Chapter Five: Control and Command

Kai stood, watching the opposite doorway sightlessly, leaning with his elbows on the marbled countertop at his back. There was a solemn, somehow vacant frown plastered across his mouth that did not twitch, did not shift in the slightest when Garland entered the room. Though his half-shaded ruby eyes had followed the older boy's steady progress down the hallway and to a point a yard or so before him, there stopped and pillar-like, he had not blinked; had not, in fact, appeared to register that anything was going on. The only motion to suggest after several moments of disconcerting stillness that the young man was not entirely catatonic came in the form of the ginger ascent of a glass bearing the dredges of lemonade to his lips and brisk draining of its contents. The cup was lowered onto the counter once again with a betraying display of force, banging hollowly in the heavy, warm atmosphere, threatening to crack in Kai's grip. His brow furrowed for a breath, the phoenix blader unpeeled his fingers from their choke-hold, still looking into the other's face as though it held nothing of interest – looking beyond it, seeing through it… Seeing the fire beneath the ashes and reveling in its everlasting existence there. Whenever he needed it, it would be within reach.

"He's okay," the C-Bolt, rapidly diminishing nerves and all, informed his more youthful and disturbing counterpart through the haze of irritation in his usually cloud-free mind, for some reason determined to make it matter to Kai. He had his work cut out for him on that front; high expectations were all good and well, but Garland was a sensible, realistic person. It was not possible to forge an alliance, an allegiance of any kind between Brooklyn and the Hiwatari; not now and likely not ever. However, expectations of some kind were to be expected when one seeking to keep two friends, however at odds and at one another's throats they might be was concerned, and Garland was an idealist. If he was careful, if he tried very hard and very stubbornly and very kindly, and should his timing be absolutely flawless – there was a chance. There was always a chance, and in this case, an opportunity to soften the blow he hadn't been certain would fall. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen; something (judging by his open invitation for Kai to visit whenever he so wished it), but not this. It was nevertheless possible, probable even, to forge an understanding between these people he wanted so desperately to understand one another.

Why? Why, Kai might have asked, had he been privy to the gryphon bearer's thoughts. Only because Garland wished to be his friend, and then why even that? He was Brooklyn's protector, Brooklyn's captain, Brooklyn's family – did he really need more tension and emotion in his life? The C-Bolt had asked himself the same questions on several separate occasions when he'd caught his mind wandering to the wielder of the Dranzer blade, wondering offhand how he was, what he was doing, whether or not he could maintain sanity and self-control while handling another meeting with BEGA's prodigy… Inward-turned interrogation had brought him to the conclusion that one of the reasons Garland was drawn to Kai was also a reason he had hoped to become close to Brooklyn himself: both of them had lived (and apparently continued to live) frighteningly delicate lives, their respective realities balanced on the edge of a knife. He wanted to take care of them, make sure they were alright – he wanted to be responsible for them because they needed him to be; they needed him to catch them. Apollon's owner was the kind of person that desired that – he had to feel necessary, and it was perhaps Garland's good luck that Kai had materialized his dramatic, furtive way into the professional league, landing on his doorstep, the perfect example of a person set up for a fall.

He'd worried about the younger boy then, coming to gradually realize just how deep his arrogance and willfulness ran through their occasional bouts, getting to know him by the way he bladed. However, Kai's preset nature and the at risk status of an individual impressively lacking in humility were none of his business and he'd been content to leave the younger boy to his eventual failure and subsequent mental breakdown until, until… until he'd caught that sienna gaze fixed, all unconcealed, predatory fascination, on the happily oblivious Brooklyn. Garland had looked back and forth between them, bewildered at the upstart of all-encompassing protectiveness squeezing his heart. Where Kai was "set up for a fall," he'd decided that, should the impossible prove possible, Brooklyn was set up for a sky-dive. Some quality in the Hiwatari had reassured Apollon's bearer early on in observation that his skin was thick, long since toughened by failures, however his eyes had then glowed with purpose and power; some quality spoke of difficult times survived and obstacles overcome, hardship absorbed and lending him strength. Garland had worried about Kai, but, in the rare moments he'd gotten it into his head that Brooklyn wasn't unbeatable, had worried for the genius much more, who, as far as he could tell, possessed no such quality. Kai had also then seemed just the type to do the impossible. He had looked back and forth between them, and been afraid for their souls.

