Before we get started, an announcement if you will indulge me:

I have recently set up a blog with Blogger, which I'm calling, "In Cold Blood." This blog is now set up as my homepage on my profile; the address is as follows: icedblood1986 (dot) blogspot (dot) com. Here I will be posting updates to any project I've written—or any other project, period—as they're posted. This includes updates to a pair of websites known as "Wikinut" and "Triond." These sites are pay-to-post, and I will earn a percentage of ad revenue generated by each page I generate for them. Triond acts as a hub, and is connected to a site called Authspot, which has a fanfiction section.

This means that in order to finally earn some money with this passion of mine, I will be posting all new fanfiction projects through Triond. I know that this is an inconvenience for you, and I apologize, but I hope you understand that I am trying to make more out of this than a hobby. I hope to help my family and myself with my writing. I'm transferring to a university to pursue a teaching degree, and I need all the help I can get. So keep an eye out on my new blog, if such is your inclination. I promise that things won't be too infuriating. It would help me out a lot if you guys could look at what I have posted already, and of course leave feedback if you wish. Any and every response to my work is greatly appreciated and encouraged.

If any of you are worried that I'm "selling out" for the sake of money, I assure you that this is not the case. I will be putting just as much work and dedication to any project I post through Triond or Wikinut as I do to the projects I have here. One of them includes a "filler arc" for this story, a parallel storyline that won't have any overarching effects on the story as a whole, but will bring to light some rather entertaining insights into the characters. I call it "Lightbringer," and I will begin posting it alongside my updates here as soon as we finish this arc. It's coming up on the end, folks.

And by the way, any and every project I have posted up here will not be going anywhere. I'll continue to update them here. The only things you'll see on Triond or Wikinut are new projects.

To anyone who decides to help me earn a few extra bucks, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're amazing.

There. Now that that's done, welcome to, "The Albatross."


1.


October 29, 2007


"I dunno what to think o' that guy," Joey said. His voice had dropped all the way into a complete, almost irrevocable monotone. His eyes still had a haunted look, and Téa could still tell that he didn't see her, didn't see Yugi. "His name's...Ivan, I think. He was Schroeder's butler or some stupid shit like that. I mean, he was one o' them, right? I heard from the detective, he's the one 'at dressed Mokuba in pajamas and set 'im up in a bedroom. Sick fuck. He made fuckin' dinner for them. Right before Kaiba 'n us all showed up, he was doing dishes."

"He was fully on-board with the plan," Tristan put in, as it seemed like Joey was ready to destroy something—possibly his own jaw, from the way he was clenching his teeth. "He helped, he stood back and watched, he didn't lift a finger to stop any of it. But when he shot Saruwatari...I mean, hell, I doubt anybody liked that son of a bitch, but still. He looked happy. Like he'd done good. He didn't shoot again. He didn't point it at either o' us to get the job done. It's like he'd only signed up for one bullet and wasn't gonna put in overtime."

"He had a computer system in there," Joey muttered. "Turns out Schroeder was recordin' the whole damn thing. From four different angles. And he had it all uploadin' online. We found out later, Schroeder sent a link out to...fuck, just about everybody, so the whole fuckin' city could watch Mokuba's head explode."

"There wasn't any sound, though," Yugi put in finally. "I got the link. I watched the video for a while. I couldn't tell what it was at first. It looked fake. Von Schroeder and Mokuba were sitting at a little table. There was food on the table, like Joey said. Mokuba wasn't eating."

"We looked through the video, saw the shot," Tristan said. "None of the cameras really got a good look at Kaiba's face, but Detective McKinley mentioned later that he looked...like two people. What'd he say? He said...uh..."

"His mouth was smirking, but his eyes looked like glass," Joey said slowly. He looked up as though he had no idea what had prompted that. Tristan looked oddly at him. "That's...that's how he said it looked. The...the detective, he said...he said it was like he had two faces. He said that Seto looked like he was in a coma, but Kaiba looked cocky. But he said it was fake. It wasn't real confidence, y'know? It was...fuck, what was the word he used...? Damn it."

"Bravado?" Yugi suggested.

"Yeah. Bravado. That's it."

Tristan was nodding as if that made perfect sense. "Yeah. Exactly. But I mean, you couldn'a gotten a cleaner shot if you'd prayed for it, hand to God. Right through, absolute perfection. And it had to be, y'know? Anything less 'n Mokuba would'a been...would'a been...well. If Kaiba hadn't hit Schroeder where he did," Tristan gestured around his neck in a vague gesture, "reflex would'a let him shoot, and it all would've been over. But Kaiba hit 'im, dead on. What'd Detective McKinley call it? The Dead Man's Switch?"

