Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Web of Fate ❯ reflective of you ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: Same as previous. I don’t own Yugioh or any of its characters/games/cards etc. Please leave me to my obsessive Kaiba/Yami tendencies.

A/N: Right. So, uh, after around four to five months of not updating… I have an update here right now. It’s longer than the other chapters so hopefully that might make up for the neglect. *g* But it’s not my fault! I swear! RL literally kicked my butt, and I just didn’t have time, so a big thanks to everyone for bearing with me.

As per usual, thanks to Moe for the beta. Response to feedback is at the bottom since I’ve found the lj thing problematic in practice.

Completed: 1/7/05

Joey knew he wasn’t the most graceful guy in school (or even remotely the next), but he still hadn’t expected to fall on his back, a large smacking sound reaching his ears at about the same time as when he nearly blacked out. Like he expected, the surprised eyes of his fellow students stared at him with a mixture of concern, annoyance, and fond exasperation. Joey sheepishly got up, only just slightly flustered, and put his chair back into an upright position before he sat on it again. The class sighed as one and then turned back to the new students in front of the classroom. Good old Joey had to average at least one clumsy move daily or he wasn’t good old Joey at all.

Which kind of sucked, yeah, but Joey was used to it. It made it that much easier to hide the bruises, so he really couldn’t complain.

“Please take a seat!” his teacher said cheerfully. Joey thought she was definitely cute – maybe slightly too old for him though, but hey, he wasn’t biased against age – and really nice, except that her forceful cheer could sometimes grate like no other, and Joey was going to stop now because there were other more important things.

Like Yugi’s clone-twin-who-ever-the-heck-he-is, for example.

Which brought Joey’s mind back to the reason of his ungraceful fall. There were only so many reasons Joey could come up with for this anomaly, but none could feasibly explain the sudden (and he did mean sudden, falling hard on his butt type of surprise notwithstanding) appearance of Seto and Yami Kaiba as students in what Joey had always thought of as a plain high school; and this wasn’t even including the fact that one of them could easily pass for Yugi’s twin if not for Yugi himself. It was a mystery, and Joey never liked mysteries. Especially if those mysteries came packaged with an ice-cold brunette who didn’t look like he wanted to be here at all.

Joey’s hackles raised, and he could feel a glare forming. That guy – Kaiba, one part of his mind, the part that hadn’t been sleeping, informed him – was an asshole. A jerk. And Joey knew everything about assholes and jerks and dangerous young men who thought they were immortal or didn’t care if they weren’t.

He narrowed his eyes and glared. Yeah, he knew all about them. He had been one of them before after all.

~*~*~*~

Seto hadn’t liked the idea of this when he had first heard it, and nor did he like it anymore now. He liked it even less, in fact.

He could admit that wanting some normality in their lives was considered a good thing. He was, if nothing, very adamant about Mokuba growing up with everything he needed, and in Seto’s mind, normality after the turbulence of their pasts seemed sound, seemed somehow right even. What he had never thought of was the sudden twist their lives seemed to be taking a turn for. Seto would have thought he’d be the one to stifle under the constraints of being just a student, of being under the control and power of a higher authority; he, in a million years, never would have expected Yami to fall first.

To be fair though, Yami hadn’t known he would meet a copy of himself today. Hell, he hadn’t thought such a thing was possible, but unfortunately, the student with the violet eyes and the spiky hair – streaks of blonde and purple – proved it to be real. It had come as a jolt of shock to the system, an unpleasant jolt that unsettled his stomach and made him ache, and Seto still wasn’t sure how to react. So, Seto had done what he did best and shelved the shock and surprise into a tiny corner of his mind while he went on autopilot, nodding seriously at their new teacher – a Ms Aishling or something similar – and gently leading Yami to their assigned seats. If the hand he kept on the small of Yami’s back was more possessive than usual, then Seto just attributed it to the tension rolling around his shoulders and the tight knot in his throat.

Nothing was wrong and nothing was going to be wrong. They – Yami and Seto both – were going to figure out this little mystery and put their lives back on their planned route; never mind the student who looked to be Yami’s true flesh and blood was sitting only two seats away from them, watching them (Yami especially, Seto thought, his hands clenching under his desk) with idle curiosity. Or, to be more precise, more than idle curiosity. Seto had no doubt that as soon as class was finished, be it after their first class or after a succession of classes up to their breaks, the Yami look-alike would come up to them and force them onto a path they weren’t ready to take. He wasn’t sure how, but the uneasiness of his instincts were telling him – and telling him loudly – to be prepared for the worst. He hadn’t been prepared back then when he had started on his plan. He hadn’t been prepared for Gozaburo and it had nearly killed him – killed them – and Seto knew well enough to never repeat his mistakes. At least Gozaburo had taught him that much.

