Roses and Thorns

by WritingAmateur

AU. Trustshipping. Inspired by "Beauty and the Beast." When antiquities appraiser Marik Ishtar makes a terrible mistake, embarrassing Seto Kaiba in front of a rival, Seto swears revenge on the Ishtar family. To save Marik and their business, Ishizu volunteers to be Seto's prisoner in Marik's stead. Will her sacrifice pay off? And is Seto Kaiba nothing more than a monster? COMPLETE.

12. Red Rose

Author's note: Here we are at the very end of the story! Oh my goodness! Let's see what happens... will the two lovebirds get back together? Will they be able to forgive? DUN DUN DUN okay I'll stop being a total dork.

Enjoy!

Please please read/review/follow/fave. I want to know how my readers enjoyed this fic and doing those things is literally like a hug in my email inbox.

---

Seto Kaiba's ears were clogged. His head unbearably light and squeezed as if between two immovable palms. Compressed. Crushing.

Not to mention his roaring headache.

For someone who flew quite a bit for his work-not to mention the fact of his owning a private jet to facilitate such matters-Seto Kaiba strongly disliked flying.

At least this part. The taking off and the landing. When his stomach began to do flips and sink through the very floor of the machine, his heart skittering around, dragonfly-esque, when the plane achieved liftoff or touchdown. However smooth. Just a faint hint of nausea accompanying both phenomena, sure as a sunrise. Each and every time.

He crossed his legs, attempting to get comfortable in the plush leather seat, moving his hands to clutch at the armrests. At least until the ragged butterflies in his stomach ceased their relentless careening pathways and settled down.

Breathe. In. Out.

Something so simple-

He swallowed hard, waiting for his ears to pop as the plane's path leveled, carving through the dusky clouds like the edge of a knife. For a sliver of the pressure to relieve itself.

His eyes watering as his head suddenly-blessedly-felt like it was deflating. The excess air escaping on a sigh as he leaned back and allowed his eyes to flutter closed. The furrow in his brow to relax.

A voice disrupted his new-found calm. "Would you care for a glass of lemon water, Mr. Kaiba? Some tea?"

That damned Roland. So solicitous-

He didn't bother opening his eyes as he answered, voice layered through with weariness, "no, Roland. I'm fine."

It sounded just as rotten as he felt then. Roiling. Trembling. Hoarse.

After all, the reason he was on the damned plane in the first place was surely enough...

The limousine driver paused for a moment.

"Are you sure, Mr. Kaiba?"

Even Roland is concerned for my well-being-

Clearly, the worn-out mask was slipping. Had outlived its usefulness. He supposed every shifting emotion was visible on his face now. Not only to his staff and personnel, but to clients as well. The way his hands would tremble as he wrote. Typed up reports. The dry-throated spells that would take hold just as he was about to deliver the final pitch-in German or Mandarin, no less. The cracks in his voice. Followed by cracks in composure. Then shattering entirely.

To put it bluntly-

-things were not going well.

Of course, me being on this damned flight isn't exactly going to help matters-

"Ah-yes, Roland. I'm sure."

In his more rational moments, he could pretend he wasn't quite sure why he'd done it. Convince himself that perhaps curiosity had overtaken him. Of a sadistic sort.

That-

-that most inconvenient envelope-

An unwelcome splash of ice water as Téa had handed it to him in the foyer of Kaiba Manor, her face grave and earnest. He too shocked by the sending address to ask why he hadn't been given the envelope at his office as per usual-

Miss Ishizu Ishtar

3427 Brixton Road

London

EC1Y 8SY

United Kingdom

-too sickened by the handwriting on the envelope itself-suddenly seeing her, her taking the time to write it out-his name-at top of the sending address-

He'd barely noticed the blazingly worried look that had crossed Téa's face as his fingers had scrabbled desperately to open the envelope. To find out what the hell that woman could want. What more could she possibly hope to do to him? What final horror-or mockery, perhaps-laid beneath the neatly sealed envelope?

"Mr. Kaiba-"

"Go." Wincing from an unexpected papercut, legs feeling suddenly quite unsteady beneath him, the exacerbated lack of sleep causing him to abandon all euphemisms of tact and manner as he addressed his chief of staff.

Much to his chagrin, Téa had paused then. Like Roland had just now. Pity flickering in both of their eyes.

"Mr. Kaiba-sir-are you sure-isn't there anything I can do-"

"I'm not going to say it again." He couldn't look at her, even as the blood leaking from the slit in his index finger threatened to soak through the cream-colored paper folded inside the envelope.

He placed his finger in his mouth carelessly, sucking on the cut like a child would as Téa, sensing intuitively the futility of pressing the matter further, bowed her head and left him standing alone there. Alone in the massive foyer.

The massive foyer of his massive house. Where he and he alone reigned.

King.

Atop the hill. Solitary.

The house was so damned large. So many useless rooms with no one to fill them. To sit and talk in the sitting rooms. No one to stoke a fire in one of the fireplaces as the evening wore down.

No one to gaze at the numerous tasteful artworks carefully selected to match each room's furnishings.

No one to sleep in the bedrooms.

He had unfolded the slip of paper and let the envelope fall to the sleek wood floor of the foyer, walking over to one of the tasteful white-and-black couches in the adjacent sitting room and taking a seat as he began to scan the thing.

To Mr. Seto Kaiba,

-he nearly bit his tongue clean in two as he heard it.

Her voice.

The way she said something as simple as his name. The cold, brusque, frightened tone she had used when he'd first taken her from the apartment. A shiver embedded within. Implied. Evoked. Then that neutral, almost curious way she'd pronounced the sounds as he'd become less of a stranger to her.

That disgustingly intimate way she had come to use his given name. Like it contained the idea of a smile. Whether whispered into his ear crooningly or cried out like a melody in response to something excellent he'd managed to do.

He heard it all.

Every lie she'd laced into her words. Like tiny, broken curses.

In his bones.

It had taken him several times reading it over before meaning had taken root. There was, it seemed, a thesis talk. At the Courtauld. Something she was presenting. Her research of the past several months.

The title she'd chosen to give her talk like another slap in the face: "On Pasttimes and Errant Hours: Depictions of Game-Playing and Hobbies in Painting."

Game-playing. Like a duel. A battle.

Game-playing.

Like a lie.

A meaning chosen, no doubt, with him in mind. A coded message only he would understand. Her laughing at him from thousands of miles away. Taunting him.

As she had in his dreams ever since she'd left.

Since he'd made her leave.

In the cold light of day he could pretend it was sick curiosity. The woman who had sought to kill him, now attempting to pull him back into her web. It very well could have been that she didn't expect him to accept the invitation, handwritten though it may have been; after all, Seto Kaiba had not gotten to where he was by falling for the various traps laid out before him all nearly and perfectly planned. She had to know this as well as he did.

Or perhaps he could pretend he sought edification. Perhaps the damned talk would be interesting. Diverting. He didn't know much about art, aside from just generally having rather fine taste-and certainly nothing about the topic of the thesis in question.

And he needed to get out of the house anyway-why not the city, the prefecture, the damned country, even-?

Mokuba was always telling him to take a vacation…

Yes.

He could easily pretend that was why he was on a plane, taking a red-eye flight to London to hear Ishizu Ishtar give her Master's degree thesis lecture at the Courtauld Institute.

Pretend that those reasons were the long and short of it.

He didn't dare to think of the raw, bruised reasons. Perched on his shoulders. Weighing him down. Bubbling beneath the skin. Uncurling in his rib cage.

He didn't dare think of it.

---

Green-faced and pinched, Seto lifted his head off his chest as his eyes jerked open; he gritted his teeth reflexively as that familiar sensation burbled in his stomach. His palms began to sweat as the engine roared to life, each successive slight dip in altitude causing another wave of sickliness.

He planted his feet firmly on the carpeted floor of the plane's interior and waited impatiently for the plane to finish its all-too slow and yet too-quick landing.

"We have begun our final descent, Mr. Kaiba." The speaker in the armrest console crackled to life as the low, muffled voice of the captain rang throughout the cabin.

Seto sighed delicately and fought the urge to retort something unnecessarily harsh, his features contorting as he sucked in his cheeks, his heart floating up to clog his throat as the plane lowered through concentric rings of clouds, swifter and swifter until the picturesque city-scape of London came into view through the half-open window.

Even as Seto was gnawing at his lower lip in an attempt not to be sick, he couldn't help but just slightly admire the view as the plane shifted directions to lower itself towards Heathrow.

He swallowed down bile as he felt the back wheels of the plane touch down on the runway, then the front ones with a tired squeal that did nothing to soothe the stress combing through his veins.

"We have touched down, Mr. Kaiba."

Did they think I didn't feel that pathetic excuse of a landing? I ought to fire this idiot and find someone who can properly do this...

Although perhaps it wasn't prudent to make such a hasty decision in the throes of airsickness-

Then in a whirl it was unclipping the seatbelt with shaking hands, his stomach finally settling down as he disembarked, smiled testily all throughout customs-expedited, of course-errantly noting that perhaps he should eat something, barely registering the strained reactions and looks he garnered from passers-by; whether they were reacting to his (lower level of) notoriety or merely how gaunt and hawklike he looked as he walked through the airport, briefcase in hand, Roland trailing behind. Then it was Roland opening the door of the black Rolls-Royce in a flash, the sleeting rain pelting down on top of them both, drenching the city in gray as the car pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

---

He lay awake twisted in thousand-thread count sheets, every cell of his body roaring agonizingly as he shifted position. Moved to lie on his side. His body gravitating towards the left side of the bed. Curling up in the fetal position.

Impossible to sleep.

As if even this bed, this strange foreign bed, weren't safe. As if it was tainted by that memory he carried around of her. On his back. Standing next to him. Over his shoulder. Lying beside him, an invisible painful presence taking up space. On the right side of the bed. Where she'd been when she'd been in his bed.

