This story belongs to its original author, Melzart; and the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.
Chapter 17
The Time of Innocence
Part I
Those eyes boring into the nape of his neck. An intruder, too.
He had had all the time he needed to deal with it. But the truth was that he still was not used to it; he was scared of all of those pairs of eyes riveting themselves into his body, waiting, scrutinizing the strange symbols encrusted into his flesh shamelessly with the tips of their fingers. The onlookers falsely believed that he was some ornament of the pure, or worse, of fantasy. All that they saw in the relief was an artistic apex, a proud exhibition of human capability brought to excess.
Oh, how they were wrong. Did they wonder, for even a moment, about that eternal moment of suffering and extreme terror that the process had cruelly inflicted upon him?
It was all just drama. As soon as he uncovered his back, the curious stuck to him without respite, like hummingbirds trying to pollinate a flower grove.
And it was crazy how he felt inside of him a terrific fever, an oppressive rage at the only thought.
He would never forget the pain.
But he was free now. And he had paid dearly for this freedom; keeper of a thousand-year secret, passed on for centuries in his family – he was the latest to bear the message. He had delivered the message to whom it belonged – not without pain and torment. But his work was done.
Before the young man's impatience, a friend, much larger than he was, came to his defense by politely distancing him from all of those curious about his back. He was tall, a skin a crispy olive, and he had no hair. On the other hand, he bore a particular tattoo which extended across one side of his face, from the top of his head to his chin.
"Please step back," he insisted, pushing back their hands.
"Grr…" grumbled the young man seated upon the ancient stone slab.
He had chosen this morsel of rock, newly found, to rest for a few moments. When he could, he adored exploring ancient ruins, taking a tour of their depths. It was a family trait. In his family, everyone shared an innate love for old things, sacred things, things from humanity's past.
Under the hot Greek sun in the heart of Knossos, he had given himself up to the heat, and, of course, taken off his shirt. Which stirred up a party of tourists which had been walking around this magnificent Cretan palace, which was over four thousand years old. Water ran over his body, feeling as dusty as the fine sand.
He had just finished dabbing his face when a hand delicately placed itself on his naked shoulder.
"Grr… when are those buffoons going to give up…"
His eyebrows creased, denoting major annoyance at the impromptu derangement.
"Excuse me," spoke a breeze sweet to his ear.
In one movement he whipped around to chase away the individual who dared to disturb him, stop them from bothering him, convinced that their only interest resided in his immense corporal graffiti.
But the person that he found made him keel over and fall backwards onto the ground.
It was a young woman, maybe twenty years old, dressed in a simple black dress and sandals. But that face, so pure and beautiful, immediately became lodged in his brain, with long brown hair wrapping around her head – her locks, blown about by the wind, caressed her cheeks. And those eyes, almost black, but more clear than a thousand suns, reflecting his own image right back towards him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I made you fall," she excused herself timidly, offering him her hands so that he could sit back up.
He did not push them away, but he did not touch them, almost afraid of soiling them. Instead of standing, he threw himself to his knees, bending over to praise her as if venerating a god.
"It was just so that I could sit at your feet," he breathed, giving her a quick glance and then bowing his head again. In a very chivalrous manner he placed his hand upon his heart. "I am your humble servant, oh, Goddess."
The tall man in the white tunic who served as his friend and traveling companion had rushed towards him upon seeing him fall. But he maintained a certain distance once he understood that his friend's heart was no longer melting due to one sun alone.
He admired the scene from afar.
The young woman flinched as well as backed up a step, trembling slightly, not knowing whether she should take his response as coming from a psychopath or a confession coming directly from the heart.
No matter what it was, she blushed furiously, the words probably being amongst the most courteous that she had ever been addressed with.
The young man, whose eyes still had not left that dream of a vision, stood carefully, as if fearing that too quick a movement would chase away the mirage in the corner of his eye.
