to have acquired a talent for throwing him off. Things had never been quite normal between them, had they? It looked like he'd say something, but no sound came out, and Yami wasn't sure he wanted to listen, anyway. Didn't seem like it was going to be anything he wanted to hear. And, no, Kaiba still looked like himself, because he'd looked like this in the park, so determined and so lost, and maybe that meant something.

Meant something -- that was about as much as he thought before the collision: his mouth was on Kaiba's, his hands in that oddly messy hair, and if Sunday had been questionable judgment, this was just ridiculous, a mistake through and through, but that didn't occur to him until he found himself shoved backwards and he scrambled for a way to make sense of this and

"I'm sorry," Yami said; said Kaiba, "Get out."

He fumbled for the door handle and tumbled out of the car as quickly as he could, not sure whether he was trying to escape Kaiba's murderous glare or the complete stupidity of what he'd just done. It was only after he was stumbling on the sidewalk, leaning on the first wall he found, that he realized how lucky he was the car had been stopped for someone crossing the road; otherwise he might just have leapt out while it was going. It took another few moments, as the car sped out of sight, for it to hit him that he'd just fled. And not only that, but on Kaiba's orders.

This was not the sort of sequel he'd been hoping for. Somehow, he'd thought that things would be simpler, that Kaiba would…that Kaiba would... That Kaiba would what? Did he even know what he expected?

It was such a juvenile mistake to make; it only took one match to teach an amateur that striking out blindly when he lost sight of strategy just ended in disaster, and that one good move was no reason to be careless. And why on earth would one dreary morning in some forgotten park mean anything? Kaiba would fight anything to the death, right down to himself, so why should one small surrender mean the war was over? He'd known that, thought of it even as Kaiba had leaned into him and -- Yami had been too quick to assume that….

Even on Sunday as it was all happening, he hadn't been that naïve -- he'd known enough not to move without considering the consequences.

What'd made him do something so stupid? In the park, he'd had an excuse: it was dark, and rainy, and early in the morning, neither he nor Kaiba had been really awake, and if everything was dreamlike and dripping, no one could blame them for what they did, and Kaiba had started it, anyway, so it wasn't like it was his fault when he…when he….

So sharp; something had thrown everything off, sent everything spiraling, changed the contrast between black and white. Trying to sort it out, he couldn't even figure out exactly when he'd moved, except that in that car, they were separate, then in one moment touching, then he was sprawling backwards the next. It didn't make sense.

He sighed and put his head back against the wall, unconsciously assuming the same position he'd put Kaiba into. He was determined, always, that was a constant, but it'd take a lot to make back the progress he'd made. He was more than equal to the task, of course, and he'd damn well do it if he set out to, but -- it'd been a careless mistake, a costly one. There was no telling how long it'd be before he figured out just how to recover his lost ground.

And as if he needed something more to feel like a fool about, Kaiba had driven off with his groceries.

It began to rain.

Next chapter shall appear sometime soon. Honestly depends on how many shinier objects I encounter and how inspired I am to rip apart the draft I have. Rewrites suck. But. Hopefully when that's over with the chapters will come faster; setup chapters kill me, so every draft gets picked on for weeks beyond what's sane.