He settled back into his seat, and gradually unclenched his hands. His eyes turned to Yami, who was avidly not looking into the direction of their unknown variable, and Seto finally relaxed. Sometimes, Seto was too caught up in his own volatile emotions to recognise Yami’s; maybe it was because Yami was rarely expressive in ways that counted, maybe it was because Seto had some idea in his head that Yami was strong enough to overcome anything. He wasn’t sure which it was, but he knew that right now, right at that moment, Yami was vulnerable.

Seto narrowed his eyes, one part of his mind vaguely listening to their lesson plan being scrawled in loopy, curling characters on the whiteboard while the other turned to various plans, various course of action needed to be implemented to ensure Yami's vulnerable state never reached high, dangerous levels. The majority of which, most predictably involved keeping Yami as far away from his twin as much as possible, and Seto found that calling the student in question Yam's twin left a distinctively dark taste in his month.

He gritted his teeth and tried to pay attention to the lesson, but somehow, his eyes ended up straying between the clone and Yami. He contemplated on how he should react if there was even so much as a shared glance between the two of them, though in the end, he came to no real conclusion. Blood is thicker than water, they say, and Seto would be remiss to deny the truth of the statement. His own relationship with Mokuba proved the validity of that well enough, but having had Yami by his side for so long only to see him taken by some relative – no – some stranger laying a blood claim – it infuriated him like never before.

As if sensing his anger, Seto caught the concerned sideward glance Yami threw at him. Pushing his anger away for another more appropriate time and place, he gave a nod to Yami in reply and hoped that Yami would be satisfied. He didn't think so though, but there wasn't anything Yami could do until class finished. And if Seto stalled enough, then he might even delay the questioning until lunch. Not that it would deter Yami, but Seto could try. He'd spent years trying; it shouldn't be anymore difficult than before.

He looked at their teacher expressionlessly and fought his urge to glance back at the mysterious student. Unfortunately, his thoughts were much more difficult to control.

~*~*~*~

“Are you sure?” Yami asked quietly.

“Of course I'm sure,” Seto almost snapped ¯ almost, but not quite, because Yami didn't quite understand yet, and Seto had to make him understand. It was the only way. The only way Seto could lose was to win something back, no matter how small the victory, and losing only made Seto more aware of his flaws even as he pretended he had none.

“I'm merely asking,” Yami said even more quietly.

Seto had always hated the way Yami influenced him. One small change in tone, one tiny shift in expression, and Seto reacted in ways he never would have thought. Hating it though, changed nothing and all Seto could do was try and curb his tendency to... be influenced.

He gave a nod, a concession, temper fleeing only to feel a surge of annoyance. He had given up too easily, as per usual, but there was no stopping it now.

“I know,” Seto said, looking away from eyes that were too knowing, too perceptive for his own benefit. “But you gave your word.” He let the challenge hang in the air, only half prepared for what Yami's answer would be.

“You have my word; don't even try to say otherwise. But that doesn't mean I can't question you.”

Seto turned and faced Yami again, finding a soft smile lingering on his lips. “You need someone to question you every so often, you know.”

The tension drained, diffused as quickly as it had arisen, and Seto gave no pause to linger on why he and Yami seemed to always stand between friend and foe, trusted and not; a stalemate between comforting familiarity and the cool strangeness of two people who didn't know each other at all in a way the world counted.

Seto changed the subject. “Gozaburo Kaiba, CEO of a military affiliated company; wealthy, powerful, and arrogant enough to agree to a challenge of a poor, orphaned kid. At what point does he not sound like the only one to get us out of here?”

“The point where he might not like to be...an appropriate father.” Yami frowned.

“It doesn't matter,” Seto said quietly, looking down at his hands in contemplation. “I'll take care of it.”

Yami's frown deepened. “Seto...”

“I know, okay. I know.” He turned to Yami, a look of resignation, fear, and sheer determination on his face. His blue eyes had darkened from ice-blue to something deadlier, wilder, like the raging tides of an angered sea that battled on and on, unable to stop. “I'll take care of it.”

“Mokuba – ”

“I've always taken care of Mokuba,” Seto cut him off angrily. “Don't you dare – ”

“ – will you just listen! God, it's not you I'm worried about. It's him!” Yami yelled, infuriated. “You don't know Gozaburo. You don't know what he's going to do or how he's going to treat you and Mokuba, and you sure as hell can't leave once he adopts you. All you know is what he shows to the public – and from what I can see, Seto, you won't get the family you want.”

