Disclaimer: If I owned Yu-Gi-Oh! don't you think I would have made this canon?

"Dear agony: just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Is this the way it's gotta be?"

~Dear Agony, Breaking Benjamin

-Chapter 3-

The Past Lives On

While he reclined in his home office desk chair, his elbows resting on the desk and his chin resting on his steepled fingers, Seto wondered idly if Alistair knew whose room he was staying in. Personally, he hadn't gone anywhere near the place since his stepfather's death.

When he'd conceived his plan to get Gozaburo to adopt him and his brother he'd known that Gozaburo Kaiba was a ruthless, calculating man, and that life with him would by no means be a picnic. But having a loving father hadn't been his goal; he'd known that by becoming Gozaburo's son he'd be securing Mokuba's future; that had always been his driving force. And if he had it to do over again he wouldn't change a thing despite all he had suffered because he had achieved what he'd set out to do.

His life was already decided and his future had nothing in store for him but more of the same, but Mokuba had a blank slate and all the opportunity in the world to be and do anything he wanted, and Seto was content with that.

But sometimes he couldn't help but feel empty and wish that there was some mystery in his future, some uncertainty to give the rest of his life meaning. As it was he felt there was really very little more he could do. He already owned and ran one of the most successful companies in the entire world, he was a top-ranked gamer, he'd traveled all over the globe and spoke five languages fluently, there was nothing he couldn't buy. To many his life probably seemed ideal; something to strive for, but what they didn't realize was how lackluster such a life actually was. There is certainly something to be said for having nowhere to go but up because then you have plenty of room for dreams. Seto, on the other hand, had nowhere to go but down which made for nothing but stress and depression.

For the second time that day he rested his hand on his upturned left wrist, knowing what he would see if he pushed his sleeve up. There was a reason he always wore long sleeves even in the heat of summer and it wasn't to make a fashion statement. He hadn't cut since the end of the Battle City Tournament, but the scars served as a reminder that his life was far from perfect.

Like the nightmares, he'd kept the cutting a secret from everyone. He couldn't begin to imagine what Mokuba would think of him if he knew; it would shatter the image he had tried so hard to project of being strong.

He tore his gaze away from his wrist to look at the clock on his laptop. How could it be midnight already? He glanced over the work he'd managed to get done in the last six hours. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Suddenly tired, he shut his computer down and prepared to head to the pool to swim a couple of laps before showering again and getting into bed by one-thirty only to get up again at six-thirty.

He'd managed to get halfway to his room to change when he heard it again; Alistair's cries and whimpers; the results of more nightmares, muffled by the thick door of Gozaburo's room.

Seto's immediate instinct was to ignore what he'd heard; it was nothing to do with him after all, and Alistair had made it clear he wanted to be left alone, but Seto couldn't do that. Despite Gozaburo's careful conditioning, Seto couldn't always bring himself to be cold blooded even if he put up an icy front while doing what he knew was morally right. This was one of those times. He gritted his teeth and turned towards his step-father's old quarters. No sooner had he done so than his heart started to race and his palms began to sweat. There was nothing he wanted to do less than go in there again. Even contemplating it conjured up horrible memories.

He was ten and had fallen asleep when he was supposed to be studying and Gozaburo had caught him and hit him across the head with a heavy book, all but knocking him out, and when he'd started to cry, Gozaburo had slapped him across the face, telling him to man up, and warning him that if he caught him sleeping again before he allowed it, he'd do far worse than hit him with a book.

Alistair's sobs snapped Seto back to the present. He squared his shoulders and tentatively approached the door, cracking it open an inch or so before he lost his nerve.

"Mikey! No! Mikey!" Alistair rasped from where he was lying curled up on the couch, one hand reaching out and grasping at the air.

Seto turned the light on. "Alistair," he said, squinting against the sudden brightness. "Wake up." But Alistair had fallen into a deep sleep out of pure exhaustion and Seto realized that he'd have to shake him.

Trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, Seto crossed over to the couch, his own heart now beating a tattoo against his ribs. Upon closer inspection, he could see that Alistair's back was coated in sweat, his jacket, which he'd apparently been using as a blanket, lay crumpled on the floor.

Seto uncertainly reached out and rested his fingertips on Alistair's shoulder. Before he could do more, Alistair's eyes snapped open and he'd aimed a punch in Seto's direction. Normally Seto had excellent reflexes, but the attack was so unexpected that he didn't even flinch and the blow connected most forcibly with his nose which immediately started bleeding. As pain spread across his face, he staggered backwards, causing droplets of blood to spatter onto the hardwood floor.

It took Alistair a moment to remember where he was and another to realize that it was Kaiba who he'd just punched in the face. He stared at the wide-eyed CEO who had pressed his palm against his nose to stem the flow of blood.