The youngest C-Bolt shouldn't have had to be afraid any longer. It should have been over; it should have been in the past. He had hoped, been almost certain – fairly certain, that nothing bad would happen. He had expected some shock, likely, he'd even expected some residual anger… but he had not foreseen standing in his own kitchen, staring indirectly at one of the boys with whom his well-wishes so often laid as though waiting to be dressed down by a particularly intimidating teacher. Brooklyn, he'd been determined, would be okay; Garland would see to it, he would make certain of it – no matter what Kai did, said, when or how he appeared, in what mood he happened to be or however much a struggle against resolution he put up, in the end everything would be done, in the end there wouldn't be any more nightmares. Spending so much time concerned with Brooke's reaction, he'd not even considered the damage possibly caused by the god-bearer showing himself. He had counted on Kai being the stronger person, the forgiving, merciful one (being forgiving and merciful were sensible and realistic – an idealist can suppose everyone has the capacity), the one that would not overreact and, ideally, not react at all. It was meant to have been the final test of whether or not Brooklyn was well.

But Kai had not been forgiving or merciful – he had reacted badly, very badly. It had not turned out to be a test of the former BEGA's secret weapon, but an explosion between two instinctual enemies, a mess that Garland had hoped to evade and had not, in fact, even suspected a risk of them being in the same room. He'd known that he was wrong half a second after his charge's arrival, having counted too much on Kai's ability to let go, maybe depending on the influence of the Hiwatari's teammates, an influence that had done so much for Brooklyn and yet appeared not to have extended to Kai in the slightest. It was indeed a stupid mistake, he was sorry for it. But he was also annoyed, unpleasantly surprised – why in the hell hadn't Kai moved on! Why had he come with that hate intact? Was it so difficult? Was Brooklyn so easy to loathe for the things that had been out of his control..? No one blamed Brooklyn. No one blamed him but Kai. "It's been months; it's been months since he did anything to you," Garland hissed, voice low and threatening; at some point he'd pressed his shorter, impassive visitor painfully against the edge of the counter, grasping him by the lapels of his dark blue t-shirt. "Why do you still hate him?"

"You didn't honestly expect anything to have changed..?" the end of the Hiwatari line replied, words scorn-soaked, eyes locked onto this other's for the first time, bright with malevolence. It had been months – months of stagnation and suspended memory, months for him to review and decide the possibilities, the inevitabilities… In other words, Kai had spent much of that undistracted time brooding, nursing his anger. The former professional team of BEGA had been a constant topic of conversation; their images plastered across the newspaper or TV was unavoidable; they could not be escaped. And that was only in the waking hours… Kai had experienced far too many sleepless nights, choking on the air that he'd believed, seconds before waking was dark, icy water. He could think of Brooklyn and feel the scars from their fights burning and since healed bruises aching. He could rarely avoid thinking of Brooklyn – he was the one that couldn't be escaped. The phoenix bearer was a severely tormented individual: his grandfather had been a trial in and of himself, followed by the randomly experienced, quite vivid flashbacks to the Abbey assaulting his head at the most inopportune moments (he'd had to leave a training session the summer before in order to vomit, for example) since their initial unearthing two years prior, and now these redoubled dreams of dying, infernos, and inexplicable, debilitating waves of fear.

