Yu-gi-oh and all associated characters are owned by Kazuki Takahashi.
Angels
Kaiba remembered his mother's smile. He hasn't thought about it in years. He hadn't had time to think about a smile that he hadn't seen in a decade (was it more now?), not when he had to think about survival, both his and Mokuba's.
He couldn't sleep that night, not after seeing Tea Gardner's panties. Whenever he began to fall into sleep, his cock would begin to rise, and he would have to punch it down. Not enough to make himself sick, but enough so he would wince and double over, and yet it still stiffened and pointed accusingly at his face.
He got out of bed and sat at his computer. He opened up an image of the Blue Eyes White Dragon. He had a dream once about Blue Eyes, only in the dream, it wasn't a dragon; it was a girl, a young girl with long, white hair. She was an angel, just like his mother. He could have gazed and gazed at the girl forever. She wasn't human; she was better than human, and infinitely more precious. In the dream, he knew she needed to be protected until she reached her full potential, and he was her protector.
But even though he was her protector, it wouldn't be for long. She was better than he was. Inside her was power and glory beyond his understanding. Soon, she would protect HIM.
He stared at the Blue Eyes, at its clean lines, at its powerful body; so different from the wisp of a girl it used to be. Perhaps the Blue Eyes was his mother, reincarnated. His mother did have blue eyes, after all, and had been very thin.
But that was utterly stupid. Reincarnation had no basis in scientific fact. It was absurd to think that his mother's soul, if souls existed, was residing in a laminated two inch by four-inch playing card.
Besides, his mother's hair wasn't WHITE. Not even CLOSE. Her hair was black, like Mokuba's. And she was small like Mokuba, too. But her eyes were Seto's, and so was her pale skin. Those two things were the only things that he received from his mother. He had been his father's son in all other ways.
His throat closed up, and his temples throbbed. The sensations came so fast that he thought he was dying. His doctor had even told him that his blood pressure was inching toward the high mark. He had been getting migraines that left him typing at his laptop in bed, with his trashcan next to him, in case he had to vomit. Perhaps this was an aneurism, or a ruptured ulcer. He was sweating, so it could even be a heart attack, or a stroke.
He touched his face and realized it wasn't sweat, but tears. He was crying. He wasn't dying, he was just sad.
He laid his head on his desk and curled his arm around it. He might as well be dead, if anyone ever saw him like this.