Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ I Guess It was in the Cards ❯ Nightmares ( Chapter 6 )

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CHAPTER 6: NIGHTMARES

YAMI'S NARRATIVE

There were times when I yearned for the simpler rhythms of life in Yugi's house, full of the noise and clutter of daily life. I missed the comforting routine of going to school, meeting friends, having dinner with Sugoroku, and talking with Yugi into the night. We had always been two separate individuals, but we had grown closer over the years. Sometimes I would swear that I still heard him, as if my conscience spoke with his voice, even now that we were apart. I missed being submerged in him, being able to sense his thoughts, his feelings.

Now I was living in Kaiba's mansion. Whole floors were empty, or inhabited only by ghosts. I was trying to take care of the most self-reliant person I knew. I had been so used to deferring to Yugi, that I had unthinkingly agreed to his decision to have me stay. But I wondered now who he was trying to help - Kaiba or myself. For the first time, away from Yugi, I was learning to live by myself, as a single and not a fused entity. I was learning to be alone, to listen for my own voice, to rely on my own judgement. And I was living with a man, who for all his faults - for all his viciousness -- knew how to do this; who had shown great courage in facing his life; had learned to make his own decisions and accept the consequences when he was ten years old.

I had grown accustomed to sharing my life with people whose hearts I knew intimately. Although I had shattered his, Kaiba remained a mystery to me. At times I wished for Shadi's lost key to see into his soul. It seemed unlikely I would understand him any other way. His conversation was brief and factual. It revealed nothing. His thoughts and feelings were hidden, I suspected even from himself. His face was an unreadable, emotionless mask.

"There's no point trying to read his face." Mokuba said, breaking into my thoughts. I wondered if I had spoken aloud. We were eating lunch and Kaiba was no where to be found. "You got to concentrate on his eyes. Or try the shoulders and hands. When he's feeling something deep, they tighten up." I smiled at Mokuba. I was starting to feel like he was my little co-conspirator. I was learning, somewhat ruefully, that few of his utterances were as spontaneous as they seemed.

They were a team, the Kaiba brothers - bonded as deeply as Yugi and I. I knew little of their early life, just what I had gleamed from Mokuba's hurried confidences, whispered when Kaiba was out of earshot, or from my observations in Noa's world. But I was coming to guess what it had cost Kaiba to preserve Mokuba's sunny optimism. It was as if against his excesses and flaws was set the life of this one small boy - and somehow it made the scales of his heart balance.

If life was unexpectedly complicated now, at least Kaiba was a model patient. Or maybe it was just that he was so wrapped up in the new duel disk system he was designing, he was content to lie on the couch scowling at the computer, occasionally barking orders into the speaker phone, or exploding when a call from the main office interrupted his train of thought. His employees seemed to take it all in stride, so I concluded that this was his normal behavior, and not the result of pain or enforced inactivity.

The only people he showed any tolerance for were the game and system designers who called periodically with glitches, the more complicated the better, it seemed. He would call up their programs or schematics and talk them through the problem, with a patience I had seen him show only to Mokuba. I had thought of him solely as a duelist, as my rival. Now I realized that it was just one part of his life. In truth, he had little time to spend on his obsession. I saw him moving easily in a different world - respected for his business acumen, admired for his undeniable technological genius. For the first time I realized, though I had long known it, that not just his and Mokuba's livelihood, but the fortunes of this entire international enterprise rested on his thin shoulders. I had vague memories of ruling a country. But I had been surrounded by family, friends, and advisors, his past-life self among them. Kaiba had only Mokuba.

I had volunteered to pick up Mokuba after school. Kaiba reluctantly allowed it. It was more that just an unwillingness to entrust Mokuba's safety to anyone else. He clearly missed the chore, but for all my past lives I couldn't see why. My most vivid memory of Mokuba's friends had been of the time when they had terrorized Yugi. Although I was forced to concede that they weren't quite as evil as I remembered, they were even louder. They would hang out the windows of Kaiba's limo screaming at their friends, and it seemed, even passers-by. Then, if I was particularly unlucky, they would go to an even noisier arcade and pretend to kill each other. I was reminded of Kaiba even in his absence; of how his eyes would soften as he watched Mokuba and his annoying friends - their obnoxious exuberance proof of another promise kept.

We would return to find Kaiba still working. Mokuba would flop down beside him and begin his homework, grumbling the whole time. Mokuba, like his brother, functioned as an adult for so much of the time, it was funny to see him whining about his assignments. And I admit that he had a point. It was strange to see someone capable of hacking into Pegasus' database forced to write page after page of simple equations. Kaiba was sympathetic but inflexible, sternly checking each page to make sure it was perfect. He even skimmed through the assigned novels and short stories so that he would be able to tell if Mokuba had answered the questions correctly, although he declined discussing them. He made me smile by confiding that he couldn't see why anyone would want to waste their time on the made-up problems of imaginary people. In this, as in so much else, Mokuba was more open minded. Although he disliked his assignments, he devoured fantasy books and mangas.