Kai demanded absolute control from himself; he required pristine focus, whether inside a beybattle or not – his life itself seemed to be a battle. He had to stifle guilt, stress, self-disgust, and misplaced cruelty on a daily basis… He had to act like a saint in order to end up a merely decent human being. As a result the boy often caught himself coming off unnecessarily cold, but it was better than the alternative. Anyone would take apathy over outright villainy… They might have wanted more, but he could only give so much, only offer so much without risk of – without putting them at risk. Kai did the best he could, tried as hard as he could, even managed to smirk and laugh with them instead of scornfully at them sometimes; to those that wished to know him he had forgotten quite a bit, let go of a lot, and never experienced even more. It was his place to protect them and their comfortable delusions and he was entirely responsible for the pain he caused in the process. He'd never shirked the responsibility – he had borne it with such grace and poise, shoulders never slumping with the weight, that many had assumed he was not aware of it, did not feel it. He'd been referred to as an "unfeeling bastard" in the past. Maybe that was right. Every emotion: guilt, stress, self-disgust was so easily buried, shoved to the side; he was so used to being an unfeeling bastard that he did not have to spare a thought for it. Unless it was anger… in which case he was just a bastard.

Fighting Brooklyn had been an agonizing journey of self discovery: how far he would go, how much he was willing to risk, how many he was willing to hurt and to what degree he would disregard their happiness and his safety, just how stubborn he could be, what, exactly, he was fighting for – and the most important, profound discovery of all: the fire beneath the ashes. Kai hadn't known it was there, at least not on a conscious level… Imagine: hate can be shelved. It had drip, drip, dripped from his first sentient year onwards; a ripple each for every wrong done to him, every disagreeable word said to him, every indifferent expression, every single annoyance, and it had formed a lake in the dark. The lake was so white-hot that it felt icy (as hate can) and ash rained from the sky alongside the drops and settled at the surface, thick and constantly shifting, waiting to be brushed aside by the barest touch of extended fingertips. The fire held his reasons: the selfish but good reasons for hating BEGA's genius, the reasons he had to hate all of them. He had plunged face-first into the flames, when in the past he had merely toed the edge, and let them eat him alive in order to defeat the undefeatable – a frozen image of Brooklyn's one-time smiling face burned into his retinas for motivation; and yet, and yet in the background, shadowy, familiar figures, each waiting to be burned into his retinas next…

He had realized, while drug-deep asleep in the hospital afterwards that they were everyone he knew well enough to hate, and there was everyone he had thought he finally loved – but while you know a person, you can be aware of some part of them that would make them an enemy if, and only if, the other feelings did not exist as a shield. A person simply has friends because the love for them overcomes the hate – and thus the hate is shelved. It waits until you need it and until you are capable of finding it. Kai was shown the way; the phoenix bearer saw that he had the same degree of rage and power waiting for everyone, to rip into anyone he so chose – and it was terrifying. Wasn't there a chance that one day he would dive into the lake with the grin of one of his closest friends in sight? Wasn't there a chance that he would want to defeat them so badly, in some way, that he would climb down to the immortal flames he hadn't been aware existed and leave all shields behind… to hurt them, to forget them, to forget everything but rage? Kai knew he was not a good person, despite efforts. He knew that he was capable of terrible things. But now, with this path revealed and these inhibitions illuminated for his darker side to despise and test, he was more dangerous than ever. What he had done to Brooklyn – he did not want for many others. What he had done to Brooklyn he would relive in utter ecstasy, praising the plunge that had pulled him by the wrists through hell… but it made the act and the feeling no less alarming. Kai was used to, as much as all that came across him were used to, perpetual dispassion.

"I had hoped…" Garland feebly replied, clutching stubbornly to his irritation with the same fervor that he clutched the material of Kai's shirt. The C-Bolt bowed his head so that he'd not be distracted by the incredulous snarl thrown across the other boy's face, one of the less agreeable expressions that he'd been known to muscle into place to hide the thought-marquee running through his eyes. He had to concentrate… on finding a way… to bring Kai around to… Just what was he trying to accomplish? Trying to be – trying to be a friend. A friend for Kai. Kai the vain, overbearing jerk that needed him and turned his musings into nonsensical fragments. Kai the vain, overbearing jerk that he needed. He needed Kai? Kai was no use; not this one, not this version of the young man leering across at him, looking to be on the hunt for some mud to sling – but he was a use because… he was at risk of falling, every moment of every day. Not as far as Brooklyn, not as breakable as Brooklyn, but still, in his way Kai was needed because he needed. Garland would just have to try harder – he didn't want to choose one or the other, Kai or Brooklyn, because they both required his help.