Yami was nearly panting; he took a deep breath and continued more softly like a plea lost in a forceful gale. “You won't be giving Mokuba something he needs, Seto, you'll just be giving him another orphanage.”

Seto flinched before rage and betrayal propelled him forward until he was barely a hand's width from Yami's eyes. “I'll be giving him a home,” he hissed. “A home where it'll just be us, a home where we won't have to ration food day to day for those idiots who think that just because they're bigger and stronger, they can pick on a small child. Idiots who think they deserve more than they're worth.” He broke off, voice cracking slightly at the end.

He paused and then continued with more control. “I don't care what Gozaburo does or doesn't do. As long as we're together, we'll be fine. I'll take care of it, I'll take care of Mokuba.”

Yami shook his head and said, “Seto, it won't turn out well. I know it won't.”

“Are you breaking your word?”

Seto stared steadily at Yami and ignored the adrenaline rushing through his veins, curling around his stomach like solidifying lead.

“No.”

A word, just one word, and the world spun in sharper focus. Seto didn't even know he was holding his breath, wasn't even aware he was waiting for Yami to be the exception, but he always was. He always was, the bastard, even when Seto didn't want him to be, because hope was something he gave up the day he had opened the door and stared straight into the sorrowful eyes of strangers wearing plain, navy blue uniforms.

He felt his chest lighten, the clenching vise around his heart loosening, but he didn't take a step back. Neither did Yami.

Almost hesitantly, Seto reached out awkwardly with his right hand and said, “You could – you could – ”

Seto's arm started to drop, the words burning like sulfur in his mouth. Too much. It was too much, and Seto couldn't, couldn't, because Yami might not be the exception this time -- and warm skin enclosed his palm, a finger stroking almost reassuringly on the pad of his thumb like a caress for a hissing, hurt cat.

And Yami said only one word, just one word, but Seto knew it for the unbreakable promise it was. A promise that wouldn't have been made had Seto not wanted it enough to break his soul.

“Yeah.”

Yami held his hand.

Seto barely moved.

~*~*~*~

Seto was surprised at Yami's patience. There had been only a few questioning glances during their class transitions, but that was the extent of it. Seto hadn't even needed to stall for time as he'd assumed, and that, for some inexplicable reason, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He supposed Yami was possibly distracted himself – though Seto refused to dwell on the subject which Yami was most likely distracted by. Thinking about it gave the situation (and the student in question) more merit than it was worth, so Seto trained his thoughts to lie elsewhere. It was much more difficult than Seto had previously considered since they were sharing more than a couple of classes with their mystery student.

It wasn't until their lunch break that Yami finally left his own thoughts and eyed Seto with a familiar determination; it was a look Seto had often been faced with whenever he had tried to hide, and this time was no different.

He wondered how long it would take before Yami figured him out and decided that he didn't want to find out. He had always hated how quickly and easily Yami predicted him.

“Seto,” Yami began as soon as they had settled on an empty table in the cafeteria. Just because it was empty didn't mean it was isolated, and Seto had to scowl at the curious faces of several students before they decided minding their own business was a much safer past time.

He shook his head at Yami. Not here. Not now.

Yami sighed, looking slightly frustrated. “Something's up with you, and I know it will only fester if we don't get this sorted.”

“Nothing's up with me.” Seto refused to look at Yami. He knew that even a shared glance was enough for Yami to catch on. “It was just a...surprising morning.”

Seto took the time to glance up at Yami and regretted it as soon as he saw Yami's expression. He looked as if he had expected this, and something twisted hard inside Seto.

He opened his mouth to hurl painful words, like a cornered snake spitting venom, but he caught sight of Yami's almost-twin and stopped, shutting down coldly.

Yami looked slightly confused and was about to say something, but was interrupted by a nervous and hopeful voice.

“Uh, hi, I'm sorry to butt in like this, and I know you don't know me, and, ah, I'm Yugi Motou by the way, but we share some classes and I just noticed that...you know, we kinda look alike. And,” Yugi stopped abruptly, embarrassed. “I didn't mean to ramble; I just, it was shocking. You look like me.” He lowered his head and stared down at the ground as a flush reddened his cheeks.

“No, no, it's all right.” Yami smiled. “I mean, it is shocking... I never expected,” he gestured at Yugi and then at himself, “this for sure.”

Yugi looked up again with a relieved smile, and Seto's hands clenched tightly. He said nothing, even though he wanted this to stop right now.

“You can say that again,” a shaggy-haired blonde piped up, and Seto turned to glare at him. He disliked the tactlessness of this – this mongrel who had interrupted a conversation he had no business in.