There.

Not there.

He grunted a bit as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes, wincing as a flash of moonlight streaming in through the window hit him in the face like a slap.

The mere thought of seeing her-

-it hurt.

Incessantly.

An open wound that had failed to scab up properly. Wouldn't. Festering up, sickly-yellow.

And would.

Over three months and it's still the same-

He could still feel her rounded nails trailing gently over his skin. Along his back.

Her soft voice in his ear.

Like a memory had sealed itself to him. Slipping through his skin. Bleeding into his veins. Sliding throughout him.

"I think I might love you."

"Seto-you asshole-I tell you I'm in love with you and this is how you respond?"

"I love you. That's the truth of it. The whole blasted, bloody truth of it. I-I can't bear to think of you being hurt now-by anyone-"

Words spoken like they'd been truth. Rather than lies spat out in moments of cruelty. Staged like everything else she'd ever said. Done. Been. To him. Orchestrated.

Everything he'd told her-

-shown her-

-cut himself open and laid himself out completely before her. Naked and bare and impossibly unafraid.

"I came with you-because I was going to kill you. Be-because you threatened my family-my brother-I was-"

That had been the truth.

For a rational man-

-a man guided by intellect and reason-

-too much of him preferred living in the soft hollow of that lie.

---

Ishizu rubbed her eyes for what must have been the eighteenth time, the ends of her hair brushing the stack of papers on her lap as she capped her ink pen one last time. The ceiling light flickering desperately, the one remaining bulb clinging to dear life with everything it had as Ishizu studied her notes one last time.

It would have to suffice.

The thesis she'd slaved over for the past several months-the research, the drafts, the advising, the rewrites-

-all leading to this. This (heavily-annotated) pile of papers. The key to the next step to her dream. That career, once looming so far on the horizon, seemed that much closer now.

It's not a doctorate-

-once I can afford to do that, I surely will in time-

At twenty-eight, sometimes it seemed as though time were fluttering by faster than she could catch up to it. Reach out and touch it. Scrape her nails along the sensation of time passing by. Getting older.

At this age, my mother was married and I was born-she was pregnant with Odion-

-and here I am, still in school.

What have I to show for being twenty-eight?

She was sure if Marik and Odion were here, they would be the first to encourage her. To remind her that a Master's degree was nothing to sneeze at-indeed, a great accomplishment and one to be proud of. Surely she would be able to find work as a curatorial assistant someplace.

She shook her head roughly as if to chase away unnecessary thoughts. A strand of hair clinging to her lip as she sighed a heavy, thick sigh. Feeling the stress of the past several months clench at the muscles in her back. Her shoulders tightening as she scanned her notes one last time.

This has to be enough. I honestly can't look it over anymore-

Though the topic did prove quite fascinating-

-"On Pasttimes and Errant Hours: Depictions of Game-Playing and Hobbies in Painting"-

From the Egyptians playing senet to Toulouse-Lautrec's sketches of card-playing…

She'd thrown herself into the work like it would make her forget.

She wondered if he would even come. How he had reacted when he'd read her invitation.

Perhaps he'd thrown it away without a second glance. Unable to even entertain a memory of her. Perhaps he'd burned it.

Or perhaps he no longer cared.

"After all, while I may have convinced myself that I was indeed in love with you, your confession makes it that much easier to let go of."

For his sake, she hoped that was the case.

"I love you."

Just thinking of him still brought harsh, biting tears to her eyes. Her skin screaming into hypersensitive gooseflesh.

"I love you."

What it had felt like to be loved like that. Held. Kissed. Seeing those usually-cold eyes rendered warm just by the mere existence of her. Before him. Next to him, her skin brushing his.

"I love you, Ishizu Ishtar."

She could still hear it.

Part of her wished she hadn't even told him. Swallowed down the lie like she had so many others. They could have managed it. Happiness. Despite the strangeness of it all. How they'd met. How she'd hated him.

And now look at me-

She swept her gaze over the cramped, cluttered flat. The clothes draped over the edge of her bed and over the kitchen counter. The dishes piled in the sink, water still dripping from the lips of bowls. The endless books and articles stacked on the couch. Pencils stuck between the cushions. Papers on the floor. Clothes on the floor. Wrinkled.

The room of a depressed person. It fairly stank of it. That hollow, sad smell that denoted something wrong. Connotated lack of energy. Loss. Lack of trying.

Mourning.

She sighed once more and lifted her notes off of her lap, laying them on the floor by the side of the bed. The pen falling off her lap and landing in thin, raggedy carpet. A yawn overtaking her, her eyes fluttered shut and she raised her arms above her head, cocking her head to one side and rolling back her shoulders. Slow. Languorous. Tired.

Exhausted.

Well, even if he doesn't show up, at least I'll be able to see Marik and Odion again... It's certainly been long enough…

Her flat certainly wouldn't hold the three of them, anyway-

Might as well check when their plane is supposed to get in-

She lifted her ancient laptop from the end of the bed and onto her lap, tapping at the keyboard dully, waiting for the thing to spark to life.

She could see herself reflected in the gray-blackness of the screen. The dark circles under her eyes. The largeness of her eyes as she stared hopelessly at the blank screen.

No good.

She moved the laptop to the carpeted floor beside her speaking notes and rolled over onto her back. Pulled the thin blanket over her legs as she turned to look out the window.

The pinking buds of spring in the park across the street had given way to the lush greenery of summer's approach. The early light of dawn piercing through the steadily falling rain. A golden haze filtered through pattering gray.

I suppose I ought to get some sleep-

Rolling away from the window, she curled into the fetal position and groaned to herself as the bedsprings wailed beneath her.

Nothing.

Her eyes shot open as she felt something like a hand on her cheek. Like a caress. A memory of being touched so softly.

Like he was there.

"Ishizu-"

She sat up sharply, blinking rapidly, her breath coming in shallow pants, a bead of sweat dotting her forehead as the trilling of songbirds accompanied her awakening.

Can it be morning already?

Her head had never felt quite so heavy, her eyelids weighed down with sleep.

As she picked out a button-down and long skirt, brushed her teeth and waited for the weary coffee-maker to sputter out something approximating the necessary beverage, she couldn't help but clearly remember the taste of the coffee she'd had back then. In that time. That black hole pocket of weeks when she'd felt different. Been different.

Happy. Like the person she could have been. Had she just held her tongue and stayed.

For someone who once planned on committing murder, what a surprisingly moral thing to slip out-

-something I couldn't just hold in-

She folded up her finalized notes and slipped them into her purse, slid on her good pair of sandals, and crossed the threshold of the flat before closing the door behind her.

As she ducked out from under the awning and into the light rain, wishing she had enough change for a cab, she headed for the dank Underground station and took the first subway car that appeared.

Waiting.

Waiting for the whirring jolts of the motion of the Tube and screeches of wheels on the track to drown out the incessant beating of her heart, thundering in her ears as she grew closer to the Courtauld.

Bring her back to life.

---

Seto smoothed out the front of his gray wool suit, ideally suited for the chill of early London summer, and took a tiny, perfunctory sip of a mimosa. Throughout the rather stately lecture hall at the Courtauld Institute, replete with podium and lectern under a handsome archway at one end of the room, was a speckling of white-bearded and gowned academics and various guests, all swarming around the small round tables with their white tablecloths. Chatting. Talking. Gesticulating wildly. Enjoying the light celebratory brunch before the newest class of Master's degree recipients gave their thesis talks.

He felt utterly out of place; what the hell is an arms dealer doing here amongst these ivory-tower nerds, he thought irritably, draining his glass and coughing lightly as the champagne rushed down his throat, eyes watering as he placed the flute on one of the nearby tables.

As he scanned the crowd an uneasy feeling began to overtake him; beginning in his feet and spreading throughout him like an incredible, nauseated lightness. Tingling.

She could be in this room right now-

-somewhere amongst all these people-

-her-

And he couldn't see her. Not in one of the clusters of endlessly doddering people, their cheeks stuffed with pastries, yammering on about useless, touchy-feely things that ultimately had no bearing, no place at all, outside of the university or museum gates. None. Not in the real world where actions had consequences and art surely was an afterthought, a mere spoil of war-

-the world into which Seto Kaiba had been thrust far too early.

And then he felt it-

-the lightest of breezes on his cheek. A sudden wavering, a blurring of his vision that could not have been due to the pitiful amount of alcohol lingering on his tongue-

-heard-

Then saw-

-her-

---

Ishizu cleared her throat, tucking in her skirt once more and making sure she looked more presentable-and wholly less nervous-than she felt right at that moment. All those people. Her professors and the Courtauld faculty, all enjoying light refreshments before she and her classmates were to give their final talks. On that podium. Behind that lectern at one side of the room-so high above the crowd at their circular tables. All eyes would be on her. The room's silence airless as they'd wait for her to speak.

Me.

Expecting her to say something eloquent. Scholarly. Groundbreaking, even.

I do hope Odion and Marik made it here all right and on time…

She gripped her purse tightly at her side, her chest suddenly impossibly tight. Lightheaded from the lack of proper breakfast, perhaps. Certainly not from something so pedestrian and unprofessional as nervousness. Anxiety.

And the buffet table did looked pleasingly stacked with all sorts of pastries…

She ducked out from behind the fluted column and took small steps into the lecture hall, pasting a tiny, serene smile on her face as she adjusted her bearing, giving little polite waves to the familiar faces she passed, all of them beginning to run together before her eyes while she took a deep breath and sought to focus.

Calm. Collected. Controlled.

I can do this.

Like so many other times she'd had to swallow some aberrant emotion in order to project a more desirable front…

As she picked out a scone and began to add some jam and clotted cream, a familiar voice rang in her ear, warm and deep.

