Blood and Broken Glass

For a while Kaiba just stood in the doorway, unfeeling, unhearing. He wished he were unseeing too.

He stared at Mokuba's body, sprawled on the floor.

His hair spilled artfully around his head and covered his face and shards of glass scattered all around him, glinting in the sun that leaked through the broken window behind him like diamonds. The reports and papers that covered the desk in front of him were ruined, splattered with red.

Beneath his head, blood had gathered in a large, circular puddle, and the afternoon's sunlight danced grotesquely across its shiny surface. Even now, with his eyes seeming to buzz in their sockets and blur his vision, Kaiba could see the edges of the puddle budding and creeping outward. It had been only seconds since the shot, and now it was pooling on the floor, soaking into Mokuba's glossy black hair. Pouring out of him.

So much blood.

The scene shocked Kaiba so badly that he didn't register it as reality, and for a while he felt nothing at all, like his brain was floating in honey. But soon enough the truth of what he was seeing started to sink in, and reality came roaring back, along with his emotions.

He wished he'd stayed numb.

'Oh god. Oh my god Mokuba.'

The panic seized him and clenched at his stomach, twisting cruelly until his lunch bubbled up in his throat, searing and acrid, and he fell to his knees and vomited so violently his eyes watered.

The fear that gripped his arms and legs was incapacitating, and he started trembling all over. His vision began to cloud, black and grey static veiled his eyesight, and the backs of his eyes ached. It took all of his energy to crawl his way over to his brother. His breaths were tiny and short, and his head swam. He felt like he was going to faint. But he couldn't. Not now.

He had to get to Mokuba.

He knelt beside his brother and slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him out of the blood. Locks of hair, wet and heavy, clung to the floor, and the way his head lolled lifelessly made Kaiba want to vomit again.

He dragged the boy into his lap, the movement caused the hair that veiled Mokuba's face to shift and Kaiba caught a glimpse of his eyes shut and lips parted peacefully, almost like he was sleeping.

'But he isn't, is he?'

A chill went through Kaiba's body, along his arms and down his back, and the room seemed to sway. His empty stomach felt as though it was sinking through his body all the way to the floor.

He began grabbing at his brother's neck, desperately searching for a pulse but unable to keep his shaking fingers still. Then he slid fumbling hands up the boy's bloodstained shirt and pressed them against his chest, pushing them into the pectoral muscles that had only recently begun developing, chasing down a heartbeat, any sign of life.

He found nothing.

Mokuba had been kidnapped many times, and naturally Kaiba had always panicked and been afraid. He was his brother after all. But even when Mokuba was in terrible danger, there was hope. A ransom to pay. A duel to win. Someone to take revenge on. But not now.

Now, his brother lay limp in his arms and there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could have done to stop it. He couldn't pay for Mokuba's life back, or duel the bullet out of his skull. He couldn't even avenge his brother; the shooter's anonymity protected them from his rage.

It had all happened so fast.

He was completely helpless. Compared to what had happened to Mokuba in the past this was so cold. Unfeeling, unchangeable and so very cruel. There was no Shadow Realm, or "magic", or fate. No second chances. He'd never felt so powerless in his entire life. He'd never felt so empty. Even when he had nothing he had Mokuba.

Then it sunk in, minutes ago they'd been fighting. Mokuba had died angry and hateful.

"My whole world doesn't revolve around you." His own words echoed in his head.

Mokuba had died thinking he didn't care.

"Mokie…" he choked out between breaths.

His eyes prickled and filled with warmth. He clenched them shut and felt wetness swell out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

Seeing Mokuba's body had hollowed him out and left a big empty space in its wake, and now something was filling that space in him, something big and dark and terrifying. It roared louder than thunder and went berserk, tearing him up from within. It built pressure inside him and surged up, forced its way out of his eyes and mouth, left him burying his face in his brother's hair and sobbing, letting out inhuman, hysterical screams.

He was so lost in his grief that he was oblivious to what was happening around him, but even if the gunfire hadn't stopped, in that moment he wouldn't have cared. In fact, the thought of the bullets tearing into him seemed almost relieving, because nothing could be more painful than this.