Kai had to let go of his anger – there was no telling what it would do to him in the long run. How it would ruin all of their li—"He disgusts me," the Hiwatari chose that moment to bluntly elaborate, looking down with a sampler of said disgust at the hands pinning him against the countertop, forcing him to stand on tip-toe, lifted slightly and very uncomfortably. The slate-haired blader finally smacked them away with a throaty, angry-wolf kind of sound, receiving little protest. He sank back to his bare feet and stared defiantly up at Garland, challenging him to retaliate (for either the words or the action; Kai didn't care) – his entire stance was a challenge: not moving to put any more defensive space between the two of them, arms crossed, hands fisted, crimson gaze unblinking and slightly dilated – the gryphon blader absorbed this, raking sore, now free fingers through his loose hair, and decided it would be best not to humor him. It was the moment when the pacifists and preoccupied exited the bar. Garland obligingly broke the eye contact, leveling his attention instead on the bruise across Kai's cheek, which he, incidentally, had put there.

Disconcerting declarations like 'he disgusts me' made the less realistic and sensible parts of Apollon's bearer stir in outrage, requesting further bruising. How did one reason with this boy? How to go about convincing the great Kai Hiwatari, self-righteous to a fault, that he was absolutely wrong and didn't know half the story, when he didn't care about the story? Garland wasn't going to bother talking at a deaf ear, yet, what could make Kai listen to him? He had to listen so that he could be befriended, or at least comprehended. He couldn't be either unless they moved past this Brooklyn… vendetta… thing. They couldn't be anything at all unless Kai made peace with whatever he was feeling – or was forced to feel something different. How..? Reach out to him; reach as far as you can, don't be afraid when he bites your fingers for it – had anyone ever tried to push and shove the stubborn Hiwatari into truthfulness? Garland had a feeling he lied every day to those that asked him if he was alright, and did it habitually, naturally. Maybe – maybe Kai wouldn't lie to him? "Why does Brooklyn disgust you?" the older boy carefully asked, swallowing his pride and nausea for the purpose, fighting to keep himself looking as relaxed, genuinely interested and pacifistic as possible.

Kai's stare, which had been wandering, snapped back to the other's face with renewed attention and a glimmer of surprise. He'd not been expecting such a stupid, obvious question. Regarding Garland with faintly amused respect (capable of shocking a Hiwatari… wow), the boy inwardly debated whether to grace him with a reply. In the end, the phoenix bearer decided to wait, let him stew, allowing his garnet eyes to roll away in open exasperation to the clock hanging above the door everyone kept moving in and out of, tracking the seconds of his life as they melted away, scowl firmly pressed across his mouth, for the respect was fleeting and quickly replaced by annoyance. "You're not interested in hearing unless it would help Brooklyn," Kai evenly began, unfriendly but thoughtful face still turned elsewhere, "and I'm not interested in helping Brooklyn." The boy raised a thick eyebrow, issuing yet another challenge – one could easily have the idea that he was asking for Garland to attack him… All Suzaku's wielder needed was an excuse, after all.

Garland looked thoroughly frustrated, and so Kai, deciding to push his luck, continued without pause, "You had hoped… You thought you could control me." His glare narrowed dramatically, mind having reached this latter conclusion after minutes of steadily puzzling in the background as to why, why Garland had acted so usual with him in the house, well aware that something terrible – and there it was: the C-Bolt bastard had thought he could be changed, used, and then as what? Some, some therapy session for Brooklyn? Kai's breath caught in his throat a moment, and then escaped in a wondering 'huh'. The gryphon beyblader really was as dumb as Kai had begun to suspect at the beginning of this entire ordeal, wasn't he? Most disturbingly, why had Garland thought him so predictable? Predictable people… let go. Predictable people moved on. Predictable, normal people didn't concentrate on everything bad in the world, bad in others. Kai knew all about normal people, and he wasn't about to willingly become one. Normal people were mediocre: they did not excel at anything, they were unworthy of whatever they had, always – Kai was exceptional by birth. He was exceptional because he fought for perfection. Normal, predictable people? They settled. Where was the exception in going blindly along with the wishes of others?