"Well, well, well. Look who's the great scholar now-"

Ishizu nearly dropped the china plate containing her breakfast as she turned sharply to lay eyes upon Odion, handsome and no less intimidating than usual in a dark-wash jeans and a black button-down shirt, Marik standing by his side, cheeks too full of pastry to greet her properly, his ponytail having grown out into a thick, pale braid over one shoulder.

"Odion-Marik-" Ishizu broke out into a grin, her cheeks pinking with pleasure as she carefully set the scone down on the table beside her as she was wrapped up in Odion's strong, homey embrace, rising onto her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, feeling his bear laugh as she wriggled free and lunged towards Marik, his eyes going wide behind his glasses as she clung to him tightly.

"Ah, I'm so glad you made it…" She let go of Marik and stood back to take in her brothers, their grins almost as wide as hers as they studied her in turn. "Flight okay?"

Odion snorted wrily as Marik glared up at him. "Well, if one can expect to sleep with this idiot snoring like a blasted banshee-using the window seat, no less…"

Marik pushed his glasses up his nose and pouted. "Oh, like you're one to talk, Brother-you took up that whole middle seat and then some-and the food was like something I'd make…"

Ishizu couldn't help but giggle at this display, reaching down for her scone and taking a bite, trying to avoid getting the cream on her upper lip. "How's the business?"

Marik suddenly paled, biting his lip and looking down sharply at his feet. At the best shoes he owned, faded and scuffed nonetheless. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable in his threadbare khakis, just slightly too short to be fashionable, the fuzz from the itchy sweater-vest tickling at his chin. Well-

I didn't want to have to tell you this so soon, Sister-

"Not-not great, Ishizu." He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck as Odion looked between them cautiously, wanting to say something to reassure his sister but not knowing quite what to do…

Ishizu felt her stomach fall through the floor, her hands beginning to shake, her breakfast threatening to tumble to the floor; she set down the plate and lifted both hands to cover her mouth, fighting to muffle the too-loud gasp that threatened to escape. "I-I'm so sorry, Marik… Odion…"

Marik looked thoroughly miserable, still unable to meet her eyes. "I've had to begin-well-selling some of the nicer items in the inventory-to the local museum and to some private collectors, of course-things like the Egyptian scribe figure and the Etruscan pieces…"

Ishizu's eyes widened in horror as she nearly swallowed her tongue. "You-you can't do that, Brother-those-those were Father's-" The things that Father acquired years ago-before we were even born-before he'd even met Mother-

-he can't-

"I know, Sister…" But what choice did I have?

An awkward, pregnant pause as the three Ishtar siblings looked anywhere but at one another; Marik still fixated on his shoes, Odion studying the ceiling fresco, Ishizu picking at a piece of dead skin around her thumbnail.

I'll have to postpone the doctorate… take a few years, find some good-paying work-a graduate stipend would barely be enough for me, let alone leave enough to send home-

She very nearly wanted to cry. Twenty-eight. I'm twenty-eight and I'll still be in graduate school for five more years at the bare minimum-

Her voice came out strangled. Disembodied. Like she was hearing herself from far away. "It'll be alright. I'll help you manage-I'll find some work once-once I give this blasted lecture, of course-"

It was then that she felt it. Something like hairs prickling on the back of her neck.

-the very last thing I need right now-

It was impossible to regret sending him that cursed invitation more than she did right now. Curdling within her. Cold. Icy. Like a half-awakened fever dream, leeching throughout her. Gnawing at her. Teeth dull and sharp.

In the room. Here. Now.

Like fingers running down her spine.

-I don't know what I expected-

She both wanted and didn't want it. So very much.

He's here.

---

She took a deep breath, fiddling with the scone on the plate. Knees threatening to crumple. Knowing it was only a matter of precious minutes before he saw her.

-before she saw him-

And then she didn't know what she would do. What he would do.

Why did he even come-?

I-I-

She was very nearly overtaken by poison-winged butterflies all alight in her stomach.

I never should have invited him-

He swallowed hard as he took her in from across the room. Over at the buffet table with those two buffoons she had the misfortune of being related to. The small blond one-the real fool-staring like an idiot at his pathetic, too-informal footwear. The large, rather frightening one-best not make that one angry-looming over both of them.

And her.

Like a vision. Nightmare. Dream. Half-suppressed scream ringing in his ears/ Something utterly despicably real before him. Dressed in a simple button-down shirt and long dark skirt. Her hair around her shoulders, reaching almost to her elbows. As if she hoped to pass for nondescript. As if she hoped to pass on by without anyone seeing her. Noticing her. Her apparent lack of makeup, save for kohl about the eyes, adding to this estimation.

As if anyone could avoid noticing her. Her. And her everything.

How could Ishizu ever think she could pass for plain? How could the world-anyone on any street corner, in any room where she was-not merely sigh with wonder at how exquisite a person could be?

Hostage. Companion. Temptress. Lover.

Liar.

All these things.

A simple, single person holding so much radiance and light even as she stood there, fiddling with her fingernail, a slight hunch in her shoulders evident, hair falling like a curtain by the side of her face as she looked down. As if she hoped to hide. Could ever hide.

Not from me. You can't hope to conceal that from me, Miss Ishizu Ishtar-

Though he supposed he ought to be the one hiding. Running. Calling for backup.

A chill shuddering down his spine as he remembered her aggrieved confession. As he so often did. When he opened his eyes in the morning. When he stared off into space, eyes glassing over. More and more these days at inopportune moments.

When he attempted to close his eyes at night. Seize a few hours of painful, restless sleep.

She was going to kill me. She would have done it.

Perhaps she still will-if I were to ever venture into that embrace again. She might.

A wildcard. A bolt of lightning. A storm disguised as a woman.

And he was caught in the twister.

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets to hide the way his hands were beginning to tremble almost violently. Biting his lip to swallow back something like damned tears in his eyes as he continued to stare at her. Everything else gone a blur. She the only thing in focus.

Of course.

Of course I had to still feel this way-

-even after everything.

I am the worst sort of fool.

And then he nearly choked on his own breath as, with one of her usual, gentle gestures, she picked up her dish, poked dully at the cream-covered scone, and-

-like a ripple on the surface of a lake-

-turned her head slowly to face him. Her blue-green eyes impossibly wide for the briefest of moments. Those perfect lips falling open, then white teeth emerging from that lovely mouth to bite the lower lip with barely-contained alarm. Fright.

Surprise, even…?

She is the one who invited me…

Marik and Odion quickly followed Ishizu's gaze, Marik barely choking down a small cry of shock as he saw him, while Odion merely narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

What in Ra's name is Seto Kaiba doing here?

As if hearing their unspoken question, Ishizu murmured, her voice almost broken, "I invited him. It-it was me-"

At this, Odion nearly wanted to reach out and shake some sense into his older sister. The woman who, throughout his long-reaching memory, had always been in such control of things, be it the behavior of her younger brothers in that motherly way.

Control of her own temper to the point where it was unclear if she had such a thing.

"Did you ever wonder why I offered to go with Seto Kaiba in your place?"

"I went with him because I was going to kill him."

Control of her own desires-

His own cold, callous, dismissive words. "She obviously thinks she's in love with him. It's called Stockholm Syndrome."

Her reflexive denial. "I am not in love with Seto Kaiba, Odion-I-I just-"

Her behavior at the police station-

-what Marik had seen before Odion himself had given it much of a true stab at a thought-

"You were right when Ishizu came back to get her things, Brother-well, not quite."

-it was all too clear.

It was a desperate, sick love. Drenched with blood. Portending nothing fruitful, nothing healthy. Only bad things. Suffering on both sides and in equal measure. Hanging over both their head's like the executioner's axe. Rusted.

"Ishizu…" Marik managed to sigh under his breath, his voice cracked and steeped in sadness. Pity. For this strange thing that had taken ahold of his sister and refused to let her go. Him. This.

There's no way this ends well-

-Sister-

Ishizu smiled crookedly, apologetically at them. "I didn't think he would actually come…"

Indeed.

Bowing her head to her brothers, she carefully laid the plate back down on the buffet table and turned on her heel, feeling her chest constrict, her cheeks warming incessantly as she approached the tall brunet in the gray suit.

He'd been watching her for what felt like hours, but really only could have been a minute or so.

She felt it. As if she were prenaturally attuned to being both caressed and dissected by those eyes.

Just as she'd felt it every morning in the Manor when they'd eaten breakfast. When she'd played her game. Ensnared him bit by bit until he was putty. Malleable. Controllable. Just as she'd controlled everything.

Everything, it seemed, but one crucial part. The keystone. The crux. The wedge.

As she saw the familiar smirk alight on his features, she couldn't help but soften slightly. A hitch in her breath as she remembered in the most base and visceral way what that smirk had once indicated. What it had meant. For him to look like that. Eyes gleaming with evident delight. A sort of strange playfulness.

He was almost too handsome to be truly here. Too delicious. So often he had made her forget herself. In ways both subtle and overt.

It would have been so much easier if it were merely lust for his body.

Seto Kaiba.

Kidnapper. Puzzle. Companion. Lover.

Victim.

Above all.

That's all he had ever been. Until he'd somehow become more. Somehow.

Somehow he'd made her forgive. Forgive the unforgivable. Forgive and cling to, reckless and freely. Like he was all that had she'd ever needed in this way. Would need. Unforeseeably. Stretching into the horizon.

We could have been happy.

If only I hadn't said anything-

"Seto Kaiba." Her voice contained a hint of a smile, her eyes reserved and polite as she extended her hand to his. Formally. Businesslike. Speaking a language he would surely understand.

Up close, he could see she'd lost weight. Unhealthily so. Her shoulders beneath the fabric of her blouse looking rather bony. Her cheeks hollow, eyes larger in that incandescent face than in the face he saw each time he closed his eyes.

I'm sure she just forgot to eat-

-being a graduate student and everything-

-I'm sure she must have been nearly as busy as I-

It didn't mean that he had to like it.

