I've spent a long time with "Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes," and every time I come back to write this "mother story," it takes some getting used to. The whole notion of writing a cohesive plot is pretty thoroughly different from taking snapshots.

I've had to do a lot of editing to make this storyline work. It's unfortunate to find that ideas I thought worked, turned out not to fit the spirit of the full work. All this is to say, I've written a lot off and on for a while, and most of it is now useless.

Nonetheless, what I have here begins to tell the story I've been wanting to uncover since the first chapter. So I guess it's only natural that it take a lot of work.

Enjoy this chapter, subtitled "The Wrong Target."

See you next time.


1.


"You think you're pretty smart, don't you, rich boy?"

Mokuba folded his hands in front of him, looking like nothing so much as a school counselor waiting for his latest appointment to take a seat. A panicked sort of calm seemed to have taken over. "Well," the black-haired boy said, "it sure beats thinking I'm stupid."

The blond boy sneered. "You think you're better than me."

"Better than I," Mokuba said, his mind going in so many directions that he couldn't keep track of where he was. "…Am. You know. You think you're better than I am. That's…how the sentence should go. So, you say better than I, and you can take out the last word, if you want…it does sound kind of weird, though, so maybe you should leave the 'am' on there just so you don't sound—"

"Shut up!"

Mokuba gave the boy a sunny smile that he didn't feel. His brother told him, all the time, to never let the enemy know they have you cornered. It took everything he had to keep from running. "Just being helpful. You don't want to go judging how smart people are and sounding dumb, do you? It doesn't really work. Just makes you sound…well, dumb."

"What'd you call me?"

"Nothing," Mokuba said. "I don't know your name. What should I call you? Can I call you Spanky? I saw a dog once named Spanky. Your face kind of reminds me of his, and you kind of have this…droopy look, that looks like—there! Right there, that's it. You should get a mirror, so you can see." He looked at the blond boy with a kind of wide-eyed innocence that was clearly disarming.

The boy sputtered, fists and teeth clenching. "I…I…you looking for a beating, rich boy?"

"Well, no, I don't think so," Mokuba offered, shrugging. "But, I mean, if you want, we could work something out. But before we do that, do you mind if I make a call?" He smiled again, sheepishly. "I just have to see if my brother will let me. I'm sure it'll be okay, though. Let me call him and ask."

"You think I'm scared of your brother?"

"Well, no," Mokuba said, sounding shocked. "No, of course not. Why would you be? I mean, all you're asking is to beat me up. Why should he care? You don't think he'll do anything, do you? That's just silly. Hold on, just let me call him. You can talk to him, if you wants. Maybe you could see if he wants to join in. I bet he'd like that."

The boy sputtered again, looking halfway between furious and terrified.

"I know a thing or two about beatings," Mokuba offered offhandedly, pretending to sift through his pack and wondering what the hell he was doing. His entire body was flooding with adrenaline. "My brother says I should. You know, just in case I run into people who want to hurt me. People do that, you know. Try to hurt me. Isn't that crazy? Bullies and stuff. You don't…know anybody like that…do you?"

He leveled a somber, earnest (and slightly manic) stare on the boy. "You don't…know any bullies…do you? I don't like bullies. They're mean." He put on a grin again, showing his teeth. "But you aren't like that. Are you? 'Cuz…if you were…well, that wouldn't be good. I might think you were threatening me. And…that's really bad. People get in trouble for threatening me. Did you know that? Yeah. Do you know why that is?"

The boy was clearly unsure of himself now. His eyes jerked around in every direction, looking for a way to escape. Mokuba's grin twisted into a scowl reminiscent of his brother's. He rose from his seat, and did something he'd never done before.

"Because people know me," he said, his voice suddenly hard, and sharp. "People know me, and people like me. I'm not one of those little bookworms or whatever you think I am. My name means something to people, and I don't think you want to know how many kids in this yard right now would jump at the chance to impress me."

Any pretense of pleasantness was replaced by cold fury. "You call me rich boy like it's some kind of insult. Well, you know what? I am rich. I'm richer than you'll ever be. I'm richer than God. I don't like using money to get what I want, but I'll do it. I wonder how many people here would want to be my bodyguard for a day. Or a week. Or a month. What do you think? Should we find out? You think you're tough, yeah, but do you think you can take on ten, fifteen, twenty people at once?"

The blond boy gaped at him, face going pale.