Joey nodded. "Impossible shot. Seriously. But he did it."

"He had no choice," Yugi murmured solemnly. "Anything less, and his life would have been over, same as Mokuba's."

"But y'know..." Joey said, "...for a while, there...it looked like it was gonna end anyway."


2.


September 9, 2006


The world came back.

It wasn't a rush; it wasn't a procession of events that came back in logical succession. He didn't become aware of his surroundings gradually. He didn't have time to process each individual event as it came through; he didn't have time to gauge what happened.

It came back at once.

Everything slammed into him instantaneously.

It was like the switch that he'd thrown suddenly snapped back into the ready position, and the part of his mind labeled, "Human," kicked back on. The distance was gone. The coldness was gone.

And with it went its protection.

Seto Kaiba stared, suddenly aware, and felt his muscles die.

The damage he had set out to do was done. Where once there had been a throat beneath Siegfried von Schroeder's chin there was a gaping hole, straight through to his spine. Death had occurred instantly; no suffering, no pain, no fanfare (and most importantly), no reflex. He was just gone. The enemy was gone.

But now Seto watched, as if his memory were a projector and he were a simple observer, as he forced the sequence of events that had led to that conclusion to play out. He watched as Siegfried's head snapped to the side as his attention was drawn away from his prey, by a sound that Seto distantly remembered was gunfire; a shot rang from high above them all, muffled and distant but unmistakable, and now that Seto actually heard it, he wondered distantly who had fired that gun.

He watched as the opportunity presented itself. He watched as the obstacle of Siegfried's windpipe, that would have thrown off his shot and had the potential to ruin it, shifted to the side. This was where instinct had run its course, and thought of any sort had ceased. He'd squeezed the trigger, and the flight began.

And the end began.

A blur of black flew into his vision, right in the course of the bullet's flight, and he hadn't known at the time what it was.

But now he knew who it was.

The present returned to him, and he watched as Siegfried von Schroeder seemed to fold in upon himself, no longer a name or a face but just a body. Just a heap of dead flesh, dead muscles, dead bones, dead threats. No longer worthy of even a name, except, "corpse."

And Seto watched as the blur of black...as Mokuba went down with the nameless hulk. And Seto watched the blood, the bright crimson lifeline, drip from Mokuba's hair. Seto watched as the world ended. Mokuba didn't move. Mokuba wasn't moving.

Oh, God, Mokuba, get up…get up…no, no, please get up!

Seto's lips moved, but the sound never reached even his own ears. He kept repeating that same, emphatic refusal: No, no, no, no, as if he thought perhaps this mantra would reverse everything, as if saying it enough times would make time screech to a stop and go backward. No…no, no, no…

God, please, no…

He felt numb. His arms were heavy. The damning instrument in his hands, the article of his undoing, strained against his muscles with the weight of the earth. His left hand gave way first, and his right arm dropped like a lever to his side.

He felt numb.

No.

No, no.

His eyes moved as if automated and he watched, dully, as a figure rushed into the room. Did he know the figure? He thought he must. But he couldn't put a name to it, to the lean, tall frame and blond hair, to the brown eyes and the harsh breath and the way the figure seemed to be at once exhausted and seizing with energy.

He could not name the second figure with him, with hair almost the same color as Seto's own but cropped short; he could not name the sharp profile, the slightly thinner, shorter frame, the clenching and unclenching hands. He knew them both, but he did not know them.

Seto did not know the third…the third who came up from just beside him, who rushed to the body (bodies) and knelt down in a slide for the final two feet. He did not know the hand that reached out and grabbed the gun that the body had been holding and set it aside.

He knew him, but he did not know him.

God, no.

No, this wasn't happening.

It couldn't happen.

No…no, no.

Mother, please. Make it leave. Make the nightmare leave.

Mother…Mother, oh, please make it go.

No.

He watched as the three unknowns looked at him. The two standing looked frightened and confused, unsure of what they should be doing, unsure of what was happening, unsure of him, as if they did not know who he was, either.

Mother.

The third, the one kneeling before the corpse (corpses) was just as frightened, but seemed more aware. He seemed to understand, he seemed to know. The third knew, and the third could tell.

Father.

No.

No, no, no…

The third shouted to the other two, and they jumped. The brunette one, the second, he knelt down and pried the larger away from the smaller, the enemy from the victim, the demon from the martyr. The blond—the first—began to walk toward Seto. The first was slow, and was speaking. But Seto could not hear.

The third lifted the smaller body into his arms. The third stared down, and spoke. And there was no answer. The third shook the body, and there was no answer.