A lump rising, painfully throbbing, in his throat as he clasped her now-delicate hand in his, shaking a few good times, feeling his skin recoil and shiver into gooseflesh as he felt that familiar callused palm with his. Dropping her hand as soon as it was polite.

Up close, she could see he hadn't been sleeping. Even for him. Eyes clouded. They'd taken on a haunted look since she'd last laid eyes on him. None of that spark. That wry warmth she'd grown accustomed to in just a short series of weeks. The smirk on his face looking more and more patently false as she studied him. Beneath the soft skin of his eyes, dark circles lingered like impressions painted into his skin.

She supposed those had become a permanent fixture. Her heart sinking before she could even register why.

He's-

-he's no better off than when he sent me away-

-Seto Kaiba-

His palm, so soft and wealthy, slipped out of hers, those elegant hands returning to his trouser pockets as their eyes met once more.

"Miss Ishtar." Delivered on a breath hoarser than he'd like. His skin feeling both too loose for his bones and yet too tight to contain him, stuffed to the brim with something bubbling and toxic.

Ishizu bowed her head in greeting, folding her hands in front of her demurely. "I-I must say, Seto Kaiba, I didn't expect you to come."

Why are you here…?

Seto tried for something dry and clever. Like himself. Not like the shell. "Well, Miss Ishtar, you did invite me... " Delivered with something approximating a slight chuckle. Almost coming out like a cough.

Ishizu pressed her lips together for a moment, lowering her gaze to the floor to stare intently at her shoes. Her voice a cracked murmur. "Well, forgive me if I didn't exactly see it coming… It's just rather unexpected, seeing as how-well-" she paused, sensing Seto shift position, his weight moving to the other leg, not daring to look back up at him.

-how things ended.

"You will gather your things and leave. When you are ready, Roland will be waiting for you outside with the car to take you back to your home."

His last words to her. Impenetrably cold. Subconscious anguish buried in each note of his voice. Six feet below and sinking. Threatening to spill over like so many bubbling, heated tears.

"As you wish, Seto Kaiba."

And she'd done nothing. She could have begged. Could have pleaded. Attempted to convince him why she'd told him in the first place. After all, she'd had no need to tell him anything.

Why couldn't he understand that much-

-that that's why I told him-

-no agenda-

If Ishizu had expected to be unaffected by his presence before her, there in the Courtauld lecture hall, she was sorely mistaken. Even from thousands of miles away, merely writing his name on the slip of paper, then waiting as her dinosaur of a computer found the appropriate address for her to send it off to-he'd been there. At the forefront of her mind. The crisp piece of paper folded so neatly in the envelope, Ishizu just barely avoiding a papercut as she sealed it off.

Dropped the two envelopes in the mailbox on the gray sidewalk outside the flat. Heard them fall with a tinny sound.

And then it was done. Out of her hands. Up to him to decide.

Clearly he had.

But why.

Who knows why I even did it-

-after all, I have Marik and Odion here to celebrate my good fortune-

As if the research for her thesis hadn't wracked her through each day as she stuffed her laptop in her backpack and tunnelled over to the Courtauld's library.

The curious look on her thesis advisor's face as she'd suggested the topic. The older woman removing her wire-rimmed glasses to wipe them on her scarf as she'd considered it.

"Well, Ishizu, I must say, it's a fairly different direction from the course-load you took last term…"

Ishizu had paused then, wondering how much to divulge. How much to explain this sweeping investigatory idea. The bounds of propriety.

"Well, Professor-a lot of things have changed since last term."

The hours upon hours of research, often working until the break of dawn, switching on the lamp in her carrel as the hours ticked towards evening, then taking a break to stretch as dawn broke through the windows, her yawn echoing off the barrel-vaulted ceiling like a ghostly shout. Breathing in the parchment-leeched air, the scent of old books like a comforting friend.

The research had been fascinating, surely enough. For civilizations both ancient and modern, games and recreation had proven to be common enough subjects in the visual arts. Dice games, tile games, card games. Some of the more esoteric ones reminding her, a slight pang accompanying the realization, of the intense strategical decisions accompanying that game she'd played. Sitting across from him. Duel Monsters. Pegasus' creation.

To be fair, it would not have been inaccurate to say that learning to play Duel Monsters was not a fair amount of the catalyst for this choice of topic. However unorthodox.

Sitting across from him then. Feeling him watch her intently, his long eyelashes trembling as his eyes swept over her form. Both out of desire and curiosity. A triumphant smile bubbling behind her lips as she'd played an unexpected hand.

Standing across from him now. Feeling him straining to look away.

It was too much. It was not enough. Like an ice-cold pinch on the flesh of her forearm. This distance between them impossibly cavernous and treacherous. Only a few feet. A few months. A few words. Of things unsaid and said. Wept. Begged.

-I-

-it's no good.

Seeing him again like this-

-nothing's changed.

Seto bit his lip nervously as he looked down at her, at her bowed head and shining hair falling all about her shoulders and upper arms, unsure of what exactly to say next. His heart like some roiling thing in his chest. His throat. Stomach.

He clenched his fists in his pockets reflexively as she took an unusually sharp breath. As if she were about to say something.

It was a fluke. A false alarm, the soft rise and fall of her shoulders meaning nothing.

Silence floating between them. Thick and cloudlike. Dense.

He couldn't see the way her features had arranged themselves. How those eyes looked, once so clever and sparkling. No tiny, cheeky smile tugging at her lips, cheeks pink with delight.

It bothered him.

He dug his fingernails into his palms abruptly, banishing the ephemeral memory with a needed flash of pain.

It was this. Seeing her again. In the flesh. Solid and there. Not like a dream. Too perfectly real to be a dream. The frayed threads along the seams of her shirt too detailed, too imperfect to be the conjuring of his own mind.

The way her fingernails had been bitten to the quick.

Too much for a dream. Too much for a nightmare. It just… was. Had to be.

After all, he was there as well. Standing in a lecture hall at the Courtauld Institute of Art, not even pretending to give a damn about mingling or enjoying himself in some small, useless way before Ishizu was to speak.

He'd flown all this way…

… for what?

To torture himself this way-to allow this sudden proximity to her after so long, this intimacy of location if no longer of true closeness to acidly claw at him from within? For closure-to prove he no longer missed her, achingly and desperately so?

Why did I even come…?

There hadn't been a question. His heart lifting oh-so-briefly in that intangible moment when he'd seen the envelope, daubed all through with strokes of anger and suspicion and fear. Feeling something for the first time since she'd left. Something other than needless longing. Pining.

He'd had to go.

Because even if she had lied the whole time-

-lied about the kind of person she was-

-lied about somehow having tripped into the inexorable stupidity of falling in love with him-

-yet telling him so freely and openly-

-the invitation had to mean something.

Whether a cruel taunt from something cruel and vicious hiding behind that lovely face, or-

-something else-

He didn't dare to think it. Felt it coiling about his ankles like toxic smoke. Spitting. Demanding notice.

I just wish I could tell when she-

-was lying.

"Yes, well, you certainly had me fooled. Rather frightening of you, isn't it? To be able to be such a chameleon-a different Ishizu for all seasons, for all possible situations. Each perfectly calibrated."

When the emotions that seemed to be rattling through her as they did now were genuine.

Whether they ever were that way.

The way she'd played with him. Captured him in those sure, dextrous hands. Rendered his judgement null and void. Dressing and undressing to tease him. Consciously. That switching from frightened to warm and back again. Between coolness and blazing heat, scorching him through, seemingly without her even noticing.

The ultimate fantasy. Designed to lure him in on her hooks, he letting her pull him ever closer without a struggle. To do it well and quickly.

But that, too, was a lie.

No woman is like that.

No one woman is truly all those things-

"You had me locked up in this house. In a single room for much of my time here. Using me for your own benefit-parading me around as your new lover because you couldn't find an actual willing partner-"

"Besides, Seto Kaiba-who are you to be so high-and-mighty-you're the one who designs and sells weapons for a living-you've likely killed more people than you can count-"

That violent flash of fury, threatening to blister his skin with its intensity. Righteous in its intent, despite the ridiculousness of the idea of her staking such a claim.

That must have been a facet of the real Ishizu Ishtar.

"Well, I must thank you for being so forthright with me, Miss Ishtar. It feels like I'm talking to an entirely new woman."

Relentless. Unforgiving. A bit of a temper, to put it lightly.

Not such unfamiliar qualities, if he were to be entirely honest.

He couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay, untouched and unraveling, beneath that impeccable exterior.

It's rather late to be asking that question-

-to be curious about Ishizu Ishtar-

-these are the things one should rightfully find out before-

-well-

He finally found words. Stabbed them into his mouth. Let them loose.

"Ah, well. Mokuba's always been telling me I need to take a vacation. London's not bad this time of year-and, well, I couldn't help but be intrigued by your choice of topic, Miss Ishtar."

From their perch by the buffet table, Odion and Marik could not help but gawk at this strange interaction taking place only a few yards away. The shock of seeing Seto Kaiba, of all people, at Ishizu's thesis talk was one thing, especially given the way things had been left to wither between them-

-and to think Ishizu had invited the bastard-

Marik took another bite out of a cream-covered scone, the pastry tasting inexorably dull and mealy as he chewed and swallowed, looking from the scene across the room to Odion and back again. His older brother's face was impenetrable. Stony. Forbidding.

A slight hiccup in Marik's voice as he mumbled around a mouthful of food. "You don't think-"

-she invited him here to finish what she started-

Odion shook his head quickly, catching Marik's meaning. "I do not, Brother. She's too far gone for that sort of thing to be a concern to her."

She's too in love with him-

-now, the better is question is why would Seto Kaiba even accept the invitation?

He's the one that sent her away-with good reason, mind-

-what could have possessed him to accept the invitation-

-unless-

The thought was thoroughly unpleasant and sour in his mouth. Despite the fact that it was ultimately wanted. Desired by Ishizu. What she couldn't have dared to hope for. Even after all this time.