I had long been impressed by the depth of Kaiba's devotion to Mokuba, though bothered by its self-sacrificial nature. But it was endearing to watch him struggle through the daily challenges of raising his little brother. In truth, he was far too young and volatile himself for the responsibility. He would alternate between almost ignoring the boy tagging along at his heels, and then suddenly focusing on him with the same unnerving intensity he gave his deck and his systems designs. Mokuba, for his part, would coax his Nisama to eat, to rest, and most poignantly, try to convince him of a reason for living beyond his numerous promises. At times it was hard to tell who was looking after whom.

After dinner the brothers would sprawl on the couch again; Kaiba to return to work and Mokuba to either play Gameboy or try to hack into his school's computer until he finally passed out.

The one thing Kaiba resented the most about his injury was that I was the one who carried Mokuba to bed. He would follow me, waiting until I left before approaching the bed. As I was walking out the door, I would turn to catch a glimpse of him smoothing Mokuba's hair or bending to kiss his cheek. As close as they were, I had seen Kaiba embrace his beloved brother only once; after being re-united at Duelist's Kingdom. I wondered if Mokuba knew that his Nisama hugged and kissed him every night, finally free to express his love.

When Kaiba returned, we would talk far into the night. I don't know if he wanted my company or just a way to avoid sleep. The semi-darkness of his bedroom was the perfect place to exchange confidences. Since this was Kaiba, we talked about duel monsters instead. Yugi had asked him at Duelist's Kingdom if he had discovered the heart of the cards. I could sense, from his awkward conversations, punctuated with silences, that he was still groping for an answer.

"Was the Harpy Lady really as impervious as she seemed? Were her eyes haughty or sad? Did Buster Blader hate dragons, or did he love them, even as he sent them to the graveyard? Did he feel triumph or sorrow at their destruction? Was the Celtic Guardian bitter at his own powerlessness?"

As I tried to answer his stilted questions, I wondered if we weren't exchanging confidences after all.

And so I would tell him of my shattered memories, of being thrust back into the past, trying to save a kingdom I couldn't remember. Of my bargain with the Guardian of Memory, how I had wanted another chance, how I was trying to live in the present, accepting the gaps in my past. Kaiba was a good listener. He didn't speak, just an occasional 'hai' to let me know he was there, or a tentative touch on my arm, as if to reassure me. His blue eyes were expressive for once, alive with concern.

He didn't realize that I stayed by his side every night, watching over his sleep, waiting for his nightmares. He would never have knowingly risked revealing so much of himself, and his damnable pride would have rejected the suggestion that he needed help, even in sleep.

But the past he refused to acknowledge returned at night. He would thrash in bed as though fighting someone bigger and stronger. Harsh screams, chilling laughter, all the sounds that would never escape by day, were released now. The first night I tried to restrain him. I tried screaming his name. But either my grip, or the sound of my shouted "Kaiba" only inflamed him further, until I was afraid that his flailing arms would injure one, or both of us. And I began to worry - if he woke up now and knew I had seen him like this, he would never forgive me.

I remembered the doctor, and tried cradling him in my arms, unlikely solution though that seemed. "Seto," I said softly, the first time I had used his name. "It's alright. You're safe." I held him in my arms, until he gradually quieted and slept peacefully. It was only then, when it stopped, that I realized an odd beeping sound had accompanied the nightmare.

I used to stay up all night at Yugi's house, watching him sleep; watching the dreams chase each other across his face. Content because he was safe. I had missed that feeling of being needed. That feeling of being at peace with the world in the dark watches of the night. Ironically, Kaiba had returned that to me.

He even reminded me of Yugi, a little, as he lay curled on his side. His face was peaceful, although his hands never unclenched, even in sleep. Abruptly, I realized why he made me so angry, so often. I had long known and accepted that in some basic way we were akin. But he had no business being like me. He was scarcely more than a boy. He should have resembled Yugi or even Mokuba, instead. I hated watching him charging blindly ahead, giving Mokuba the comfort he denied himself, fighting his many battles, running his business - all the while denying the shadow that lay across his past - too proud and stubborn to admit he was in over his head. In a way, my anger was a blessing. Kaiba had chosen to be a warrior, not a victim. We would both prefer anger to any emotion so perilously close to pity.

Each night was a repeat of the last. On the fourth night, the mysterious beeping was finally explained when Mokuba entered the room through the adjoining door. He had broken the code on the electronic lock. He stopped short when he saw me, holding Kaiba in my arms. Luckily the older boy was quieting. But as he looked at his Nisama's still form, Mokuba's face showed suspicion, not relief. "It's okay, trust me." Mokuba ran to the bed, fear in his lavender eyes, and I realized that the last time I had said those words, his brother had ended up in a coma. As he heard Kaiba's even breathing, he relaxed, coming to join me on the couch. "I promise," I said. I won't hurt him ever again. Trust me."

"Why?"

"Because I think I'm starting to see the same Nisama you do."

He sighed contentedly as he leaned against me. "If I fall asleep, put me back in my bed, and lock the door behind me. Otherwise Nisama will just change the code again." He was asleep as soon as the words left his mouth. I smiled at the brothers' private game. And I mentally saluted Yugi. He had been right. There was something waif-like about the Kaiba brothers. Something gallant. Something worth protecting.