"I was under the impression that you could control yourself," soon followed the viciously condescending reply as Garland grew quite sick of Kai's sanctimonious tone. Did he think he was some kind of martyr? He hadn't been the one huddled in a dark room's easy chair, scared out of his wits. He hadn't been nearly as wronged as Brooklyn. He needed some perspective. The older boy's hand twitched – he needed perspective and to be punched. Kai would never know how much patience it took the C-Bolt to keep from attacking him at that moment. He would never have appreciated knowing… The phoenix bearer found others predictable. He expected almost as much out of them as he did out of himself – he expected them to act in accordance with their natures, and Garland's nature was one of patience. Kai was not, even for a moment, afraid.

"So, then you thought you could control Brooklyn," the slate-haired blader slyly said, nodding, bitterly smirking. He could tell it was a combination of both, yet confronting Garland about his stupidity was deeply satisfying; watching the cogs working behind the chestnut eyes downcast in momentary shame strangely fascinating. However, when the taller teenager glanced up again, he seemed entirely steady – which was a shame. Kai eyed him, wary, knowing the look of somebody that had a plan up their sleeve.

"He's been doing well," Garland airily informed, "sleeping all the way through the nights, hardly ever locking himself in his room for days on end anymore. He's starting to form opinions of his own instead of simply accepting those of the people around him – Brooke's actually become a little headstrong and his arrogance isn't only a superficial defense mechanism now. Since he knows what losing is like, he isn't so afraid of it anymore and he's ten times stronger for it; it's great progress. I never realized he used to hold everyone at such a distance until he really started accepting us… You know he asked for a picture of the entire team? That was the turning point – when he'd finally decided on his family; I already knew he'd found some good friends that wouldn't take advantage of him, ever, but when he knew it without having to be told. You should see all the photos he has in his room now…

He was a great actor in BEGA; we never suspected he didn't care about anything but himself and Zeus and was – so, so close to slipping over the edge, but I'm glad to say people can actually reach him now. He listens when he's spoken to, even when he doesn't like what's being said, instead of ignoring everything – I really think he's starting to like the real world and what unconditional friendship has to offer him. And that's the most important thing, isn't it? That he like what's out here better than what is already in his head? That he appreciate and desire things beyond, well, what he wanted before..? Power… control… freedom… He would have been so lonely. He's not alone anymore, Kai. We're the ones that gave him enough strength to face you in his dreams, so of course I assumed it would work just as well out here. Brooklyn's dream-world and reality have always been pretty blurred together anyway."

Garland smiled graciously down at the Hiwatari, though inwardly the expression was a self-appreciative grimace. He knew that he was blindly feeling in the dark, but hopefully something would strike a chord in Kai, who, for his part, merely stared. The gryphon beyblader had no trouble imagining his guest's inner child humming determinedly, small hands tight over his ears and eyes screwed shut – this was more information that he'd desired. Far more. Kai was hell-bent on thinking of Brooklyn as a monster to be loathed, not a victim best pitied. He was horrified by these tidbits of recovery process, a process he'd seen, one way or another, in several individuals that were not his mortal enemies. Kai had nightmares about Brooklyn (whether literally or figuratively) and his eerie presence, Kai had needed to learn and accept the value in loyalties and come to desire things beyond power… Take BEGA's genius out of the picture and it could be a romanticized telling of what any of the Abbey children had gone through. But it could not be swallowed. It couldn't be right. The Brooklyn that Garland breathed about with such obvious pride and affection was not the homicidal lunatic that had laughed at Kai, hurt Kai, wheeled through the air in frenzied delight – this painted image of a simple boy getting on with his life after some traumatic incident was not who Kai was familiar with in… his dreams.