He's still in love with her.

Marik wiped a bit of clotted cream from his upper lip. "Odion-what are we going to do-I mean, he made her leave, which, y'know, did make sense, after all-but if-if he's here now-"

-if only because Ishizu invited him-

It was that simple-

Odion shrugged then, crossing his arms in front of his chest and continuing to stare at Ishizu and Seto where they stood.

"This is going to be-pardon my language-a shitshow."

And those two idiots have no idea-

Ishizu couldn't help but blush a bit then, lifting her eyes to meet his tentatively, the words feeling fuzzy in her mouth. "Ah, well-ever since I learned how to play Duel Monsters-you might say I've taken an interest in the topic-"

Seto let out a hiss of a breath as she looked at him. Carefully. And he looked back. Trying to keep his features neutral and perfectly controlled.

"Glad I could serve as a source of inspiration for your work, Miss Ishtar."

Something twitched at the corner of his lips.

The way he said her name-

-formal and detached. Dully. Nothing like the way he'd sighed her given name once upon a time. Murmured it. Laughed it from his lips, from his throat, from his chest, a full belly laugh. As if he could never say it enough. As if saying it over and over again like a melody were the proof.

The proof that she had been real. There with him, if only for the shortest of possible breaths. Like a gap in time, a pocket where they'd made a home together. In his bed. In the lake. On the boat, their bodies tangled together in a heap as the starlight glowed down on them, the tiny diamonds reflecting in their sweat-slicked skin.

She supposed the formal use of her name was meant to prevent all that. As if he could pretend it had never happened.

As if he'd never been in love with her at all.

From somewhere in a corner of the lecture hall, a bell chimed quietly but firmly. Indicating that it was perhaps time to stop mingling and start winding down. Already men in black trousers and shirts were folding up and rolling away the round tables, while still others carried folding chairs, setting them up before the podium and lecture in neat rows.

Ishizu watched them move, her eyes growing wide with a sudden resurgence of trepidation, of nervousness, her lecture notes somehow weighing down the purse draped on her shoulder. Her lips parting as her mouth fell open, then, remembering herself, she pressed them back together again, her mouth an impossibly tight line.

As Seto watched, enthralled with her face and its every exquisite micromovement, Ishizu closed her eyes briefly and took a deep, shuddering breath. It's time.

A delicate smile spread on her face as she opened her eyes and looked up at him, almost apologetically. "I-I have to go give my lecture now. Um-"

Perhaps he'll enjoy it? Somehow?

Seto bit back something like a reflexive grin at just how damned adorable she looked then. "I'll leave you to it, Miss Ishtar."

It's no good.

She's too dangerous-

-and yet-

Ishizu bowed her head and, clutching her purse, turned on her heel and walked towards the podium, where she was greeted by the embraces and good-luck wishes of her classmates and the firm but proud nods of her professors.

"Thank you, friends, colleagues, and guests, for joining us today." The old man at the lectern with the extraordinarily white beard-the president of the Institute and a scholar of French Romanticism-greeted the audience colloquially, his voice grandfatherly and lilting. As he stood under the rounded arch, nodding and smiling, some of the men in black uniforms walked up on to the podium behind him, carefully carrying a large white screen onto which the appropriate images were to be projected during the talks.

"The Courtauld Institute is proud to present our most recent class of students receiving the Master's degree."

As some cruel god laughing above somewhere would have it, Ishizu was to speak first, as she was the only one presenting on ancient art in some way, shape, or form-the rest of her classmates had taken narrower, if perhaps deeper, foci, all later along the timeline of history.

"We will first hear the thesis lecture of Miss Ishizu Ishtar, who will be presenting her research on game-playing and recreational hobbies as depicted in painting. Thank you."

Her eyes slowly prickled with tears that she blinked away, twisted, breathless, and feeling utterly and unpleasantly weightless as she retrieved her notes, handed off her purse, lifted her skirt, and climbed up the few steps to the podium. Managed to glide the several feet to the middle of the platform. Gripping the lectern perhaps a mite too tightly for the gesture to go wholly unnoticed.

The audience, having taken their seats, all stared up back at her. In the front row she saw her brothers, supportive as always. Warming her heart for a short, sweet moment.

And in the back row-

-like a specter-

-watching her intently, as if she were the only person in the room-

She cleared her throat and laid out her notes before her, lifting the remote on the lectern and pressing the appropriate button. Squinted awkwardly as she accidentally looked into the blinding purple-white light of the projector apparatus standing in the middle of the two rows, holding onto the the lectern to steady herself from swaying.

Here goes nothing, I suppose-

"Thank you for joining me today."

---

Ishizu gnawed on her lip, hoping that none of her classmates or professors-let alone the people in the audience, currently watching the last student speak-would notice how she shifted her weight from side to side, waiting for the whole blasted process to end already. The speaker's voice a dull drone in her ears, buzzing about uselessly as she attempted to keep her feet from falling asleep. Endless pins and needles.

Her eyes darting about the room, both looking and trying not to look. Focusing on anyone else but on the man in the last row. His legs crossed, his arms folded across his chest, gaze intently focused on the young woman on the stage, who was delivering her talk about something-or-other related to the American Revolution. Gilbert Stuart's portraits of the American president George Washington or somesuch thing. Not particularly interesting or enthralling, although, Ishizu reasoned, who am I to judge something like this? It's not as if my talk could have been all that engrossing-

Yet unlike her brothers, Ishizu noted as she flicked her eyes down to the front row, where Marik was currently yawning, struggling to keep his eyes open, and Odion was glaring off into space, Seto was watching with a true sense of what seemed like-

-curiosity. Something twitching about his lips, his glassy eyes seeming to have a bit of life in them. Nodding along with the more active audience members, something like a tiny, flippant smile gracing his lips every time one of the speakers made some sort of corny art-related joke.

Could it be-

-he's not utterly bored by all this?

Either that, or he's a better liar than I'd thought…

Despite herself-

-despite everything-

-something like a nascent warmth began to spread into one of the cold places in her chest.

---

"Well, Marik, Odion, it was wonderful to catch up with you-I'm so glad you could make it-"

Dining with Seto Kaiba by himself would have been one thing in and of itself. Utterly nerve-wracking to be so close to him once more, within his breathing space, their knees knocking against one another beneath some small café table.

Close enough to pull him in for a kiss.

If only.

Dining not only with Seto Kaiba, but also with her brothers, however, had been another thing entirely. The three men seated around a square table at a nearby restaurant, their postures equally tense and guarded; Ishizu trying to breathe deeply despite the suffocating tension in the room. At the table.

Seto studying the menu firmly, his eyes not leaving the laminated piece of paper. Marik and Odion having not touched their menus, instead having chosen to merely glare at him.

Why did she invite the bastard to eat with us?

Ishizu had sighed quietly, taking a sip of ice water and licking her lips, pretending to study the dinner specials. Regretting already the errant words that had spilled from her lips. The idiotic lightheadedness that had made her think that inviting Seto to dine with her and her brothers was in any way a decent idea.

Why did I invite him to eat with us?

She must have had a spell of madness then. Or something.

Seto had looked rather caught off-guard, for his part. A strange mixture of emotions swimming across those patrician features as he'd considered the invitation. Not wanting to appear as malleable as he somehow seemed to be in those hands, he'd clicked his tongue several times, giving the indication of deep thought.

Then he'd bristled, then appeared to relax for the briefest of moments, his voice resigned as he'd accepted.

And so there they'd been, seated around a table in some darkened room, Marik and Odion pretending not to acknowledge Seto's existence, directing all of their questions and attentions to Ishizu, making useless chatter. Not daring to discuss anything of importance. Not giving Seto Kaiba the satisfaction of knowing the Ishtar Antiquities Company was suffering. Repeating useless conversations they'd had earlier, faking a sense of cheeriness neither felt at the time.

Ishizu had merely pasted on something like a smile and engaged with her brothers' extraneous chatter, occasionally shooting Seto looks of what could very well have been apology at this. For her idiotic idea for which everyone at the table seemed to be paying.

They'd ordered, their food had arrived, and they'd eaten, Seto looking sour-if not at the food, then at the damned situation, where half of the table was perfectly happy to beat him to a pulp and Ishizu-

-well.

Why the hell did she invite me to eat with her and her brothers?

"Anyway…" Ishizu trailed off as her brothers continued to glare at Seto Kaiba, not taking notice of her words.

"Ahem."

They shifted towards her, Marik's braid flying around his shoulders as he turned his wide lavender gaze on his sister.

How to do this-

Ishizu cleared her throat and folded her hands on the table, interlacing her fingers as she looked at her brothers. Then at Seto. Meaningfully. The sudden spark in her eyes making him dry-mouthed.

"Now, if the two of you would excuse us, I'm sure Seto and I have some catching-up to do." Calm. Placid. Firm. Determined.

What the hell-?

Seto looked nearly as taken aback as her brothers did, quickly hiding the fact that his mouth had fallen open, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, while Odion pressed his lips together into a firm line, Marik nearly rising from his seat with frustration.

"Ishizu-what are you-"

Sister-why must you do this to yourself-

-this man-

Odion swallowed hard, trying to stop a growl from crawling into his voice and settling there, turning everything dark and rough. "Ishizu-do you really think that's a good idea?"

I mean-

-for you to tempt yourself-

Ishizu closed her eyes in annoyance, feeling a headache coming on, and lifted one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. My gods… don't make this harder than this needs to be.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed Seto was watching her with a rather curious look. Almost entertained at this familial infighting. Wondering, perhaps, if she'd be able to work whatever sorcery she'd managed at the police station. To get her brothers to drop those ridiculous charges against him. She clearly had them wrapped around her little finger in that way-

I wonder how much of the real Ishizu her brothers know.