He always told himself that the past was worthless, that the future was all he cared about, but all of a sudden his future was crumbling and slipping through his fingers. A future without Mokuba was a dark, meaningless place and now his past was all he had. And so his most cherished and fiercely guarded memories came swimming to the surface.

Chess at the orphanage, junk food for dinner on Friday nights, tearing down the highways on their shiny new car while Mokuba laughed beside him…happiness seeped through the pain and then sparked even more.

It was like the floodgates had opened and years of loneliness and hurt started pouring out of him, and with the only enduring light in his life suddenly snuffed it all overwhelmed him. He hadn't cried since he was a child and somewhere along the way he'd forgotten how to handle it, and he choked on his own ugly, pitiful sobs as they rushed out uncontrollably one after another. Panic set in as he began hyperventilating, and he struggled to control his breathing until something made him stop altogether.

He felt a twitch under his hand.

It was still resting on Mokuba's chest, buried under his shirt, and he felt something shift.

At that, the thunderous pain in him hesitated, and in the time it gave him he frantically moved his hand up again and closed his eyes, willing it to stop shaking.

There was a heartbeat under his palm, slow, but sure. He'd somehow missed it in his panic. Mokuba was alive.

A breath shuddered out of him, erratic yet controlled and he willed himself to calm as he rolled Mokuba's head over in his arms.

The gaping bullet hole that he'd previously been expecting to find wasn't there. Or at least he couldn't see it.

He dipped his fingers into Mokuba's silky black hair and crept them along his scalp until he met the wetness of blood. Then he combed them through the stickiness, searching, until he felt the puckering rawness of an open wound. He gently pressed his fingers along it, tracing the outline of a small, shallow cut. A graze.

The bullet that had shattered Kaiba's bathroom mirror into a million pieces had grazed him.

This time there was no hesitation in his influx of emotion. His relief slammed into him like a freight train, and once again he was immobilized and gasping for breath, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

The terrible knotting in his stomach unwound all at once, so fast he felt like vomiting again, but instead he let his head fall back and let out a bout of gasping, hysterical laughter. His brother was alive.

He pulled the unconscious boy close and kissed his head, and the rust of blood danced over his lips.

"You've got to stop doing this to me, kiddo…" he muttered against Mokuba's skin. His voice grated painfully and his adrenaline was slowly ebbing, his body buzzing and shuddering as it released everything that had been savaging him earlier, leaving him so exhausted that, settled among the blood and broken glass, he could have fallen asleep right there.

But then something glided into his peripheral vision and every thought that he'd cast away in his grief came crawling back in.

Evacuation alarms blaring, his wreckage of an office.

The gunfire.

'Shit.'

He allowing himself a second or two to examine the helicopter hovering outside the window, then he gathered Mokuba in his arms and scrambled towards the door just as the bullets started flying and the room once again erupted around him.

Mokuba was a fairly light kid, and Kaiba was strong enough that he could literally lift the boy with one hand if he had to, but he stumbled supporting Mokuba's weight now. It was no surprise, his energy was finite and he'd wasted most of it grieving before he even realized that Mokuba was alive.

When he was under Gozaburo's teaching the man had drilled into his head that emotions were useless, that they made you weak. He was feeling the literal connotations of those words now.

As the remainders of his adrenaline wore away, many things that had previously been censored by the epinephrine in his veins slowly began making their presence known, one after the other like an agonizing roll call.

Stinging pinpricks seared over his hands and knees where he'd ground them into broken glass and mirror while crawling on the floor, and he felt a few tiny pricks on his face and neck where wood chips and glass shards had lightly punctured his exposed skin. His body was now running on fumes, as his stomach was aching and empty, and his trembling arms and legs clearly evidenced that. He could also feel a persistent sting in the back of his left calf, becoming more and more pronounced with every step, and he became increasingly convinced that he had a piece of something stuck in it.

With the pain of all of these injuries manifesting at once, it took all of his effort to run out of his office limping and supporting an unconscious child all the way, but Seto Kaiba did what he did best. He endured.

As he made his way into the lobby outside his office, things around him soon became a blur as he used all of his remaining energy to pinpoint his focus on two things: the location of the gunfire and keeping his brother safe, cradled in his arms. The rest of his energy was devoted to keeping himself from passing out, and anything of little importance drifted into the distance.