But she was obligated to regain her countenance before this complete stranger who perhaps didn't even mean to intimidate her. Things like this were done very frequently for tourists.
"I see," she said with an amused grin. "Is it the fact that you're in the country of Homer doing this to you?"
"It's because she's beautiful."
"Alas, what could a poor mortal do, failing even the gods, before the eternal beauty of a Goddess and her will?"
Delicately, he took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing it gallantly.
"Tell me, Aphrodite, what are you desires? I shall fulfill them."
Even more uneasy, she turned her eyes away. She seemed more irritated than touched to hear such words, as honey-coated as they were.
She appeared moreover to be taken aback, a fact he quickly took into consideration.
"Please excuse me. I didn't mean to disturb you," she said again as she pulled back her hand.
Disturb me? What a crazy idea… but… say something!...
"Wait!" he finally managed to call out as she turned to leave him.
It was his turn to be distraught. The moment he was living in was so perfect, he could have wished in that instant for it to become interminable.
"May I ask what you are looking for? If I may be useful," he asked, hoping to hold her back.
"My name is Marik. Ishtar. And this is my brother, Odion," he continued, sweeping his arm towards him in a signal that meant he should approach.
She bowed slightly towards the two of them.
"My name is Naomi Déziel."
"I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, madame."
It's a pure delight to the eyes and to the heart.
"How could I be of service?"
"I'm looking for a guide. Well… I'd like to find one."
Without even glancing at Odion for permission, he hurried to respond:
"It's okay – in fact, if it were not just to watch over your person, it would be more wise for you to be accompanied, madame. Places are not always very secure."
Naomi's expression spoke for itself.
"And you happen to be a guide?"
"In reality I am more of an archeologist than a guide. But I know the surroundings well enough. It would give me great pleasure to counsel you about the numerous historical and mythological sites of Greece. If you should so desire, naturally."
She remained hesitant, moving her eyes between her interlocutor and Odion, who was giving her a very kind smile but whose attitude was more focused upon worrying about his companion's behavior.
"Oh, and while we're on the subject," Marik recommended upon being struck with the idea, "how would you like excavating a bit?"
Naomi's reaction was prompt as she turned to face him again, her eyes dancing with an enormous surprise.
"Oh, yes!" she claimed spontaneously.
As if she took notice of her overly-enthusiastic approach, she hurried to restrain herself.
"I would really like that," she whispered, her voice suggesting her floating back to the ground.
"Unless I am mistaken, you must like history," he asked.
"Enormously," she responded, her eyes sparkling animatedly even though she was doing everything possible to stop herself from overextending her happiness.
"I as well," he admitted unashamedly, encouraging her with a frank smile. "I already have many places in mind that I am sure will dazzle you."
"Really?"
"Come sit down closer to me, I am sure you will not regret it…" he said with a conquering grin and wiping the dust off of the stone beside him for her to sit upon whilst Odion walked away, fervently stunned by Marik's fervent interest.
. . . . . . . . .
Kaiba stood motionless for a long moment before the entryway, even after Mokuba had gone; his fists had not yet unclenched and his face, purple with a ferocious hatred, was frozen as glass. But his eyes were trained beyond the window as if looking for a past which was not his own but which persisted in become integral to his existence.
Time had frozen in his cramped vestibule.
"Is something wrong, sir?"
Marie's voice sounded like a far-off, inaudible echo.
What happened with Marik? Did they… yes or no?...!
Kaiba! Enough! It's none of your business.
Did he…dare…place… his…fingers…on…
Stop it! What the hell is bothering you? You know full well that you're not the first man in her life. It's absurd to think that before you… you knew it, didn't you? So why do you ask so many damned questions?
Besides, you said it yourself: it was before you. You weren't there. The rest isn't important and doesn't concern you.
NOW it does!
No way to escape that conscience which endlessly plagued him.
GRR! Won't you just shut the fuck up?
Pff!... admit it, it's agony to try to visualize somebody other than you between her thighs, isn't it, Kaiba? You thought that territory was exclusive to you, didn't you?