I wonder if they know-

-about their beloved elder sister's rather murderous tendencies. About that thundering, crackling rage that had shocked him in its unadulterated purity. Its intensity.

How much she had hated him…

Ishizu glared at her brothers, sitting up straight and attempting to look down her nose at them. Not changing her mind on the subject. Immovable.

I need to talk with him-

-to try and set things right-

She shifted her gaze downwards, bending over and reaching for her battered old purse. Her tone falsely motherly. Almost condescending in its gentleness. Its softness. "I'll give you both cab fare to your hotel. Now, if you'll please let me go about my business…"

A single knife-like look from her, direct and unmodulated, managed to silence the Ishtar brothers.

End of discussion.

---

"So."

His voice was quiet and soft. Almost drowned out by the sound of rain pattering on the gray pavement.

She didn't dare look up at him. Kept her eyes straight ahead of her, her hands coming to fold behind her back. It was enough to feel the warmth of his body beside her, their footsteps creating a syncopated counter-rhythm to the brisk feel of the rain. Accumulating on their skins and clothes oh-so-slowly. Rendering crispness into something more and more approximating rags in her case.

So aware of his gentle, almost patient gaze on her body. Something she'd grown so accustomed to. Expected at this point. Him looking at her.

Even when he shouldn't have had any reason to want to do so.

Even though he should never have come to see me in the first place.

Her heart in her throat. Chest constricting in anguish as she realized the truth of it.

She never should have sent that invitation. Let him move on. Let him forget Let the twisted memories of her grow distant. Like a mere outline in some far, buried corner of his mind.

Let him forget that he had once felt a certain way towards her.

"I love you, Ishizu Ishtar."

She didn't care if he hated her now.

Perhaps it would be better that way. If he could hold her in his heart in that way. Not some other way that had her mired in confusion. Eyes welling up with beadings of tears, her heart crushing and crumpling in on itself, rendering her hollow and weak.

Why did I invite him?

Why did he accept?

A memory tugging at her mind.

"Why do you want me to stay with you every night, Miss Ishtar?"

His voice suspicious. Curt. Demanding the truth.

She couldn't have given it even then. Not the whole truth. A deflection.

"I-I don't know, Seto-why do you always say yes?"

I'm selfish.

I wanted-

-I wanted.

She was suddenly made even more aware of it, her breath then coming out slightly thick and heavy as she felt him looking again. His eyes sliding along the edge of her cheekbone. Combing like expert fingers through her hair. Studying every small detail. Burning into his eyes with beautiful agony so that he would never forget this moment of being beside her again. This moment where he was close enough to touch her once again.

This moment of something like meeting one another.

For the first time.

"So."

An impasse.

He didn't dare try to stop walking. To create a situation where he'd have to be punished and taken aback by those eyes again. That exquisite flower of a face of hers. Turning towards him with confusion. Better to keep walking, making his steps slightly shorter so as to allow her to keep up as they turned the corner and began to make their way, he supposed, towards the general direction of her apartment. It was getting late, after all. The sunset a blooming red sketched over with blackened rooftops, tiny plumes of smoke rising, only adding to the brilliance of the color. Only natural that she should want to go home-

He wasn't going to take it as an invitation to come along with her. Into her home. He wasn't that foolish. Despite everything.

It wasn't some flickering hope on the horizon. Never had been.

He'd get a cab or something. Call Roland and have the driver rush through the heaven and hell of the crooked London streets to pick him up wherever.

Reliable. Consistent. Like footsteps moving steadily forward and onward.

Things Seto Kaiba had once clung to as some measure of reality.

Why did I even come?

Why did she even invite me?

This strange woman-

She wished in that moment she'd thought to bring a jacket or coat of something of that nature. If only to shield her from what was becoming a most unpleasant fall of rain. Her blouse almost embarrassingly wet and sheering, droplet by droplet.

He only wished in that moment he'd brought an umbrella. Despite the strangeness of how it would look. To have her beside him even closer, her forehead coming up to his chin as they huddled together like some nonsense couple in a romance novel. In a fairytale.

She spoke again, a slight catch in her voice as a drop of rain snaked down the side of her face and landed on her collar.

"I suppose I'd better apologize first."

An imitation of a laugh coloring her tone.

A shiver suddenly rippled through her, loosely enough for Seto to notice. His eyes widening as he saw how cold and uncomfortable she must be now that the rain was showing no signs of abating.

I'm such an idiot.

Looking down, she saw him stop. His expensive shoes pause on the pavement. Remove his fine wool suit jacket in a carelessly graceful gesture and proffer it to her, eyes round with worry.

"Oh, Seto, please, you don't have to-" Yet as if it had a mind of its own, her hand reached out for the coat and grabbed hold of it. Feeling the softness of the silk lining beneath the pads of her fingers. The warmth and comfort it promised.

Still she stood holding the jacket, unable to move in that moment. As if considering the merits of something so close. Of being able to smell his scent. Wrapped around her like the idea of an embrace.

I shouldn't-

Seto couldn't help but narrow his eyes with annoyance, his voice coming out harsher and more cutting than he meant it. "Ishizu, just please, put on the damned coat already-"

He froze as the once-familiar name slipped past his lips. Pressed them together as if to call it back. As if her name alone didn't render him incapable of clear thought. Only stupid, tender nonsense and everything she'd grown to mean.

I'm not going to have her die of pneumonia, at the very least-

Ishizu flicked her eyes up to meet his guardedly as she pulled the coat around her obediently. The shoulders strangely almost filling out the material, though the sleeves were rather too long. Her gaze never leaving his, even as a mass of rose smeared across the pale skin of his cheeks. A different kind of show.

He's so thin-

She was immediately glad for the coat, and allowed herself one sigh of pleasure as warmth poured into her bones. A contented smile dancing about her lips.

Seto simply staring, transfixed at the sight before him. Not caring in the least that the rain would surely ruin his considerably expensive shirt. Hand-woven. Hand-sewn.

It didn't matter.

She was so beautiful. Even with the rain soaking through her hair, clumps of inky black clinging to that neck as she attempted to push it over her shoulders to fall down her back. Even as bedraggled as she was now.

Radiant. Like she was imbued with starlight.

Have her eyelashes always been this long?

They seemed to be catching the lion's share of the rain beating down on her face. Her lips, still smiling slightly, so soft-

With the patience of a saint he waited for her to button the coat before looking at her further. Didn't dare look down. Tempt himself with remembering everything about her. Even the baser parts.

He very nearly wanted to cry. To lose control of his tightly-wound temper and scream at her. As he'd wanted to before. That night. His response somehow cool and controlled as the chill of the truth of her words had anchored his heart somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

He raked a hand through his hair almost violently, sending a wave of rainwater down onto his shoulders, soaking the shirt clean through. His mouth a bitter slash across the lower half of his face. Tearing his eyes away to look somewhere else. Anywhere else but her.

"Ishizu-"

Plaintive. A prayer. Ragged.

Broken.

The thought brushing him like bird's wings:

This hurts too much-

Ishizu's eyes widened, her mouth falling open as she reached out a hand towards him reflexively, only taking it back at the last possible moment. After her fingertips had brushed his sleeve, making him almost hiss with alarm.

"Seto-"

"Why did you invite me, Ishizu?" His voice was tight and cold, slightly wobbly as he pronounced her name for the second him in what might well have been eons.

Ishizu looked down sharply, clenching her hands into fists for the briefest of moments as she found her voice, strangled with an attempt at lightness.

"Why did you accept?"

His voice was almost a sneer. "Don't give me that, Ishizu Ishtar. Why did you invite me, after so long? To taunt me? To laugh at me with how well you were doing-are doing-that I'd never crossed your mind the way you've haunted me since-"

Since-

Then quieter. Lower. A sour taste in his mouth. "-or did you want to finish the job? What you meant to accomplish when you took your brother's place?"

Haunted? Me?

There's no way that could be true-

Ishizu bit her lip in frustration, willing herself to remain calm even as the warmth and blasted scent of the coat threatened to render her coolness soft and ineffectual.

Two can play at this game, Seto Kaiba-

"What I told you the night you sent me away was the truth, Seto Kaiba-I told you because I loved you-because I wanted to be honest with you-because being with you, for however short a time, made me so happy-" She clenched her hands into fists again, her hands swallowed by the too-long sleeves of Seto's jacket. Hiding the way they shook. The way her voice shook as she continued.

"Besides, it's not as if you have any high moral ground to stand on, Seto Kaiba-my brother made a mistake-and I'm sorry if one mistake on something so trivial means that you write people off so quickly and demand that they be punished, that they suffer-"

What kind of person can live like that?

"This is why you're alone, Seto-in that big house, with only your servants and your brother to help you hide the blasted fact that you have nothing-because you won't forgive like a human being-you won't let anyone in-"

Seto bristled, his hair having since gone completely flat from the rain. "Oh, I'm the one who's inhuman now, Ishizu? I tell you that you've been on my mind like some fucking ghost ever since you left-never giving me peace, never, never, never-you, the one who planned to kill me-the one who meant to mock me with that invitation to your damned thesis talk-"

Even the title of her thesis talk-a cruel way of laughing at me once again-

"And for the record, Ishizu Ishtar, I did let someone in once. A completely stupid and foolish thing for me to do, given our relative positions-but I did. I dared. I managed to do something like a human and let myself believe I was in love. And look where that's gotten us, Ishizu-"

He paused and took a series of short, shallow breaths, the rainfall echoing around them. The sky having gone through to an infinite blue-black. The sound of distant thunder from miles away.

Ishizu gritted her teeth. "And I told you, Seto-I was in love with you-I felt the same way as you, despite everything, despite the fact that you took me from my home and threatened my family-despite everything-I felt the same way as you-"

I did-

I-

The use of the past tense curled unpleasantly off her tongue like toxic smoke.