Suddenly a face swam up to him out of the haze. Slicked back, greying hair, dark sunglasses and a light mustache, it was Roland.

His jaw worked as though he was shouting but Kaiba didn't register any words, and his alarm was clear by the sweat that shined over his face and way his forehead crumpled up like paper as it always did when he was panicking. It was a familiar expression for him; he was right-hand man to Seto Kaiba after all.

He continued shouting words that Kaiba couldn't hear and he grabbed at Mokuba's arms as though offering to carry him instead, but rather than allowing him to, Kaiba tightening his grip, a sudden rush of panicked possessiveness taking over.

"No." he growled, voice cracking under the strain. "Just get me out of here."

Roland hesitated for a second and looked as though he was going to insist, before he remembered just who he was talking to and nodded, gripping Kaiba's arm instead.

As he hurried them towards the elevators, Kaiba filled him in on what had happened, simultaneously trying to piece it all together himself.

"There was a helicopter. No…" he recalled the separate gunshots, one for him and one for his brother. "Two, or maybe more. Heavily armed with a high-powered machine gun and sniper rifles. But they're not skilled, they shot like amateurs."

'Lucky for us.'

Roland nodded again. "So we'll go by the security car. It's waiting for you outside."

"Have police been notified?"

"They're on their way, but considering the circumstances we need to leave right now."

Kaiba fell silent and showed his appreciation for Roland's efforts by ignoring the fact that his extreme personal space rules were being broken, and keeping quiet as the man tugged him towards the elevators.

Since the alarms had been triggered, the elevators were out of use and the standard evacuation procedure indicated for workers to exit via the stairwell, but they were at the top floor, and Kaiba was in no fit state to climb down all those stairs. Luckily for him Roland had planned ahead, and Kaiba saw his second assistant Fugata poised at the elevator doors, awaiting their arrival.

"The elevator shaft is clear, sir." he nodded at his boss, holding the doors open as the three of them rushed in.

They had used Kaiba's personal ID code (available to only Roland for emergencies) to override the evacuation protocol and allow the elevators to operate for a short while, and as they entered and selected the first floor Kaiba prayed that the shooters weren't inside the building yet.

As the elevator began gliding down, rather than standing aside the two men, Kaiba weakly crouched to the floor, leaning against the wall and holding his brother close in a rare display of vulnerability that made his cheeks burn a little. Sure, he trusted Roland and Fugata as unconditionally as he allowed himself to, but it was still embarrassing to have them see him like this. He decided to ignore that, and focus on Mokuba, trying to gauge the severity of the flesh wound on his scalp without disturbing it. It was then that he realized that the graze was still gushing blood and leaking onto his and Mokuba's clothes.

He gritted his teeth as he pressed his hand against the wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding and blindly reached his other hand up towards his assistants.

"Mokuba's bleeding, I need something to-"

He felt something being pressed into his hand before he could finish, and he hurriedly brought it to Mokuba's head. It was only after crimson began soaking into it that he realized it was a grey suit jacket.

He glanced up to see Roland minus his jacket and staring down at Mokuba. At the sight of his young master battered and bloody the man's professional air melted into something more personal, eyebrows contorting anxiously as he took the sight in.

"Unconscious." Kaiba firmly reassured him. "The bullet just grazed his head."

"But how could an assassin armed with a sniper rifle miss like that?" Roland stammered in disbelief.

Kaiba spoke slowly as the scene played out in his head and he began to connect the dots. "There were two shots and they were about two seconds apart…the first one was for me and it shattered the mirror in my bathroom…I think…I think he was working, heard the mirror break and looked up in time for the bullet to miss." It made sense. It was the reason Mokuba been lying on the floor facing the door with his desk in front of him, and the reason why the graze was on the right of his head. He'd been standing with his back to the window, and he'd looked up towards the bathroom at the sound of the mirror breaking, moving his head almost entirely out of the bullet's path.

When the shot was fired he'd been immersed in his work. Occupied by what was in front of him, paying no attention to his surroundings and completely vulnerable, just like Kaiba had been. The shooters had waited for both of them to let their guards down at the same time before they fired. They'd probably been watching them all afternoon. Kaiba's stomach squirmed uncomfortably at that.

