This is a revised edition of the chapter, and thus I am revising the author's notes. This was inspired by something very simple: while on a walk, I saw a small child in a stroller. This child was not crying, nor was I at a grocery store, but the image stayed in my head. Thus, this chapter was born. It was one of my first attempts to write Seto's, and Mokuba's, biological father as an actual character instead of an intangible presence in a past we've never seen before. Yagami Kohaku—originally introduced alongside his wife, Yuki, in an earlier story, "Earning and Accolade"—is a sad figure, and I think this chapter shows that decently clearly.
For those of you who have read this chapter before, every scene but the last is pretty much the same. It's the final scene that's important. You will remember that I claimed the final scene of the original chapter was reverse foreshadowing, and in a way, it still is. My reason for changing this scene is simple: when I began writing the storyline that this scene alludes to, I found that it no longer worked. The details no longer fit. So, instead, I wrote a scene that fits better with the main theme of this chapter, and perhaps the story as a whole.
1.
They weren't halfway through the parking lot before Mokuba started crying.
It was sudden, brought on by nothing in particular, and Seto—who was pushing his brother's stroller—jumped. The jolt caused by that jump only served to intensify the cranky toddler's cries; Seto flinched guiltily and quickly rushed around to kneel in front of Mokuba's increasingly reddening face.
"I'm sorry I startled you, Mokie," the older boy whispered gently, trying to pat Mokuba's head. He wanted no part of it, and flung himself away from his sibling's touch with a sharp, defiant whine.
"C'mon, little guy...shhh...sh-sh-sh. Don't cry, Mokie. It's okay. Are you thirsty? Hm? Is Mokie thirsty?"
"Nnyah!" Mokuba replied.
As Seto continued to try to placate his squalling brother, Kohaku—who was holding their groceries—simply watched. There was a tortured, helpless expression on his weathered, stubble-ridden face, but he made no move to help.
Yagami Kohaku was a broken man, and Seto was more than smart enough to know it. There was no use asking his father to help him with Mokuba; he couldn't. It always made him haggard and miserable—more so than usual.
"I want to love him," Seto had heard Kohaku tell a coworker one night. "God, I want to. He's the last part of...of...I should love him. I swore to myself that I would. But...I can't. Damn me to fucking hell, I just can't."
"You can't force yourself to feel something you don't," the coworker had replied, and Kohaku's head had snapped upward, painful in its severity, and his eyes flashed with a flicker of the indignant, insulted fury that would one day shape his firstborn's entire existence.
"He's my son, Hank! He's my child! Mokuba needs love more than anything else right now, and I'm so damned useless that I can't even fake it!"
Seto had felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. To run to his father and hug him. To tell the man his mother had loved that he didn't have to worry anymore.
But he stayed perfectly still, thin hands fisted at his sides, and he did not cry.
"C'mon, Mokie," Seto said now, almost begged, as he tried to coax his brother to take the cup in his hand. "It's okay, Mokie, shhh...see? There's your juice. Want your juice?"
Mokuba continued to scream.
Kohaku continued to watch.
And Seto did not cry.
2.
By the time Seto finally figured out what it was that his baby brother wanted, his shirt and vest were soaked with apple juice. His face was almost as red as Mokuba's, having realized that people all around the parking lot had stopped on the way to their vehicles to stare at them.
"Shameless spectacle," grunted a voice he remembered from somewhere, and he frowned.
"Oh, hush! The poor boy's trying!"
"Why won't the father do anything about that brat?"
Seto's eyes went wide, almost feverish, whirling toward the sound of the voice like a coiled viper. The speaker—a tall, spindly woman with skin too taught and too tan—flinched, realizing that she had been heard. "If you would kindly shut it, please?" Seto said, so coldly polite that the woman forgot to be angry. "I've seen you with your own children once before, and they are hardly less of a 'spectacle' than my brother, who—might I add—at least waited until we were out of the store before acting like a brat, as you so kindly call him. So unless you enjoy being a hypocrite, I'd suggest keeping your unwanted commentary to yourself."
The spindly woman went red, looking for a moment like Mokuba, but her companion laughed. A few others joined in, and one man even flashed Seto a thumbs-up.
The matter seemingly dealt with, Seto turned his attention back to his still-bawling sibling, who was now wriggling maniacally against his stroller's restraints.
"Ah'wa ow!" he cried.
Seto raised an eyebrow. "Hm?" he asked.
"Ow! Ah'wa ow!"
"Ow? Are you hurt, Mokie? Show me."
"No!" the toddler snapped, surprisingly clearly. "Ow! Ah'wa ow! Wemmah ow!"
"Oh..." Seto murmured, suddenly understanding. "You want out...is that it, Mokie? You want out?"
"Ah'wa ow, ah'wa ow!"
Seto smiled. "Okay, okay, Mokie. C'mon."