"Or maybe I should call my brother. Maybe I should tell him that you piss me off. I wonder what he'd do. We've had some problems recently, with people like you. He's kind of jumpy about threats to my safety right now. So go ahead and strut around here if you want. I don't care. But see what happens if you mess with me again. I'll grind your stupid face into the dirt. Now, if you want to try that, go ahead. But even if you win, I have backup. I have backup like you wouldn't believe. So…do you really want to play this game with me?"

Mokuba sat back down, folded his hands in front of him again, and waited, locking eyes with the boy with the spiked blond hair. His teeth were clenched, and he was shaking. The boy tried to stammer out a reply, but found that he couldn't. He turned, and all but bolted away.

Mokuba let out his breath in a heave. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of Rebecca, not too far away. She was watching the boy run, laughing. A real smile rose on the young Kaiba's face, and he settled down to finally eat his lunch.

He didn't bother to look up as Connor Brinkley approached. He said, in an angry snarl that would have made even Seto flinch, "Has anybody thought that maybe the reason I'm over here by myself is because I don't want to talk to anybody?"

He didn't see the tentative smile on Connor's face wither away, didn't see the fear in Connor's eyes, the disappointment; he didn't see the boy turn away, crestfallen and lonely, and shuffle back to where he'd been sitting before finally working up the nerve to talk to the only other boy his own age he'd seen at his new school.

Mokuba began to eat the tuna salad sandwich his brother had made for him, thinking angrily that there was a reason his only friends were half a decade older than he was.

Kids were stupid.


2.


"I hate children."

Seto actually laughed. "I won't state the obvious, kid. What happened? You look too much like me for comfort right now." Mokuba stole a glance at his brother's face and saw, beneath the calm, amused façade was worry. He managed a smile.

"Just some moron at lunch. Nothing I can't handle. I think he wet himself."

Seto smirked, but there wasn't much humor in it. "I see. Do you think it will be a problem?"

"No," Mokuba said, somehow managing to sound confident. "I wasn't the kind of target he wanted. I scared the snot out of him. He'll leave me alone. Don't worry, Niisama, I didn't threaten to have him killed or something. And if he tries to make something up about me threatening him, I have witnesses. He started it."

Seto looked at his brother's face, searching, for a moment. After a while, he nodded. "I see," he said. "Well, if you're certain. I'll leave this in your hands, Mokuba." He didn't say that he was proud, but his expression did, and the boy's mood brightened. He smiled.

Mokuba sat on the couch as Seto settled into a chair and removed his laptop from his briefcase. "Aside from this…lunch incident…you like the school?"

"Yes," Mokuba said. "It's nice, and my teachers are…" he chuckled, "…sufficient. I think Miss Lorwell is my favorite. She's really nice. She said that we're going to have a book report soon, and that we should all start looking around for one. She said we can't pick something easy, either. We have to show her what we plan to read before she'll let us turn it in."

Seto's lips curved. "Is that right…?" he murmured.

"Mm-hm. She said that we have to give her more than just, like, a summary, too. She said to dig, and give insight. You know, symbols and stuff. What stuff means. Why it's important. Why the author wrote it. Things like that."

Seto nodded. "Good. If you want to look at the books in my office, go ahead. If you don't find anything there, we can head to the library if you'd like. You'd do well to pick something quickly."

"I know. Thanks, Niisama."

Seto nodded again.

Mokuba thought that it was kind of unsettling how easily Seto managed to maintain a conversation while working. It was like his brother had two minds, and he set one to focus on his eyes, what he was reading, and set the other to his ears. Most people considered it rude that Seto so often did this, thinking that he wasn't paying attention. And, like most things people criticized him for, Seto didn't care. The ironic thing was, though, that when he did pay full attention to someone, that person was usually on edge and unable to concentrate, like he was a judge and they were auditioning for something.

Mokuba wondered what people expected him to do.

"Did you get bullied in school, Niisama?" he asked suddenly. "You know…when you went. Before…him."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I suppose one would call it that. I was…frowned upon, if that's what you're getting at. I suppose it was no different than it is now. Except now, the bullies are bigger, and generally less intelligent." Mokuba laughed. "I'm of the opinion that there are only two types of students," Seto continued. "Those who attack, and those who are attacked. There are a very select few who are neither; a small enough number that it's statistically irrelevant. You will find that anywhere you go, people will attempt to step on you. The best defense against that is apathy. Don't let yourself care about them, about what they think and about what they say."

"So…did I do it wrong?" Mokuba asked.

Seto raised an eyebrow. "Not at all. I do not mean to say that you should not defend yourself. My defense is not the only defense. Your reaction to this boy, this…moron, you say, was more than sufficient. You have shown him that you refuse to be attacked. You did fine. But this boy confronted you directly. You staked your claim. What I mean is to not allow yourself to take offense. If you hear someone talking badly about you, for example…"

"I should ignore it."