Seto swallowed hard, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to protect something. "And as I said, Ishizu-how in the hell am I supposed to believe that? That I didn't waste something I apparently don't have the capacity to give on someone who lied to me, day in and day out-not only about why you took your brother's place, but about everything you are-"

Ishizu bit back a cry, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold herself together once more. Desperately. As if she would be rent apart down the middle.

Her voice was somehow calmer than she thought herself capable of. "Seto-if I didn't love you-why would I have told you-I-I didn't have to say anything, because the plans had changed, Seto-"

-I never should have said anything.

-no-

-I never should have looked at him that way. Tried to play with him that way-

-who could have expected that I'd-

Seto sighed weakly, shaking his head softly back and forth. Giving physicality to the pained struggle warring within his chest. Looking as openly miserable as she'd ever seen him, the purple-blue circles under his eyes dramatically pronounced. So tired. Of everything. His face sickly and gaunt, cheekbones seemingly carved out of marble. All drenched with rain.

"So I was-I am-supposed to take it on faith that you do feel the same way-that you don't still want to-"

Faith is for the frail. The superstitious. Not for the ones who value logic and reason and facts-the ones who survive in this world-

Ishizu looked up at him, her eyes blazingly bright even as her voice was soft.

"Seto-"

Her hand reaching out touch him once more, then pausing and closing into a fist, which she brought to her mouth, biting at her thumbnail nervously. To the quick.

That's it, then, isn't it-

"I suppose you'd have to trust me, wouldn't you…"

Seto closed his eyes, his legs threatening to collapse beneath him. His tone utterly exhausted. The weight of it all dragging him ever downwards. Curling. Crumbling. The end of his sanity. Judgment.

"Ishizu-I don't even know you. I don't know how I can be expected to trust-"

He stopped. Opened his eyes. Took in the woman standing before him. The coat he'd insisted she borrow completely soaked through, gone through nearly to charcoal. Useless wool under a raincloud that was still streaming down.

Her hand trembling. Still balled up into a fist before her mouth. Eyes looking right back up at him, half-lidded and-

-the look on her face-

-he'd never seen her look that way before. Even when she'd been crying in his bedroom, her truth escaping from her in gusts and sputters, her eyes swollen with hot tears. Like she was frantic. From having revealed too much of from the very prospect of destroying this. What had been there. Moments earlier.

And never again.

She looked… resigned.

As if she'd given up the fight. As if her strange efforts at trying to revive something that had perhaps already passed on had drained her completely.

Ishizu felt her eyes grow glassy as she looked up at him. Minding racing. Edges becoming dull with effort. At keeping composure. Keeping herself together.

It's too hard.

It's too hard.

Love is utterly useless if this is what it's meant to-

She cast her gaze downwards, to where her skirt was ankle-deep in a puddle. Allowed the steady rain to soak her through. Until she could feel it in her bones. Becoming. Melting. Disappearing. Ishizu no more. Some wet and miserable thing in her place, standing dumbly before him.

"You're right."

The words escaped her before she could think them through.

"You should go, Seto Kaiba. I'm sorry to have invited you-to have you come all this way for nothing."

I wanted to see you again.

That was it.

I wanted to see you so much-

-that I didn't care about whether you needed to see me.

The wanting is one thing.

But I'm not what you need right now.

Seto watched her gnaw on her thumbnail almost viciously, her other hand still wrapped around her middle. Her eyes cast downwards. Her tone neutral. Perfectly even, as if she weren't completely disheveled and undoubtedly uncomfortable.

That perfect control over her moods he'd noticed and even faulted her for-

-she's not serious. She's going to be a damned martyr for this if I let her-

"There aren't many cabs in this area-if you walk a few blocks you'll be in luck-or maybe you can call Roland, I don't know if you had him come with you-"

I have to know.

What does it matter why she invited me-

-I know why I came here.

Fool that I may be-

Fool that I am-

-for this. For everything.

She nearly screamed with shock, her skin coming strangely alive as she felt his hand, unsteady but so warm, reach out and cover her own. The fist whose thumb she'd been biting bloody, the skin around all red and threatening to bleed.

"Ishizu-"

Seto's eyes were cautious but bright as he gently uncurled her fist, the pad of his thumb drawing a smooth circle on her palm as he lifted her fingertips to his lips.

"I don't think we've properly met."

What is he-

That flutter. As he brushed each fingertip against his mouth in succession.

Something she hadn't felt in ages.

Like the first time.

His eyes met hers almost challengingly as he lowered her hand in his, entwining their fingers together.

"I'm Seto Kaiba. The CEO of KaibaCorp. Rich and famous and all that nonsense. You might have heard of me."

That familiar wryness crawling back into his tone.

"It's not every day when an arms dealer is treated like a teenage heartthrob…"

"Well, Ishizu-it's not every day when an arms dealer looks like me."

I don't understand.

I don't understand anything.

Still awaiting an answer. Her answer.

The strange, heavy gravity of it all.

"I-I-" she began, suddenly rendered breathless by the look in his eyes. Startling. Breathtaking. Anticipatory.

She'd seen it only once before. On the boat.

When she'd told him.

"I think I might love you."

"What was that, Ishizu? I couldn't quite hear you..."

She chose her words carefully. Spread them out over her tongue richly. Not letting one go to waste.

"My name is Ishizu Ishtar. And-well-it's lovely to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you."

We're such a strange pair, aren't we-

"And I you." Playing along. This simple but serious game. His eyes searching hers carefully, his hand gripping her own tightly and firmly.

She allowed a beam to curve her lips upwards, nearly making Seto gasp aloud with how it made her look. Alive. Impossibly so.

As if it could really be so simple.

Like breathing.

Perfectly natural.

A nervous giggle dancing from her lips. "Well, Seto Kaiba, if we don't get out of this rain soon, it will be a rather short-lived acquaintanceship…"

---

As they squelched down the hallway to Ishizu's flat, leaving twin trails of water behind them, soaking into the carpet, her hand still in his securely, Ishizu suddenly stopped in her tracks, stopping in front of her door, her cheeks coloring that endearing brilliant red.

"Um-Seto-if you wouldn't mind waiting outside for a moment-my flat's not exactly-um-"

It's a blasted pigsty-of course I have to be bringing him home for him to see this-

Seto quirked his lips into a crooked grin. "Ishizu Ishtar-you do realize I've seen you in compromising enough ways that the state of your flat shouldn't exactly be something you're worried about-"

Ishizu gnawed at her lip, lowered her head sharply, and dug around in her purse for her keys. "Ah-but that's different--it's not like I'm embarrassed of that part-"

Seto raised an eyebrow, squeezing her hand gently. "Well, that's good to know, I suppose…"

How bad could it really be?

An abrupt shiver escaping Seto's lips halted Ishizu's bashful train of thought. Suddenly chilled to the very bone, his dress shirt sticking to him so fully she could nearly count his ribs-

Ishizu blanched, feeling him grip her hand in discomfort as he fairly shuddered. Turning to look up at him briefly, she could see that his lips and the circles beneath his eyes were the same shade of bruised blue.

Blast-he's going to have to see the mess-

"Ah-well-we'd better get you inside and warmed up, Seto-"

I can only pray he doesn't start laughing when he sees it-

The keys rattled in her hand as she began to unlock the front door, tugging at Seto's hand as she stepped across the threshold and flicked on the dying ceiling light.

"I'm s-sure it's not that b-bad, Ishizu-"

He trailed off as he took it all in, the flickering overhead light providing a rather eerie context to it all. The clothes on the counter. On the floor. The papers on the couch. The enormous, unwieldy laptop on the unmade bed. Dishes and silverware in the sink-thankfully clean, Ishizu thought uselessly as Seto scratched at his chin with his other hand, those keen eyes no doubt making all sorts of swift and final judgments. Unable to meet his gaze as she dropped his hand, venturing further into her flat and around a corner, scrambling for a clean towel for Seto to dry himself off with.

Ishizu Ishtar is messy.

Interesting.

Cheeks ablaze, eyes glassy with humiliation, Ishizu reappeared, holding a threadbare pastel pink towel out to him. "H-here, you can use this…" She swept her eyes over his thoroughly soaked form and paused while Seto gratefully reached out for the towel.

"Um-don't take this the wrong way, but you'll dry off faster if you take off your clothes…"

Seto let out a laugh then, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he rubbed the towel through his hair, looking down at her.

"Oh-? And how should I take that suggestion, Ishizu?" He raised an eyebrow as he began to dry off his face and neck, the useless towel already nearly sopping with rainwater.

Ishizu bit back a smile, looking up at him, licking her lips almost subconsciously, her voice full of implications. Letting them be there, unabashed and suggestively so. "Well-that's up to you, isn't it, Seto Kaiba?"

Ha.

And as he watched, she began to unbutton his coat and slid out of it gracefully, folding the garment and placing it on the kitchen counter, then gathering her hair into a bunch and twisting the ends, squeezing out the remaining water onto the carpeted floor.

The patience and morality of a saint was no longer required. Seto swept his gaze over her through half-lidded eyes, taking in how the dark skirt clung to those hips, then fixating on the white blouse, now gone completely sheer.

She's too much-good god-

"Nice bra." His voice full of mischief. A smirk embedded in those words.

Ishizu let go of her hair, cheeks reddening once more as she looked down at herself reflexively. At her own breasts, encased in white lace-and entirely visible to Seto's eyes through the ruined button-down. "Ah-thank you." Allowing her lips to curl into a smile, gazing right into Seto's darkening gaze, so full of want in this moment, she felt that flutter. Tremoring through her.

Impossible to deny.

She grinned at him then, moving her hands to the top button of her blouse.

"Would you like to see more?"

---

The bright sunlight peeked in through the window, illuminating the whole of the flat with a pale yellow gleam. Warmth pulsing through the glass. Incubating.

Ishizu felt Seto shift beside her in the twin bed, her body nestled against his, his body curved around hers almost protectively, his arm thrown across her body. His breathing, even and sure, tickling the back of her neck.