Seto proceeded to struggle with the seatbelt holding his brother in place while Mokuba continued to convulse and wiggle as if he were being strapped into an electric chair. When he finally managed to fight his way out of said electric chair's clutches and had clambered into his brother's arms, Mokuba's crying and screaming shifted instantly to a fit of giggles.
Seto smiled again despite himself and ruffled the mop of messy black hair. "There you go, little guy. All better?"
"Ah 'erst-ee," Mokuba declared, and Seto resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Instead, he stepped calmly over to the diaper bag hanging on the back of Mokuba's stroller and fished out another drink.
As Kohaku deposited their groceries into the now-empty seat and began to push, Seto saw a smile on his beaten, sunburned face. It ached with sadness.
Seto forced himself to smile for his father.
They walked home in silence.
3.
"He's going to die of exhaustion at this rate."
The tone was soft, but tinged with faint reproach. Yagami Kohaku didn't respond, staring unseeingly at the television as his companion nursed a mug of coffee.
"...He can handle it."
"But he shouldn't have to, Ko!" Valery Hitcher snapped irritably. She was the Yagamis' neighbor, and the woman who most often checked in on Seto and Mokuba when their father was working. "For God's sake, the boy's only ten! Mokuba isn't his responsibility; he's yours."
Kohaku turned his exhausted face to regard her incredulously.
Valery didn't back down. "Like it or not, Ko, you and Yuki decided to keep him, and don't you dare blame Seto for that. Maybe it would have been better for all of you if she'd had an abortion. She would probably still be here. But she didn't. Yuki wouldn't have allowed it unless she had known she was going to die if she went through with it, and you know she would never have been one-hundred-percent convinced."
Kohaku flinched violently at the mention of his wife, but he didn't say anything. He turned his gaze back to the screen across the room from him.
"You're not a bad man," Valery said gently. "You have a heart when you want to acknowledge it. Yuki knew it, and that's why she married you. But what you're doing to Seto...it's inexcusable. This isn't about you, Ko, it's about your sons. They deserve better than this and you know it just as well as I do. It isn't their fault that she's gone, and if you still love her at all, you'll stop blaming them."
"I'm not blaming the..."
But he stopped.
Staring at the woman who had been such a good friend when he had been Sasaki Yuki's husband, and the only one who remained his friend now that he wasn't, Kohaku realized he couldn't finish that sentence.
He lowered his head.
And Kohaku, not nearly as strong as the son who looked so much like him, cried.
4.
Seto didn't believe in complaining.
"Complaining won't do you any good," his mother had told him. "If you don't like doing something, don't do it. And if you must do it, then do it as quickly and efficiently as possible so that you don't have to do it again."
He was sure that other people had heard that same advice from their mothers, or their fathers, but Seto was one of the select few who followed it. And now that Mokuba was here, there were plenty of things he did not like doing, that he did as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Seto did not flinch, or show disgust, or say a single word as he changed his baby brother's diaper. He simply did it, removing the old one with swift, sure, practiced movements, and setting about cleaning the mess. He didn't bat an eye.
"Ewww!" Mokuba laughed, tiny little legs kicking in the air as he watched his brother. Seto said nothing. "Icky!" he added. "Icky, bubba! Icky-icky!"
"Yes, Mokie," Seto murmured finally, once Mokuba was clean, lifting the boy up and dressing him in a set of pajamas. "Icky."
He set the boy down and held the mess, bundled in wipes so that it was at least somewhat sanitary, out to him. "Now go throw the icky away, little guy. C'mon. You know where the garbage is."
Mokuba held his dirty diaper out in front of him, continuing to lament about how "ewww" it was, as he shuffled uncertainly over to the trash bin. Once finished, he made his way laboriously back to Seto and held up his tiny arms, informing "bubba" that "Ah di'yit. Ah di'yit."
Seto picked the younger boy up and smiled. "Good job, Mokie. You did it. Now, do you know what time it is, little guy? Hm?"
"...'Oo-kee tie?" Mokuba asked hopefully.
Seto smiled. "No, Mokie. Not cookie time. Bedtime."
"Be'tie? Be'tie, bubba?"
Seto nodded. "Yes, Mokie. Bedtime. Now come on."
"Be'tie!"
5.
"'...and the big, bad dragon flew away. The princess came back to her castle and everybody had a big party, with cookies and apple juice for everybody. And the princess told her hero that she was so proud that he was her friend, and they lived in the castle together, with no more dragons, forever.'"
Mokuba was straining to keep his eyes open, but he remained adamant in staying up. He said, "Nu'stowy! Nu'stowy!"
"No, no. That's all for now, Mokie. Bedtime."
Seto tucked his baby brother in, leaned down to kiss his forehead (which caused a giggle), and lifted up the side of his crib until it locked with a faint click.
"Go to sleep, now, little one," Seto said softly. "Bye-bye. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"
"A'mowwow, bubba," Mokuba said, and smiled as Seto turned out the light and left the room. "Ah'wuh yoo."
"I love you, too, Mokie."