GRR!
Marie stepped backwards, horrified by the very guttural and deep snarl that had come from Kaiba's mouth.
What's bugging you so much? Oh, I know, it's because until now you couldn't put anybody's face to those men until Marik Ishtar. Now it's different because you can, isn't it, Kaiba?
"Sir?" Marie dared to ask again, completely frozen in fright before his face clouded with an invisible storm.
There's only one way to find out, Kaiba.
Marie gave up as she faced the glacial silence when she saw him finally react by turning his gaze towards the stairs.
In a quick and brisk stride, he skipped over the first step of the stair which led directly to the third floor.
. . . . . . . . .
They were all in a line – each one beside the other, legs moving fast and fists in front of them at chest level. In occasional moments they let out short cries that were synchronized with their movements. All of them dressed in the same white kimono. Only the color of their belts tied tight around their waists differentiated them.
It had been over a week since Mokuba had begun his training, with Naomi's advice. He still didn't find it particularly fun, feeling instead more maladroit as he went to follow orders. But nothing was more normal when was a Kaiba and one is more used to ordering about. Seto might develop an ulcer if he ever found out.
He thus doubted the training would seriously help him.
But he had promised. Promised to be assiduous, promised to at least try.
Unfortunately, a reputation that was not his own had preceded him; he already had enemies, despite his best intentions. The worst of them had arranged it so that he was always nearby during classes. Which certainly wasn't very agreeable. Keenu was a tall, beefy young man of the same age, who easily rose over Mokuba by at least a head. He was sure he was the kind of guy who loved letting loose on the little ones.
But he still hadn't succeeded in cornering Mokuba, him being primarily more speedy and more clever and also because he was constantly accompanied by the chauffeur for his limo, held in back secretly.
"Hey, snob-ette!" Keenu shot at him quietly as soon as the professor had turned away from them for the moment. "I'll catch you when you leave, you rich little – "
"Ugh, leave me alone, you fat brute," Mokuba retorted, his patience waning.
It had been more than a week since he had last fallen for one of his pranks, and he had ceased speaking to him.
"What if I don't? Is big brother going to come defend you? Ohhh, I'm so scared!" he dared to prod.
Pssht. He'd hardly have to exert himself on you. But okay, whatever, I'm sorry for you.
A malicious smile had come across Mokuba's face at the sole thought.
He must not know Seto that well, in order to mock him with that much flippancy.
Oh… I wonder how things would go…
"OW!" Mokuba cried as he was yanked from his thoughts as a pain shot through his left calf. He lost his balance and found himself on the ground. Keenu had deliberately pulled hard on his lower leg.
His fall brought about a stopping point in the course and aroused the pronounced interest of the teacher.
"Kaiba!" he called.
"Yes, sensei?"
"You are bothering your classmates."
Mokuba became equally incensed over this as well.
"What? No, it's not-… I- "
"Enough!" shouted the teacher with a most severe look. "Give me twenty-five, now!"
"But I – "
"One more word out of that mouth and you'll give me fifty!"
Mokuba quickly shut his mouth. He didn't know quite what the professor was playing at but he certainly wasn't aware of the truth.
Grr… he's gonna pay for that! he thought of Keenu. Not physically because Mokuba was fully aware that his adversary had been taking courses for several months, unlike himself. But by mind, he had every chance in the world. It just was a matter of how.
He was definitely going to find a way to unravel that little smug of victory.
. . . . . . . . .
Enveloped entirely in a more tenebrous shadow, Kaiba was approaching his bedroom door.
All along the way he had chosen to take, the rage in his spirit had made him tremble. If it were that this… Ishtar found himself fixedly before him, he would have for a long time now been cut into tiny slices and tossed in the trash can.
His hand, which shook as it neared the doorknob, suddenly froze upon it.
Kaiba. STOP!
His fucking conscience, the same damned one that had made him so cold and shoved him upstairs, was now telling him to stop.