Fugata looked astonished at Kaiba's explanation. "Amazing! Thank god he's alright. To think, if the snipers had fired at the same time…" then he caught a glance of the venomous expression on his boss's face and fell silent.

'No thank you, I've had my fair share of that today.' Kaiba thought, grimacing.

But Fugata's statement did make him realize just how unbelievably lucky he and his brother were. The events of that afternoon had played out like steps an intricate dance. If he hadn't looked up in time to see the laser scope, if the snipers had been more precise and fired simultaneously, if a single variable had been altered in that equation, one or both of the Kaiba brothers would be dead.

"And how about you, Sir?" Roland spoke up, breaking Kaiba's train of thought. "Are you alright?"

Kaiba blinked, surprised at the genuine concern in his assistant's voice, before he smirked up at him. "Roland, surely you know me better than that."

Fugata grinned, suddenly inspired. "Of course! Nothing can kill Kaiba but Kaiba!"

Kaiba tried to find pride in that statement, but the searing pain all over his body and the way his brother's blood was drying sticky on his hands sapped any arrogance from his mind.

'If only that were true.'

Roland looked anxious, like he wanted to express his worry further, but he was understandably struggling to. When it came to Kaiba, displaying concern was difficult and hinting at pity was a death wish, and there was such a fine line between that most made the wiser choice to say nothing. But Roland looked unsettled, faltering on the line separating personal concern and professionalism.

Now that Kaiba thought about it, it was probably expected. After all that he survived he most likely looked more than a little worse for wear. He wondered if his right-hand man's concern was stemming from the suggestion of a serious injury, or the unfamiliar sight of his red, puffy eyes. He supposed it was quite a strange concept to Roland, that he was capable of crying. It was a strange concept to him too.

The injuries would be taken care of as soon as he got to a hospital and he'd prefer not recounting the grief he'd suffered only minutes ago, so he stared indignantly at Roland until the man glanced away, embarrassed, and concentrated on the amount of floors until they reached street level.

Twenty-one to go.

For a while all was silent except for the humming of the elevator's lights, and all three men took a moment to catch their breath, then as they passed the eighteenth floor Kaiba felt Mokuba stir in his arms.

His stomach crawled up into his throat and he tensed and held his breath as his brother moaned groggily and began to shift in his grip. He heard a gasp from above him and in his peripherals he saw Roland and Fugata lean in on either side of him, waiting nervously.

Kaiba was relieved that Mokuba was waking so easily, but he knew that a bullet graze on the head, while not lethal, was no small matter. He prepared himself for some sort of reaction when his brother finally came to.

In the silence, he listened as Mokuba's breathing began to speed up, and his light groans increased in pitch, quickly changing from confused to scared. He rested his cleaner hand on the boy's cheek in preparation to calm him.

"Mokie…" he began soothingly, but was cut off.

Mokuba began thrashing violently in his grip, letting out hysteric, terrified screams.

Roland and Fugata surged in around him, grabbing the boy's arms and legs to prevent him from further injuring his brother and Kaiba struggled to keep a hold on him. It wasn't an easy task, Mokuba was strong when he wanted to be, and no doubt his physical abilities were currently being amplified by adrenaline.

"My head! My head, I'm burning!" he shrieked, making all three men wince at the volume of his voice in the cramped space of the elevator. "I can't see! Let me go, no-let me go! Big brother!"

"I'm here!" Kaiba grunted, his exhausted arms screamed in protest as he attempted to contain Mokuba's kicking limbs. "I'm right here! Calm down!"

At the sound of his voice, all at once Mokuba began to fall slack in their grip and Kaiba sighed, relieved, and rested his hand back on the boy's cheek. He pulled it away damp with blood and tears.

"Seto? Is that you?" Mokuba groaned, squinting up at him.

"Yeah, it's me." Kaiba smiled before he could stop himself. After prematurely grieving his death, the sound of Mokuba's voice, groggy and pained as it was, was liberation beyond compare. Suddenly he found himself craving the sight of his brother laughing and happy again, he'd seen far too much of him angry or covered in blood.