"Precisely."

"That's what you did. What you…do."

Seto nodded. "Yes."

"Was it bad? For you? I mean, since you're so smart."

Seto chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short, kiddo."

"Well, yeah, but…but you…I mean…"

Seto looked at his brother, at the near-worshipful look on his face, and smiled. But he said, in a somber, serious tone, "You're as much a genius as I've ever been, Mokuba, if you want to use that word." He sounded like he didn't. "Do not hold yourself to my standards. My standards were forced on me. You know that."

Mokuba's face slackened a bit, eyes darkening.

"My…talent, I suppose you might call it, is that I have always been quick to learn. That does not make you any less intelligent than I, for taking longer. You may think that, since I was taking college courses by twelve, you should do the same. Don't. Please, don't."

"…Okay."

Seto's smile widened. "It was…bad. I have never been social. I have never felt a desire to reach out to others, to connect with my peers. I stood outside of them willingly, and for that, they were insulted. You do not…usually…do that." Mokuba saw that Seto knew about his recent trouble with crowds, with people in general, and it bothered him. "You have an advantage, Mokuba, over the boy that I used to be. You are assertive. Passionate. When you wish to connect with another, you do so easily."

Mokuba smiled. "Now you're just flattering me."

Seto shrugged. "What I mean to say, in this impromptu lecture I seem to be giving, is that I advanced more rapidly because I never cared to entertain myself. I never cared to experience my childhood, such as it was. It was…unimportant to me."

Mokuba thought suddenly that part of the reason Seto had sacrificed his childhood was because of Mokuba himself, and felt a pang of guilt that was only tempered by the fact that he could tell Seto was being truthful about it being unimportant. He quite literally hadn't cared, and Mokuba had a feeling that if he hadn't had to raise his brother, Seto would have simply filled his time with more studying.

Seto stood, and as he walked past Mokuba he ruffled the boy's hair. "Don't forget to enjoy yourself, Mokuba. You'll have plenty of time to grow into a proper cynic when you reach your twenties."

Mokuba watched his brother head into the kitchen, likely for some coffee (if Seto had one vice, it was caffeine), and found he felt better. His frustration at the world had passed, and he was looking forward to tomorrow.

And people called Seto a pessimist.


3.


Enid Brinkley did not like to think of herself as overprotective.

She had taught her son well, she thought, and allowed him to live his own life, make his own decisions and his own mistakes. She didn't coddle him; or at least, she didn't think she did. She liked to think that she and Leo had done well in setting a good example for Connor to live by, and she didn't want to spoil that by…well, spoiling him.

So no, she was not overprotective.

But that didn't stop a sudden, bright surge of anger and desperation from glinting in her eyes when she saw her only son wander listlessly into the front room of their home after school. He was dejected, his head low and his vision was locked on his face. She had expected, of course, that being younger than the rest of his classmates, he would have trouble fitting in. But she had been so sure that by entering him into a school more suited to his abilities, he would find himself in a better environment than before, when he'd been bullied incessantly as an outsider.

She had hoped so fervently that transferring him to a new school would make it better. Not worse. Yet here she stood, watching her little angel just as lonely and withdrawn as he had ever been, and it took a long time for her to remind herself that he was getting old enough that a hug and a popsicle wouldn't banish the frown on his face.

"Connor," she offered tentatively. "Baby, what's wrong? What happened?"

Connor shrugged as he slumped down onto the couch. "Nothin'."

"You can't expect me to believe that," Enid said, sitting down with him. She ruffled his hair and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Come on. Out with it, little man. What's bothering you?"

"I…it's…"

"You don't like your new school, do you?"

"No! It's not that! I…I don't mind the school, I mean…my teachers are nice. But…but it…it's all the same. The rest of it. The other kids. It's all…just…" Then he looked down at his lap and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "…Nothing."

Enid understood.

She said, "Just give it some time. You're the new kid, remember? It'll take some adjusting. But things will change. I'm sure of it. And if it doesn't…well, we'll figure out what to do. But for now, you just need to get used to things." Connor shrugged again. He didn't sound convinced. "Now, how about I fix you up a snack while you get your homework done, hm?"

"Apple slices aren't snacks, Mom," Connor said, cracking a smile. "They're like vitamins. They don't count."

"I won't have that kind of talk about the produce in my kitchen, Mister. Now go. Set up in the dining room." Connor got up, and the smile remained on his face, but Enid could still tell that something was on his mind, and it was going to take more than a few jokes to get rid of it.