What?
Nobody was going to stand up in his way in his quest to learn the truth. Screw the consequences.
His fingers tightened around the knob, this time ready to push.
SHE'S GOING TO LEAVE, KAIBA!
As if suddenly struck by a powerful electronic discharge, his fingers flew away from the handle. Even his heartbeats had ceased, like his brain had just disconnected itself from the rest of his body.
Is this what you want, Kaiba? Fine!
You finally have the chance to end this once and for all, to get back your dull and insipid life. Throw her far out of sight, from your thoughts and from your arms. Well go ahead! Walk right in! It's what you want, Kaiba, isn't it?
But…
He was behaving like the perfect imbecile.
But what could be going through his head? What had left him in such a state? What had happened between when Mokuba left and that precise moment in time where his fingers actually shivered when they wanted to grab a fucking doorknob?
A moment of craziness – pure amnesia? He didn't even know.
You're dying of jealousy, Kaiba.
That's ABSURD!
A Kaiba is never jealous – he already has everything he could ever want.
You think? So, why are you waiting to enter that room – your room, Kaiba? Drive her away from your home. You're the boss. Go! Go in and do your stuff!
In a mechanical yet voluntary gesture, stripped of all aggression, Seto Kaiba finally pushed open the door to his room.
. . . . . . . . .
Marik had had no problem in establishing an itinerary which could last a thousand and one nights. He had pressed himself to visit the entirety of Greece; they left Knossos, then gone north, passing by Santorin and Rhodes, then pushed on up to Troy. They then again followed the coast of the Aegean Sea in the opposite direction, passing through town after town, principally via boat. It was amazing, just like he had promised. But her marveling was multiplied by the sole presence of this man imprinted with a disarming sweetness.
Of course he himself wasn't entirely disinterested, either, although a lot of things required him to push his knowledge despite the circumstances; he felt with little pain a great emotional trouble wracking her. A disequilibrium caused by extreme suffering. Because that's what she was – suffering. He could feel it in his own skin, and didn't have to do anything but catch sight of her silhouette to perceive a sort of omnipresence. He didn't know what and didn't dare, quite respectfully, to look after it for her. But he was persuaded that a wide abyss was spread across her heart.
However, patiently, he waited until she confided in him, because she did not seem to find a friend in him, which was an extra defect. Couldn't she realize that beyond his friendship – which he offered unconditionally anyway – propagated a desire that was so much stronger?
"There," he said as he leaned over her shoulder. "That's good – put your side into the trowel, caress the ground. Softly lift the earth now…"
"Like this?" she asked, performing the task.
Marik had chosen a little quiet place south of some old Athenian ruins to engage in a little archeological exercise. He had made an enormous rectangle in the ground. The two were now kneeling down in the hopes of finding a fresco or some other ancient object.
"Wait, let me show you," he said again, bending close enough to touch Naomi's backside.
Delicately, his hand covered hers, which provoked a sudden immobility in the young woman, quite uncomfortable at his touch.
"Your aura is so pure, Naomi…"
But he took care to not further discomfort her, shifting away as soon as he had showed her the technique. It was true – she was scared. Almost on principle. What he hated most of all, he was powerless to show her the slightest bit of affection.
They had meticulously raked the ground for hours and the sun was setting when they finally considered themselves conquered, having unfortunately not found anything satisfying.
"You aren't too tired, are you?" he asked, throwing her a quick glance.
The two, in failure, had let themselves fall to the powdery earth as there was no nearby stone on which they could both sit.
She still was guarded, despite weeks of indiscrete playing despite the natural curiosity of the origin of the flesh lacerations in the back of her seafaring companion. She had noticed them as soon as they had met but had never mentioned them. Which she believed Marik doubtlessly appreciated.
Perhaps finally pushed by the serene atmosphere of the calm night with the crescent moon, or partly by a fragile confidence which she held in the young man, the idea of quenching the object of her pondering seemed more appropriate in her mind.