"I can't see well, the light is too bright-oooooohhhhh." Suddenly Mokuba moaned painfully, pressing his face into Kaiba's chest. "Oh my god, my head."

The upside of Mokuba waking up now was the early relief on Kaiba's part, but the downside of was, of course, his injury. Kaiba realized he'd dropped Roland's jacket somewhere in the struggle and groped around on the floor for it.

"You're okay, you got shot."

"Shot?"

"It's just a graze."

"It feels like there's a million coals burning into my head…" the boy whimpered tears brimming from his eyes as he clenched them shut, and suddenly Kaiba felt the hot ferocity of anger blossom inside him. Someone had done this to Mokuba. Someone had tried to kill his brother, an innocent child, just skating the edge of puberty. Not kidnap, or use as a bargaining chip or ransom, but kill him. Kill him.

His fists were trembling when he pressed the jacket back into Mokuba's head, and when he looked up at his assistants they were fidgeting uncomfortably. At first he thought it was because of their intrusion on the close moment between the brothers, but then he realized it probably had more to do with his intimidating "tear gas aura" of anger. His attention was drawn away from them as Mokuba began speaking again.

"I was looking for the blueprints...and then I heard a crash and I looked up and…my head felt cold and everything went black…" he muttered, slowly piecing things together just as Kaiba had moments ago, but rather than coming to the same conclusions as his brother, his mouth fell open and he stared up at Kaiba, shocked.

Kaiba frowned, confused as the boy's eyes filled with tears again.

"Oh my god…" he gasped out. "Oh my god Seto I'm so sorry."

'He's apologizing for the fight.' Kaiba realised, his jaw falling open. 'After everything…'

"Mokuba you don't need to apologize."

"No, I do. The fight was so stupid." He shut his eyes and turned his head away as though he was ashamed. "We nearly died angry with each other…I'm sorry."

"We nearly died, full stop." Kaiba muttered. The statement sounded almost cruel after Mokuba's apology, but any chastising edge his words held was dulled by the warm affection underlying it.

Because of course Mokuba recognized that factor first, he was one of the most thoughtful, empathetic people Kaiba knew. He'd almost lost that.

He felt his throat tighten. After that realization some kind of force was pushing against his throat, compelling him to speak. To say what he should, now that he could do it. "Mokuba…I lo-"

"Sorry to interrupt Mr Kaiba, but we're almost at the first floor."

The force that had compelled him faltered and then scurried away. He felt his irritation mount and turned to begin snapping at Roland before he felt Mokuba squeeze his hand. When he glanced back down his brother had that look in his eyes. That look of complete and utter understanding that allowed the brothers to go on all these years with not a single straight, verbal confirmation of the fact they both knew, and yet at the same time not a single doubt in their minds.

He didn't have to finish. He probably wouldn't have managed anyway, or later regretted blurting it out in front of his assistants. Whether he said it or not, it didn't matter. Mokuba knew. They both did.

It was his greatest secret. Seto Kaiba did have a heart, and it belonged to his brother.

"We're at the seventh floor now. When we reach the first floor, we need to get to the car as quickly as possible, then we'll drive you to the safe house. Hopefully by then the police will have arrived, and can send someone to tail us." Roland talked fast and wiped the sweat off his brow.

Kaiba nodded and slowly lowered Mokuba into a seated position on the floor, where he grabbed Kaiba's shoulder for support and gently stood on shaking legs.

Five.

"Think you can walk?"

"Yeah I'm okay. A little dizzy, but okay."

Four.

"Keep the jacket on your graze."

"Got it. It hurts…"

"I know, kiddo. Just hold on."

Three.

"Can you walk, Seto?"

"…I'm fine."

"Liar."

Two.

"Ready?" Fugata asked them all, positioning himself at the doors.

Roland gently grasped Mokuba's arm as he tested the strength in his legs and pressed the sticky jacket to his head. Both of them watched, worried as Kaiba stood, legs aching and visibly trembling under his weight.

Kaiba bit back humiliation at his own weakness, and braced himself at the doors.

"Ready." He rasped.

And with that, the elevator slid to a stop on the first floor of Kaiba Corp, and signaled the beginning of their next fight for survival with a tiny, cheerful ding!