"Sorry," he apologized automatically, much as he had the several times he'd accidentally attacked Valon and Raphael on the occasions they'd tried to wake him up."I don't like people touching me."

"Duly noted." Neither said anything for a moment. "You were having a nightmare," Seto added to explain why he was in the room in the first place.

Alistair furrowed his eyebrows."If you'd experienced even a fraction of what I've been through, you'd have nightmares too," he said defensively, crossing his arms protectively across his chest.

"You're not the only one who's ever had bad things happen to them, Alistair, or are you really arrogant enough to think that you are?" Seto snapped as he tilted his head backwards.

"What the hell's ever happened to you?" Alistair demanded. "Did daddy not get you the right colored pony?"

Nothing had ever gotten under his skin quite as much as that comment, and before he'd stopped to think about what he was doing, Seto'd grabbed Alistair by the front of his shirt and yanked him up so that they were standing practically nose to nose.

"I dare you to say that again," he growled as blood continued to trickle down his face.

"You have no right to put your hands on me!" Alistair snarled back, struggling to break out of Kaiba's grip.

A drop of blood rolled down Kaiba's top lip and he automatically let go of Alistair with one hand to wipe it off. Alistair took the moment to yank himself out of Kaiba's grasp, but tripped over his own jacket and felt himself starting to fall. Instinctively, he grabbing hold of the nearest thing that would help him catch his balance which turned out to be a fistful of Kaiba's turtleneck. The unexpected and strong tug tightened the fabric around his neck and forced Seto to bend forwards to avoid choking. Alistair tried desperately to find his footing but felt the ground come completely out from under him after his foot landed strangely on the jacket's studded sleeve. His arm scraped painfully against the sharp corner of coffee table as he fell before his back hit the thin Persian rug covering the floor and knocked the wind out of him. Seto, dragged down by Alistair's momentum, landed hard on his knees, one hand breaking his fall by gripping onto the couch.

Dazed and gasping for breath, Alistair let go of Kaiba's shirt and attempted to prop himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain from the scrape on his arm. Kaiba quickly stood, glaring down at him with his hands balled into fists.

"Don't ever say something like that again. You claim that you know so much about my life, and maybe you do, but you know absolutely nothing about me or what I've had to endure to get where I am now! Maybe if you spent less time bitching about how horrible your life's been and started doing something about it I'd have more respect for you." He turned on his heel and stalked to the door before pausing. "Oh, and by the way: you're welcome," he said over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

After stomping all the way to his bedroom, Seto examined his nose in his bathroom mirror. He prodded it gingerly and winced. It wasn't broken, luckily, but there would certainly be a bruise and some swelling which he wasn't looking forward to.

He couldn't believe that he'd lost control like that, especially not over such a stupid remark. He was used to being insulted by people on a daily basis, but it was one 'poor little rich kid' comment that had gotten to him. Alistair had, unknowingly he was sure, trivialized all that Seto had suffered at the hands of his stepfather and that was something he found intolerable.

Who the hell was Alistair to put him under a microscope and decide what constituted as suffering? It was true that he still had his brother while Alistair's brother had been killed, and that was horrible, and Seto did feel sorry for him; he couldn't imagine life without Mokuba. But that didn't mean that what Gozaburo had done to him didn't count. And what kind of person turns pain into a contest? Or uses it as an excuse to judge other people? It was ludicrous!

He banged his fist on the side of the sink and immediately regretted it, almost as much as he regretted going to wake Alistair up in the first place; further evidence to suggest that helping someone you don't even like is a really stupid idea.

As Alistair cleaned the scrape on his arm with water from the bathroom sink, he tried to figure out why such an offhand statement had bothered Kaiba so much. Kaiba had said something about Alistair not being the only one to have had bad things happen to them, then he'd asked if daddy had gotten him the wrong colored pony and Kaiba had attacked him.

He thought back to what he knew about Kaiba's background: adopted at age ten by Gozaburo Kaiba, owner of the illustrious Kaiba Corp, trained to be his successor, staged a successful takeover at age thirteen, has run the company ever since.

Suddenly he realized what Kaiba might have been talking about. He and Mokuba were adopted which meant that something must have happened to their parents. Either they had given their kids up, or they'd been killed somehow, either one of which could certainly cause some emotional damage to a nine or ten year old.

Alistair had been very young when his father had died in the early years of the revolution and couldn't even recall his face, but his mother had been killed when he was eleven, and even though he hadn't witnessed it, it weighed on him, though not nearly as much as Mikey's death. So maybe he was being a little harsh in his assessment of Kaiba, and presumptuous to have assumed that just because he was wealthy he had lived a carefree life. Kaiba had a point: he did know almost everything about him in a very objective sense; how old he'd been when he'd taken over Kaiba Corp, his dueling strategies, how often he got his hair cut etc, but beyond his cutthroat business strategies, he knew very little about Kaiba the man. The thought bothered him.