"I…" she breathed.
He easily sensed her apprehension, knowing the object of her embarrassment, when, turning his head in her direction, he saw Naomi's fingers moving to tickle the nape of his neck.
"Can… I?"
Irritation. He normally would have become angry by such a maneuver but, despite the heated feeling he camouflaged with a quick turn of the head, he acquiesced to her demand.
Her fingers had never before dared to make contact with his flesh, though she had with detail scrutinized the strange designs. So much so that a minute passed with neither of the two daring to make the slightest movement, fearing that they would break the surrounding calm.
"It's fascinating," she murmured.
"Isn't it," he firmed, making sure to stop himself from sounding too ironic.
Naomi's fingers brushed against so delicately that they could barely hide the shiver which was growing stronger upon her skin.
He was already at ease, eyes closed, projected into a non-temporal dimension, protected from the stares of men and sensual raving he felt upon touching Naomi's body, close enough to be ivy on oak.
He affectionately several pieces of the skin so clearly perfumed by the odor of roses and jasmine. He listened to the divine music playing near his ear, breathing into him the purest of pleasures to hold her to his body.
Naomi pulled back her fingers. Her face showed a deep disturbance.
"This had to have been very painful…. wasn't it?"
Marik's eyes shot open; he was unaware of how much time had passed. He felt no desire to complain or to joke about it.
Had he dozed off to sleep? Was it just a mirage, a dream?
So he would have given anything not to have been awoken.
"A simple touch of your hands, Aphrodite, and the most atrocious suffering is forgotten," he murmured as if reciting verse.
Nothing could have been more just – for a short instant the entire planet fell out from underneath him.
Nothing was more beautiful, more sweet, then to see this perfect creature with the somber, rose-tinted cheeks.
Confusedly, her eyes lowered, conscious that she was been unreservedly stared at.
Marik couldn't prevent his hands from brushing against Naomi's face as he turned it towards his own. He could no longer resist his attraction to that timid look.
He felt it, she would shed her clothes, totally uneasily, doubting every single moment of intimacy. Nervously she stirred, visibly looking for a way out of his grasp.
He held her back, though, bringing his lips to hers.
"Don't be afraid of me, Naomi."
. . . . . . . . .
Dizzy, she was about to lose equilibrium; she would fall if she didn't open her eyes.
So far… it's just us…
Naomi suddenly whipped them open, shaken by the strange sensation of being watched. Nobody had wiped away the steam of the shower window so far as she could tell; no one in the vapor with a sharp knife - no silhouette could be found on the other side. However, she was persuaded, somebody was lurking in the bathroom corner. Somebody whose silence unnerved her at that moment; the air suddenly charged with a very disagreeable gravity. The alarm had been raised in her mind. The presence, menacing and inopportune, was filled with anger and resentment.
She could feel perfectly well the violent, well-pronounced irritation of the invisible man.
But what managed to trouble her was that his presence was the one she recognized from amongst many – suave, musky, powerful, imperative.
. . . . . . . . .
In a flash, Mokuba had finished changing.
If not a measure of adequate protection against any aggressor, he had won in rapidity since his first course. He rushed for the coat room, throwing on his clothes, before heading for the limo where he knew he would be perfectly safe under the ever-vigilant eye of Davis, the driver, who was expecting his arrival.
Every time it was the same scenario: And Keenu, accompanied with several charming friends of his, sprinted after him, stopping only once the limo was in sight. They never would have risked anything before somebody else, especially if said person were an adult that was six-foot-two* with a glacial expression and the capacity to break your neck with two fingers. They weren't that crazy, at least.
Mokuba gratuitously made fun of them once he was inside the car, turning to salute them with a wave, offering them his most devilish smile.
Davis wondered about the ploy. So silently he went along with the little game. Little mattered to him because Mokuba could get away with it, and he was forced to look after him anyway.
"Like usual, sir?"