Mother.

No.

Please.

The third looked at him, and there was no answer.

No.

The third began to walk forward, and he watched. He watched, riveted, unable to tear his eyes away. He wanted to turn, to run, to hide—Mother, please—but he could not move. The weight from his right hand (the weight of the earth) left him, and he stared. The third was closer now, the third was upon him now, and he stared.

The third (Father) said something.

He did not hear.

But now…now he understood. Yes. Yes, this was right.

The third began to kneel down, and it was right. Yes, this was proper and this was right, and he could not run. He would not run. This was his. Yes. The third understood, and now he understood.

This was his burden, this was his Albatross, and about his neck would it hang.

This was his hell, and about his neck would it burn.

The third placed the body, the small body (so pitifully small), into his arms, and he accepted. Yes. This was how it should be. This was what should happen. This was right. This is right…Mother, isn't this right? Look, Mother. Look at how I have failed.

Yes.

He looked down. He saw the Albatross, so small and cold, so tiny, and he nodded. Yes. He could see unseeing eyes, storm clouds shot with amethyst, so like Mother's but darker, and…and hollow.

The Albatross was hollow.

Hair…black, like Mother's. Made slick with red. Marred, defiled with red. Yes. This was his burden. Red dripped onto his clothing, marred him with red, and yes. That was right. That was proper. That was how it should be.

Look, Mother.

Look.

Look at how I die.

He held the Albatross, red and pitiful, and he heard. He looked up, blinking confusedly, and he tried to understand. Was it Mother? Was Mother speaking to him? Was Mother condemning him? She should. Yes, she should.

Yes.

It was not Mother. This voice was not Mother's. This voice was low, low and deep and desperate. Seto looked up, further up. The third remained before him, and the third was shaking him. Shaking. Shouting. Angry.

Father is angry.

No. He would not hear.

He would not listen.

No, not now. Now, he must listen for Mother. Mother would come soon, to tell him he had failed. He would not listen to Father. No, he could not. Never.

Never again.

He was shaken again, and his neck snapped backward, and pain shot through his spine. And he gasped, staring, and his grip tightened. He heard something. He could hear. And he could…he could…

Understand.

"…Alive!"

What?

What is…what did…who…?

"For the love of God, man, he's alive!"


3.


It took a small eternity.

The world did not come back into full focus immediately, but left him in a haze, left him dazed and only able to see one thing clearly. He stared, not understanding, as Siegfried von Schroeder crumpled to the ground without a single sound. He died with a look of shocked, betrayed anger on his face.

He died without his victory.

Suddenly remembering what that victory was, Darren McKinley shot forward, holstering his weapon only after making the attempt at least three times, and he dropped to his knees and skidded across the floor. So focused, he did not notice as Joey Wheeler and Tristan Taylor rushed into the room.

"Oh, God…" Tristan whispered, but Darren barely heard him, only recognized the voice enough to attribute the name to it but not the face. He grasped Siegfried's weapon as quickly as he dared and nearly pitched it over his shoulder before deciding to simply set it aside.

He leaned down.

He checked, dread adding ten tons to each arm, and hoped to God that…

"...He's alive," Darren declared, looking up at the pair standing in front of him. "Mokuba's alive. He's okay." Immediately after saying that, he realized how stupid the statement was, but he disregarded it.

"Oh-thank-Christ," Joey said in one heavy breath, hanging his head. "We…we were…back there an' found this…this…"

"There'll be time for that later!" Darren snapped. "We need to…"

He stopped. He suddenly remembered.

Seto…

"Oh, shit."

Following the detective's gaze, Joey's and Tristan's eyes went wide as they saw the CEO of Kaiba-Corp. He was still on his knees, gun still clutched in his right hand, which had fallen limply at his side.

His eyes held the cold, distant terror of a man looking straight into hell.

"H-Holy…" Joey breathed.

The shields were down. The impeccable, untouchable armor was gone. Seto no longer had the presence of mind to hold up the façade he had been straining so mightily to maintain since stepping foot into the von Schroeder mansion. And without that façade, they saw him for what he was:

A frightened child.

No…not just frightened.

A child touched by death.

"Help me get this son of a whore off of him!" Darren suddenly shouted, and they both flinched violently. "Move, you idiot! Quickly!"

"H-Huh?"

Darren felt an urge to smack the blond, but ignored it. That wasn't fair. "Joey, think for a second! Don't you see what he's thinking? Look at him, for the love of God! He still has a gun in his hand! Now help me before he uses it!"

Joey turned. "He...he..."