Ever since he'd met him in real life, Kaiba had done nothing but good things for him; first offering his help even though Alistair had lured him all the way out to Duelist Kingdom under false pretenses, made good on his promise, had even put Alistair up in his house, and was going to help him get his pilot's license. Hell, he'd even thought to get his motorcycle. And he'd come to wake him up from his nightmares twice. And what had he, Alistair, done in thanks? Punched him and insulted him. Not that he wasn't asking for it.

There was no denying that Kaiba wasn't a nice person, he'd proven that on more than one occasion in the way he treated other people, and he was certainly pompous and selfish and unnecessarily mean to those he perceived to be weaker than him, but he was no devil incarnate.

Alistair had no intention of going back to sleep, nor did he think he could for some time after being pumped up from fighting. His back and arm hurt something awful, so to distract himself he decided to check out the books lining a shelf attached to the wall above the bed.

It quickly became apparent to Alistair what kind of person Gozaburo had been by just skimming the titles. Many of them were decorative copies of autobiographies of conservative politicians and other historical figures, several were books on chess strategy, a few were business related, and one was a red leather-bound journal. Curious, Alistair slid it off the shelf.

Still holding the book, he sat down on the bed, easing himself onto his back on the soft red velvet cushions (the man had certainly had a thing for the color red), and flipped the journal open.

The first date was from some twenty years before:

Asami is luckily pregnant with a boy this time. The doctors say that the pregnancy is going smoothly and that the baby is healthy despite the fact that she's been so depressed. I need a strong heir to the Kaiba legacy and I won't have her foolishness prevent me from having that. I can only hope that the boy doesn't inherit her weak will. If he does I'll see to it that he's toughened up. The name Kaiba always has and always will carry with it the weight of authority my family has worked so hard to forge.

The child is due sometime in early November which is perfect because by then Kemo will have returned from Europe and will be in a good position to deal with her for me.

Alistair stared at the book in disgust. How could someone be so callous about their own wife and child?

He knew from having studied the Kaiba family that Gozaburo's wife, Asami, had overdosed on painkillers shortly after their son, Noah, was born and that Noah had been hit and killed by a car when he was ten. Over the course of his career, several of Gozaburo's business rivals had died under mysterious circumstances. Death, it seemed, had followed the man all the way up to his suicide almost seven years previously. Alistair shuddered to think what life with such a person must have been like.

He looked over the rest of the journal in which Gozaburo had written sporadically over a period spanning nine years. Most of the contents of the journal consisted of Gozaburo gloating about clever business deals and belittling the men he found 'gullible' and 'weak.' He mentioned Noah several times, including an entry he'd written following the boy's accident.

I had Noah taken off life support. I think the doctor was surprised that I was so calm, but I know that he isn't really dead. The upload of his mind into the Kaiba Corp mainframe was successful. There are still some bugs to work out, but I am assured that the program will seem no different to him than the real world. I have hope that he will be able to continue being trained while living in the cyber world until he is ready to take over the company. When the time comes, I have a body ready for him: the orphan. I am satisfied that no matter what may happen I am prepared. Even if the cyber world crashes and Noah is lost, or proves himself unsuitable, Seto may have what it takes. For a ten year old he is very bright. Using chess as a way to get my attention was a very well calculated move, and it was clever of him to make sure multiple people heard me promise to adopt him and his brother should I lose the match. I shouldn't have been so easily manipulated by a child, but I'm quite impressed that he pulled it off. He shall carry the name Kaiba well. I almost hope Noah is incompetent so that I have no qualms about grooming Seto as my new heir.

Seto lay in his bed, worn out, but reluctant to fall asleep. He could hear the steady tick tick tick of the clock on the far side of the wall. The sound reminded him of the clock in the library and he resolved to take it down the next day. In fact, why wait?

He swung his legs off the side of the bed, padded across the plush carpet on the floor, and ripped the clock from the wall before quickly removing the batteries and tossing the lot onto the dresser. There must have been a full moon that night, he realized, because the entire room was lit up by it so that the white hangings of his four poster bed glowed eerily while the posts threw dark, bar-like shadows across the floor. Seto ground his teeth. He was no prisoner anymore, and he was being ridiculous. Gozaburo was dead. And even if he weren't, Seto was hardly a child now. He climbed back into bed and rolled onto his side so that he faced the light from the window. He knew it was childish, but Seto had never been able to force himself to sleep in the dark.