She had wanted, more than anything, to shield her boy from bullies. But she knew that wasn't the right way to handle it. She couldn't transfer Connor to a new school every time someone hurt his feelings.

It seemed like now was the time to confront the issue.

And that thought made her feel dejected and withdrawn.


4.


A few days later, Mokuba talked to Rebecca again in homeroom; she thought it was amusing that the blond boy with the spiked hair had been sitting all the way at the other end of the room ever since Mokuba's performance in the courtyard.

"Guess you did a number on him, huh?" Rebecca asked.

Mokuba smiled, blushing slightly. "Maybe."

Rebecca laughed. "I saw that. He looked scared enough to pass out. Gee, I wonder if maybe you took advantage of…a certain relative? Maybe some…financial advantages he happens to have? You wouldn't do that, would you?" She was grinning.

Mokuba shrugged. "It worked. I think. If it didn't, I guess I'll find out later."

Rebecca's grin faltered. "You aren't worried that he might get some courage back? That he might try to get back at you for it?"

"I've had some training," Mokuba said. "Niisama kind of insisted. I'm not, you know, awesome or anything yet, but I'm pretty sure I can handle that guy. And even if I can't, he won't make it too long afterward. I warned him of that, too."

"You know better than probably any of us that there are scumbags in this city," Rebecca said, outright frowning now. "What if he…you know…? Tries to take it…well, if he thinks he can't beat you, and he's scared to try because of who you'll tell…what if…?"

Mokuba shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. His face suddenly hardened. "Look at what happened to the last guy who tried to kill me."

Rebecca's eyebrows rose. "…Good point."

A semblance of a smile appeared on his face again. "You heard about that," he said.

"I got an email that night," Rebecca said. "It was a link to a live feed from the mansion. I don't know if you knew, but…he was filming it. I guess, maybe…he wanted the world to know he'd won." She looked uncomfortable now, unsure of whether or not she should be telling him this.

Mokuba frowned. "I wondered how people knew about it so quickly," he admitted. "Nobody mentioned anything about filming to me." He thought about this for a moment then, noticing Rebecca's worried look, shrugged and added, "But I guess it doesn't matter. Niisama won, anyway. So, joke's on him."

Rebecca looked relieved, but still uncomfortable. "…Yeah."

Mokuba glanced down at the book on his desk, read the final paragraph of the chapter he'd been reading, and slipped it into his pack. He took out another book and opened it. Rebecca, likely eager to change the subject, asked, "What's that?"

Mokuba lifted it. "Some journalist from San Francisco wrote Niisama's biography."

"He's only…what, nineteen? Not too long a biography."

Mokuba looked at the book in his hand, which was called The Kaiba Dynasty, and smirked. "It's kind of funny you say that. The stuff I've read all starts around the time Niisama and me were taken to the orphanage. Nobody really has any details about before then. So really, they're only writing about eight years. But Niisama went through a lot, and people always seem to find a new way to talk about it."

Rebecca frowned thoughtfully. "I guess so. How much of this stuff have you read?"

Mokuba shrugged. "As much as I can find. I've made corrections in a couple essays. The writers were…surprised to hear from me." He slipped a bookmark into the book and set it on his desk. "Niisama doesn't pay attention to his reputation. He says if he did, he'd spend too much time correcting people and wouldn't have any time to work. So he kind of leaves it to me."

"So you're, like, what? His PR rep?"

"Kind of."

Rebecca laughed. "Strictly voluntary, I'm sure. You do this for fun, don't you?"

"I wouldn't call it fun, really. It's interesting, though. Seeing who's right, who's way off. I saw a couple articles that said I was his sister once." Rebecca snickered. "A few think I'm his cousin, some think we're not even related. One called me his son." Mokuba's smile fully returned at this, and Rebecca could tell that he rather liked that idea. "Kind of weird, though. I mean, I was born when he was eight. But…"

"You two are really close, aren't you?"

Mokuba's smile softened, and he nodded.

"Amazing," Rebecca said. "He comes off as this…shark. You know? Some…primal predator in a black suit. I've met him before. He was…nicer, I guess, to me. Maybe 'cuz I'm younger than most of the people he deals with. But still…kind of mean. But you…well, I guess he has to have a heart, somewhere in there." She looked at him for a while, then winked. "You're pretty cool, Kaiba. I'm glad you came here."

Mokuba blinked, and before he could come up with a reply, the bell rang for first period, and everybody milled out of the room. He sat there for a moment, and as he stood up and gathered his things, he grinned.

Today was a good day.

He hoped.


END.