The thin sheets and blanket twisted about them. Rendered unnecessary through the mere warmth of their bodies. Connecting. Knowing. Falling apart together in a sweaty heap. Inflamed.

She didn't dare open her eyes.

Dispel the illusion. So real and sensory. Like she'd dreamt it. Like it was still a dream.

If I don't open my eyes, I don't have to wake up.

She could pretend. Pretend he was here somehow. With her. Like this.

That he'd forgiven her.

Was trying to trust her in some small way. With the most important thing. Little by little.

"Nn." She felt him press his lips against the back of her neck, scooting in ever closer, holding her tighter against him. His hand snaking around her middle, securing her rear against his hip, fingers brushing downwards ever-so-slightly. Gently. Perfectly.

A sharp gasp mingled with a throaty groan made that mouth on her neck break into a toothy grin. "Good morning, Ishizu."

Ishizu felt the blazing white-red heat behind her closed lids and attempted to roll over in the bed, her hair swinging out from behind her and hitting Seto in the face rather sharply, eliciting a slight chuckle, as she very nearly rolled atop him as she tried to switch positions. To face him. To see that face.

Like it was the first time.

One of his hands caught ahold of her hip and held it there, the long fingers digging into soft flesh. In place against him. Shiveringly. Leaving her no choice but to straddle him, settling onto him as lightly as she could manage as she opened her eyes to take him in. Below her, he shifted his body a few inches towards the window until he lay in the center of the bed. Nearly too short for his height; he bent his knees at a sharp angle behind her. His free hand stroking the inside of her thigh. Looking back up at her, his dark hair holding threads of copper and gold as the thick locks fell into those eyes.

"Your bed is entirely too small, Ishizu." Seto ran his pointer finger in lazy circles against the soft flesh, Ishizu huffing out a breath and leaning forward oh-so-slightly in response, her hair tumbling around her shoulders like a sleek curtain.

"It's not like I exactly planned on sharing it, Seto…" She smiled a Cheshire-cat-like smile and moved her hands to his chest, raking her nails through the soft hairs there, making Seto buck his hips slightly as her pinky nail found a sensitive spot entirely on accident.

"Nn…"

Seto lifted both hands to her waist, then slid them up to her back, fingers dancing along the muscles shifting beneath the skin, and pulled her down to him so he could kiss those lips again.

This is the cruelest dream-

-if that's what it is.

He inhaled her scent deeply, letting his lips rest against the hollow of her throat. Allowing her to envelop him this way. Warmth. Tenderness. Something he hadn't thought he needed. Could live without. Surrounded. Protected by glass and steel.

Breathe her in. Her everything. Incandescent. Those sighs she made as he kissed her neck like a tiny precious diamond. Piercing through his skin. Heating him from within. Making his pulse race. Blood throb in his ears.

Until there was nothing left to discuss.

This is real.

He hadn't dreamt flying to London.

She hadn't dreamt him at her lecture.

He hadn't dreamt her in the street.

She wasn't dreaming him in her bed.

"Ishizu..." Seto lifted his head from her neck, already a faint patch of red from his incessant nips appearing on the skin there. Ishizu moaned quietly, lightly splayed her fingers on his chest, and pushed herself up carefully, then reached out for his hands, which she moved to hold her in place atop him again.

"I have to ask..." Seto moved one hand from the soft curve of her waist and began drawing lazy circles upward, the pad of his fingers soon brushing against somewhere that made Ishizu release an incredibly satisfying sound; he kept sweeping his fingers around the little nub of flesh almost cruelly, up until Ishizu was nearly panting, her own hands moving downwards until she reached the elastic of his boxers, as he asked quietly, softly, in a darkly humorous whisper:

"You haven't-I mean-you haven't been dishonest about this, have you?"

Ishizu opened her eyes, the thick lashes fluttering as his careful, skilled manipulation of her skin sent shivers screaming throughout her entire body. Flickering down her spine. Pooling between her legs.

He can't really be serious-gods-

She licked her lips and looked down at him. Those bright eyes round and curious, even as he continued to touch her. To do these things to her. Things that had her undulating on top of him, her voice breaking out into a melody of sighs and sounds of pleasure as his fingers moved round and round. Everything so electric. So sensitive. Weeping for his touch.

With a slight growl in her chest she reached for his other hand and moved it between her legs, his fingers scrabbling to dip beneath the fabric there. "See for yourself..."

---

"Ishizu..."

Ishizu cracked open her eyes to look at him. "Yes, Seto?"

His tone was calmer than he felt. Neutral and almost flippant where his mind was racing. Heart careening in his chest.

"Now that you've finished your studies-what are your future plans?" He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and lifted a hand to run through her hair. Cradling the back of her head, holding her before him. Eyes locked on hers. Observing every micromovement of her features.

Where do I fit into those plans?

Ishizu licked her lips. "I mean... To be honest, I have to get back to working a decent job. Just for a few more years..." Until the business isn't in such trouble anymore-

"Hmm." He ran his finger along the curve of her arm, enjoying the goosebumps he raised. "I would have thought you'd want to get your doctorate." For a museum career-

Ishizu looked away then, forehead wrinkling with regret, acidic tears brimming in the inner corners of her eyes. If only-

She closed her eyes before articulating it. As if that would make it any easier. Her voice flat and thick.

"The family business isn't doing well. I have to postpone more graduate work until we're back on our feet."

Seto gave a tiny start at her words. The Ishtar Antiquities Company-

-my word of mouth couldn't have done that much, could it-?

-I didn't realize they were in such trouble-

He propped himself up on his elbows, a nervous look crossing his features. Cheeks paling quickly as he stumbled the words out. "Ishizu-I'm sorry if the whole affair with the mistaken identification-well-"

Ishizu sat up beside him and danced her fingers along his collarbone, the lightness of touch belying the heaviness of her heart. "It's not your fault, Seto-we've been struggling-well-ever since Father passed on…"

Marik just doesn't have the same eye Father did-Ra knows neither Odion nor I would even be sufficient enough to hold us out for this long-

Seto licked his lips, color returning to his face. A thoughtful expression gliding across his features, his voice imbued with a wry smile.

"Ishizu-you do realize you're dating one of the richest men in Japan, right?" To put it lightly-what was I last year-top five? Top three?

If the Ishtar Antiquities Company needs a new patron-

Ishizu's cheeks went almost pure ruby-red, her hand on his chest ceasing its playful motions. Curling into a tight fist, resting on his sternum. Her mouth tasting bitter.

He's not-there's no way he could be offering such a thing-

-either way, it wouldn't be right-

"Seto-whatever you're thinking, please-don't. I-we-cannot accept charity."

Fair enough.

Seto leaned over and planted a kiss onto her forehead. Then the end of her nose. Then her lips. "Well, if that's not to your liking, Ishizu-well…"

Ishizu chewed on the inside of her cheek, lowering her head to nestle against his chest. Her hand moving to lie flat. Above his heart. The beating, strong and steady, reverberating throughout his body. And through her. Their breaths and hearts pattering out a sweet rhythmic melody.

Together.

"Well?"

Seto smirked, dropping a kiss into her hair. "My art collection could use a curator-what you saw when you stayed with me were merely several of the best pieces. I'm sure there's plenty of work for you to do there."

Ishizu lifted her head sharply, electricity buzzing down her spine. Skin erupting into gooseflesh.

He-

-could he really be-

"You're offering me a job, Seto Kaiba?" Her surprise roughening the edges of her voice, something like a squeak tangling through the last few syllables.

Do I have to wear the blasted logo-?

Seto laid his head back down on the pillow and reached out a hand, cupping the back of her head and pulling her face towards his.

"If you'll accept, that is."

Ishizu's lips curled into a grateful smile, her eyes warm and soft as she kissed his cheek. The long-suppressed tears now beginning to fall. One single droplet from each eye's inner corner, sliding down her cheeks silently. Accompanied by no tears. Only by her glowing beam.

Thank you.

I can never repay this-

Seto lifted the pad of his thumb to her face and very delicately wiped them away, making Ishizu giggle embarrassedly.

"Well?"

Ishizu broke into an equally smug smirk. "You're sure you're not just offering me some facsimile of a job in order to get me to stick around?"

Seto lifted his hand to cover his mouth in faux-shock, his eyes darkening with wolfish merriment. "Was I really so transparent there, Miss Ishtar?"

She laughed then, closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and throwing back her head as the bell-like sound shook throughout her body. Lighting her from within.

Always dazzling him. Transfixing him.

Always would.

As if he would ever want to look anywhere else-

Ishizu quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe." She leaned forward and placed a deep, almost suckling kiss to his neck, eliciting a deep, throaty groan. Then another one to his lips.

Seto moved his hand to cradle the back of her head once more. Tangling his fingers in the silky strands and looking at her carefully. Meaningfully. A million foolish thoughts flitting about his mind. Even more senseless words threatening to spill from his lips.

Please say yes.

I love you.

Please-

"So-I mean-will you come back to Domino with me? Of course-this is really only a temporary measure-until your family business is back on its feet. Or until whenever you-well-"

Decide to leave-

-to continue your studies-

Ishizu allowed her eyes to meet his. So blue. Wide. Innocent. So unlike Seto Kaiba-so free of guile. Only need. Nakedly so.

Everything he couldn't bring himself to say in that moment. Wounds still fresh, but healing. Surely.

I want this.

Him.

Everything.

All of it.

She nodded to herself for a few moments before pressing the lightest, sweetest of kisses to his lips.

"Yes."

"Yes?" His heart could not have been beating more wildly than it did in that moment, his question coming out in a near-breathless shudder.

Ishizu smiled down at him, her heart in her throat. A lightness spreading throughout her body as she took him in for what would not be the last time. Would never be.

Words coming out a whisper.

"I'll go."