Kai had clutched onto that hate for that monster, knowing he would need it, knowing he would use it again someday. But was that creature the same as this innocent person being described, forming in his mind's eye? Was there a possibility that the Brooklyn he had come across, barging into the training room and demanding to know whether or not the Kai before him (the Kai he had feared? Was it possible? It made him horribly glad, but the Brooklyn that had nearly murdered Suzaku had definitely not been afraid…of him) was real, had been different, a changed human that he knew nothing about? Was there any way that the young Hiwatari was wasting his life hating somebody that no longer existed? Forcing his suddenly unsteady breathing into a more or less natural rhythm, Kai's searching eyes wandered again to Garland, probing them for the answers he needed – silently begging for a lying crack in the deplorably smooth visage, but, as again, there were none.

There was still nothing to prove the C-Bolt's insincerity, but how could he be believed… How could he be so naive! On the off chance that Brooklyn was somehow a better person, Kai still knew all about darkness and even more about potential. He himself was a horrible human being with a hideous degree of depravity and malice hidden beneath a thick layer of constraint – the ash above the lake of fire, the shields protecting those the young man cared for, – brought successfully, though never fully, to the surface by one Kuro Suzaku before retreating once again to the rotten bottom of his heart – but he knew it was there. He felt it every day, festering. He had the potential, and so too did Brooklyn. No matter how long they're clean, an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic. Some part of he and the god-bearer would always be a hazard, and Kai put absolutely no faith in Brooklyn's self-mastery.

"There will come a day," the phoenix bearer resentfully promised, speaking slowly as though explaining something difficult to an especially inept toddler, all the while gazing deeply, genuinely, and warningly into the brow-furrowed face of Garland, "when you'll have to put that abomination down. He is a tool to be used and discarded – Boris and Hiro knew it… I'll bet his unfortunate parents did as well – did you ever ask him how he ended up in Balcov's hands? My guess is they handed him over. They saw his potential, his genius. When Brooklyn decides he wants to play out his little fantasies for real, you're going to see a lot more destruction than a few scalped skyscrapers. It's sad that I'll be the only person on Earth ready for it." It didn't matter what mask of decency, honor, goodness this fool's beloved prodigy wore in order to sway him and so sway the world, because monsters didn't change. Kai knew from experience… he'd never been able to. And so the highly corruptible Hiwatari carefully picked up his empty glass from the marbled, reflective countertop, and threw it with the violence and rapidity of a snake-strike over Garland's shoulder in the direction of the doorway, fully conscious of Brooklyn, quietly standing there.


Author's Notes: I updated, fixing a lot of grammatical weirdness, but nothing important has changed so don't even bother re-reading. I can't stand errors, and am profoundly embarrassed by the "Hiwitari" vs. "Hiwatari" thing, but, seeing as I've been doing it incorrectly for the entire story I'm not at all eager to edit the whole thing. I must just be a silly girl. Thanks for drawing my attention to stuff like this, Spyrit Phoenyx. Maybe I should get a proof-reader...

I'm surprised and honored at the overwhelmingly positive feedback this thing is getting; thank you, everyone, for enjoying it as much as you seem to, and for your patience with me.

Now for some individual replies, because it is deserved: Spyrit Phoenyx – I didn't mean for Kai to sound like an alcoholic, because frankly, when I hear 'drink', I assume hard liquor too… seems like he needed one… Thank you for your continuing support, nevertheless, and good to hear you've recovered from your disease. This chapter is dedicated to you -chortle-. The Hands of Fate and Destiny – Thanks for your enthusiasm. I'm afraid I did rely somewhat heavily on these guys having changed a little after their experiences in G-Rev… figured it was alright as long as I remained in the realm of possibility. I have no problem with yaoi, and rest assured, will consider doing something of the like in the future. Astera Snape – I hope I made it clear why Kai could hold his little grudge in this chapter. Kind of. Maybe. I'm just not convinced he's the letting go type. Thank you so much for adding me to your favorites, it's a huge compliment. And to you and Bakura13, knowing that Kylie is the tennis player for certain is a load off my mind, heh. Finally, storm-of-insanity – are you okay?