"He's in goddamn shock!" Darren snarled. "He's not in his right mind, and I'm pretty damn sure from here, Mokuba doesn't look alive right now! Go get that damn thing away from him! Tristan, you help me with this."

Joey nodded, clearly shaken, and began to head toward Seto. He was slow, methodical, with a confused and frightened expression on his face. "Hey, uh...Kaiba," he said, chuckling nervously. "Don't shoot me, huh? That wouldn't be good. No good for nobody, y'know? Might be a...good idea, y'know...if you, ah...dropped that, uh...that gun, there. Yeah? Don't need it no more. Kid's okay, now, right? Ain't gotta..."

He continued in this vein, keeping his approach slow and easy. Darren nodded, grateful to see that Joey understood that to excite Seto right now with quick movement, loud speech, or both, would be a horrendously bad idea.

Siegfried was heavier than he looked. It took Tristan a moment to peel him away. He kept his eyes alternating between his task and Joey's. He breathed deeply, and when he finally managed to help the detective untangle Siegfried from Mokuba, he tossed the body unceremoniously aside. Darren lifted Mokuba from the floor, and bit his lip when he saw that the boy was still crying, but unaware of anything. Trapped in terror, he saw nothing. His gray-violet eyes were blank. Blood trickled down from one corner of his mouth and Siegfried's own blood coated the back of his head.

He'd wet himself.

"It's okay, Mokuba..." Darren whispered, even though he knew the boy wouldn't hear him. "You'll be okay. He saved you, kiddo. Your brother saved you. Your stupid, reckless, hopelessly brilliant brother saved you. You're gonna be all right."

He walked over to Seto. Joey had managed to coax the young executive to give up his weapon, and when Darren held Mokuba out to him, Seto took the burden without speaking. Without thinking. Seto stared down but, just like his brother, didn't comprehend.

"He's alive, Seto!" Darren nearly screamed after a moment of choking silence. "You did it! You fucking did it, Seto, he's okay! He's alive!" But Seto still didn't seem to hear him. His lips were moving, but no sound came from them. Darren gripped Seto's shoulder and shook him.

No response.

"Seto!" Darren shouted, and shook him again, hard. "He's alive, Seto! He's okay!" Seto finally looked up, and the faintest beginning of understanding was sparking in his eyes.

"For the love of God, man, he's alive!"


4.


Alive.

He's alive.

That was what (Father) Darren was saying. Seto blinked, bent his concentration, and looked down. Mokuba was shaking. His breath was halting, almost sobs, but it was there. His eyes were unseeing but not empty. He…he was.

Alive.

His brother was alive.

"Mokuba…" he whispered, and he pulled the boy up into a hug. Mokuba was limp, unresponsive, but by God, he was alive. "Mokuba…my Mokuba…"

There was just enough cognitive function going on in his head now for Seto to realize that his mind was clouded. He could barely think. The only thought that came in full-force was that Mokuba was alive. Everything else was hazy, distant, and seemed not to matter. Seto decided that was fine.

That was just fine.

Enough of him had come back that he realized…he still had a job to do. He still had a purpose. Siegfried had been wrong. The world had not ended. The world moved on. And he could move with it.

He still had a reason to live.

Ignoring the blood, Seto stroked his brother's hair, cradling him like a newborn. "Mokuba…it's okay, now…he's gone. You're safe. You're safe now. I've got you, baby…I'm here."

He glanced fleetingly up at Darren, a spasmodic tic, and saw relief there. He looked further back, at Joey and Tristan, and saw confused fear. It didn't matter. Seto turned his gaze downward again, and blocked them out. "Niisama's here, little one…" he whispered, tightening his hold on his tiny sibling. "I'm right here…you're safe now. You're safe."

"…N-Nii…sama…?"

Seto nearly cried. He pulled back and looked down at Mokuba's face. Focus was just beginning to come back to the boy's eyes, and he blinked owlishly as he stared. As they finally recognized just what they were seeing, those eyes went wide. "Niisama...?" Mokuba said again, unsure. He reached up, slowly, as if in a dream, and linked his arms around his brother's neck; the strength of his grip belied his sluggishness and betrayed his fear.

Seto stroked back his hair again. "You're safe, Mokie…you're safe. I've got you…I've got you…"

The ordeal finally over, Mokuba Kaiba's admirable self-control broke, and the floodgates opened. The shields not only dropped but shattered, and all the fear, all the despair, all the anger and hopelessness and pain, came out in long, hiccupping sobs.

Seto continued to hold him, and silently let his own tears fall.

"It's okay now, baby...you're safe. Go ahead and cry. You're safe."


END.