As he quietly shut his brother's bedroom door, Seto leaned against it and wondered if he had just now realized exactly how tired a person could be. His legs shook, but there was enough steel in him (even at ten years old) that he refused to let himself collapse. And, miraculously, his body listened.
He began to walk to his own bedroom, remembering with a pang that he had a report due in two days, but knowing that it would be impossible to do anything now except fall onto his bed.
He passed his father in the hall, who simply stood there and watched him stumble forward. Seto's thin face was so stone-set that it seemed like he was waging a war with sleep and was determined only to surrender on his own terms, and he couldn't think of a thing to say to the man that made his tiredness seem like a pittance.
But Kohaku did.
As Seto fell against his door and fumbled with the knob, the tall man with dark brown hair and gray eyes that lived with him but felt like a stranger said, softly and racked with more pain than should have ever been allowed to exist,
"...I'm sorry."
6.
September fifteenth, at midnight seven years later, in the impeccable, untouchable silence of the Kaiba Mansion, the man Yagami Seto had become rose smoothly to his feet. And as he turned to the doorway of his office, he thought of his father. That final apology.
He thought of what had almost happened, six nights ago, and of what it would have done to him if it had. Seto Kaiba finally thought that he understood why Kohaku had been so desperately tired that the only way out was that final sleep, covered by a blanket of earth.
Sometime during that night, after Seto passed his father in the hall of their old home and could think of nothing to say, Yagami Kohaku had died.
A tragic accident, it had been called, but Seto Kaiba did not kid himself; his father had escaped. Yagami Kohaku had had enough, had finally given up, and he had escaped...in the only way he knew how.
And at his funeral, Seto did not cry.
And still. he did not cry—he refused to cry—as he walked down the hall of his home, still dressed in the suit he had picked out that morning before work, as he closed his eyes and said for the first time,
"I forgive you."
One week ago marked the fourth time that the boy once known as Yagami Mokuba had been abducted, and the second time that it had been done by the man called Saruwatari, who had, at one time, been Mokuba's own bodyguard. It was the first time, however, that Seto had been faced with the real, terrifying thought of that boy, that baby boy that he had raised himself, dying before his eyes.
In a third "tragic accident."
Four times, in four years. Ever since he had taken on the mantle of "Kaiba-sama," the leader of the Kaiba Corporation—the largest commercial entity in Domino City, California—and not once in the previous three attempts had he ever truly felt worried. Not in this way. Still haunted, still cold, still afraid; he could not shake the feeling of helplessness that had kept a stranglehold on him for the past six days. And the only real solace he had was that it was through that helplessness that he finally reached understanding.
Because it finally made sense.
He stepped into the bedroom that had once been his own, and felt the chill of haunting memory leave him. Lying there, innocent and gentle and safe, was his answer. He sat, and he watched, and he smiled. Yes, this was the answer. This was the answer to everything.
Mokuba was turned away from him, huddled in the fetal position, maintaining a vice-grip on his blanket, and Seto saw that the boy was shaking. He reached out, putting a gentle hand on his brother's back, and Mokuba jumped. He whirled, crying out in surprise, and his eyes sprang open and he stared at the ceiling.
"Shhh…" Seto whispered, and the fear in Mokuba's eyes abated slightly. The boy turned, and saw his brother, and smiled shakily. "It's all right, little one," Seto whispered, smiling himself. "It's just me."
"Niisama," Mokuba said softly, and took hold of his brother's hand.
This was the answer.
He thought of his father, and pitied him; pitied that the man who had sired them both, who'd had the chance to know this gentle, sweet child, to know and love him, but had not known how. How wrong that seemed, and how sad.
"Bad dream?" Seto asked.
Mokuba nodded.
Seto held out his arms, and Mokuba's smile widened. The boy climbed into his brother's lap and hugged him, resting his head on Seto's shoulder. Seto rubbed his brother's back, rocking gently, and there were never any thoughts of it being juvenile. There were never any thoughts of Mokuba being a baby for finding comfort in it.
This was the answer to everything.
"Feel better, kiddo?"
Mokuba nodded.
Seto's smile widened as he tightened his grip on his brother. "Good."
There was a special sort of peacefulness that settled over them both. And Seto had to wonder why his father had never been able to do this. Why such a thing had been so beyond him. He knew, in an analytical sense, why. And now, he finally understood. But at the same time, he didn't.
"Niisama…?"
Seto responded with a murmur that wasn't quite a word.
"Can I sleep here? It's comf'ble…"
Seto chuckled. "Well...my legs might go numb after a while, kid. I'll tell you what…"
He lifted Mokuba easily as he stood, and carried him out of the room. Mokuba gave a weak protest that they both knew he didn't mean as Seto carried his brother down the hall, toward his own room. And as he walked, he still thought of his father. And how Yagami Kohaku had left every bit of raising Mokuba to his son, and never once managed to take part in it himself.
And Seto Kaiba smiled.
Thank you.
END