"Er… of course!" Mokuba said as soon as he had closed the door again.
He was deeply happy to have adopted this new way of life which allowed him to dodge the attention of his brother, who probably often wondered about the comings and goings of his kid sibling.
But Mokuba was filled with an immense satisfaction at the idea of killing two birds with one stone, because, after each class, the true object of his thoughts resided in this weekly visit – almost too short, it seemed to him – with the young girl who was impatiently awaiting him at her home. Every day, he went to meet up with Samantha who, since Christmas, had taken on all of the appearances of being his girlfriend. Except for the kissing.
Also, strangely, neither one of them seemed too keen to perform this sign of affection, as if neither one was yet ready to do so. Or maybe they were too nervous and clumsy.
But the fact of the matter was, Mokuba was enjoying that sly smile of hers more and more.
. . . . . . . . .
Arms crossed, he stared for a long while at Naomi's silhouette on the other side of the glass, lost in some somber thought.
It was all too much for him – the image of that earthworm against her body repulsed him to the point that he thought he might have to slap himself to chase the image out of his head.
Lost. He didn't know if he was going to scream and demand an explanation because he was having so much trouble controlling his fury. However he didn't think himself to be a violent being.
Did he reasonably have the right to get himself tangled in the past that he barely knew at this point, for the sole excuse that he thought he should belong?
She hadn't harmed him in the slightest. Except for having existed before they met.
Well, wasn't he going to – in doing so – show off plenty of his egotism that he was prone to demonstrating, and ruin, in the same stroke, his chances – so thin – of keeping her?
Nothing is more difficult than admitting one's own weaknesses. Even more so if there only happens to be one of them. His, although he fought to disavow, carried about a ridiculous little name which was filled with so much meaning.
Kaiba sighed loudly, irritated by his own bad mood.
His feet took him away from the cold tile of the bathroom to take him back to the reassuring calm of his bedroom, where he chose to recline in an armchair, near the little commode beside the bed.
From here he could watch Naomi emerge.
And then…
. . . . . . . . .
The presence had departed. She found nobody there when she slipped out of the shower. However, she had not been dreaming.
Seto had barely walked through the door.
Carefully, she wiped the water off of her body with a towel she then wrapped around her waist. Then she walked for the bedroom, still half-naked.
"You scared me!" she yelled as she jumped upon seeing Kaiba sitting down in a corner of the room.
Something had changed in his attitude; he seemed deep in thought, profoundly bogged down. His face was hard, unmoving.
But what frightened her even more resided in the bare expression with which he was staring at her, as if she were prey, without any affection or compassion. With no emotion. She rapidly began to feel menace emanating from the curious human being.
Seto Kaiba, the man who could make her shiver at a glance, was not in this room and had nothing in common with the one now seated before her.
She was so frightened that she fell back a little, at which he rose to glide in her direction.
What's…
She was about to ask him the question when his voice cut the string of her thoughts.
"What happened with… Marik…Ishtar?"
What? What does he…
Although she still didn't understand what had come over him, she gave a brief sigh of relief. It was true – she had thought for a moment that a horrible event had befallen since they had last seen each other which probably would concern his younger brother, of whom she was nowadays equally anxious about.
"Oh, it was Mokuba who – " she began with a reassuring smile.
But Kaiba was approaching dangerously, ever taller and more menacing, anger making his lips quiver. So much so that she thought for a split second that it appeared as if he were about to vomit.
He was not laughing, completely beside himself although she sensed him fighting back the worst of it - restraining himself from the worst possible violence. Then his voice, very grave, hit the air, resonating in a clear, raging echo. He was not asking; he was demanding with a furious hissing between the teeth. And the malicious form which his mouth had adopted terrified her more than one hundred of those alleyway thugs could ever do.
"What happened with Marik Ishtar, Naomi?"
*In the original, 1.9 meters. Pick whichever one floats your boat.
Wow, three chapters in a day! I might need to take a break this weekend...