Yugi laughed and shrugged shyly. “Yeah, I hope you don't mind, but I'm kind of curious. You know... since we look so much alike, do you think we could be related? I know, it sounds far fetched, but, we're, well, here.”

“I – I actually don't know who my biological parents are,” Yami admitted, and Seto's eyes widened. Yami was revealing too much and too soon; this was a mistake.

For a second, he wanted nothing more than to take Yami and leave. They could forget about attending school, or leading normal lives because there was nothing normal about this.

Then, Yugi said, “I don't know much about my parents; my grandpa pretty much raised me.”

And Seto knew it was no use. Yami wouldn't leave that easily without finding answers to his questions, and in this one instance, Seto wasn't entirely confident he could win.

Seto, no matter how he would like to walk out of this conversation, stayed where he was because even if Yami was slowly being pulled away piece by piece, Seto couldn't see himself leaving. And that was the crux of the matter -- Seto would be hurt, and there wasn't anything he could do.

He coldly watched Yami and Yugi speak earnestly at each other, and glared at the group (two brunettes and that annoying blonde), who were hanging onto Yugi's words like an adoring groupie.

He hated it.

He hated them, but he hated feeling helpless much, much more. With tension thrumming tautly within, he watched and gritted his teeth.

~*~*~*~

Seto had a plan.

His plan was simple enough in theory and should be simple enough in practice if his image of Gozaburo Kaiba held true. Unfortunately, that was also the main weakness of his plan – if Gozaburo Kaiba was not in fact as arrogant as several media publications of him indicated – if he was not, in fact, emotional enough to follow through Seto's challenge...

It couldn't bear to be thought on.

All this time, all this planning, and all for nothing?

He couldn't fail. He had to win.

So when Gozaburo Kaiba arrived at the orphanage to cast his public image in a more positive, charitable light, Seto stood forward and told him in a loud, clear voice, “I challenge you to a game of chess.”

Gozaburo laughed. “You, boy? Do you know who I am?”

Seto thought, yes, and tried to hide his eagerness. He repeated, “I challenge you,” and held his breath.

“Well, well,” Gozaburo said with an arrogant twist to his mouth. “You do know that I’m a grand master chess player, don't you? What makes you think I'll play a scrawny whelp like you?”

Seto glared, lifting his chin up defiantly as he said, “If you're so good, then shouldn't you accept my challenge? After all, you'll only win – unless, of course, you're afraid.”

A feeling of fear curdled around Seto's stomach when Gozaburo narrowed his dark eyes and said nothing. He couldn't fail. He couldn't. Gozaburo just had to take the bait, and if it took Seto more than taunting him into making a move, then he would do it. He would do anything.

Gozaburo barked a hard laugh and Seto could feel the fear dissipate like steam in a cold cave. A cooling sensation combined with the adrenaline still drumming underneath his skin gave Seto a heady feeling, and Seto wondered if he could stand still for much longer.

“Me? Afraid?” Gozaburo snorted. “You have yourself a challenge, boy, but don't cry when you lose. Name the stakes!”

With that, Seto relaxed. This wasn't new, these games of high stakes and rough decisions made that would impact on one's survival. No, this wasn't new at all, and Seto was torn being grateful or resentful of losing his childhood very early on.

“One game of chess against me and Yami. One of us wins, you adopt both of us and my little brother.” He stared at Gozaburo.

“If you lose?” Gozaburo asked silkily.

“If both of us lose,” Seto faltered slightly before regaining his voice. “If both of us lose, then I will be...punished as you see fit.”

Gozaburo shifted his gaze. “Who is this Yami?”

“I am.” Yami walked quietly to the spot next to Seto. He had been in front of the crowd of curious children whom have gathered around at Seto's earlier pronouncement; he'd stood silently while he observed both Gozaburo and Seto's actions and reactions.

Gozaburo made a dismissive sound. “Not very impressive, boy,” he said to Seto. “And you think he has the means to win if you don't?”

Seto hissed softly. Gozaburo had predicted his motive with as much accuracy and certainty as if he had read Seto's mind. He fought to push down the instant panic that had erupted.

“What makes you think I won't?” Yami said coldly, and during that brief pause where Gozaburo's attention had wavered, where Gozaburo's eyes had left Seto's to fully take in what he had just narrowly dismissed before in the slightly smaller form of Yami, Seto had successfully pushed away the panic and composed himself. When Gozaburo turned back to him, Seto was ready. More than ready. If Yami could stand so calmly, so dignified and full of curbed strength, then Seto could as well.

Gozaburo laughed again; this time, it was biting and sharp, and promised cruel, cruel things. It promised nothing but losses. “I think you have yourself a game, boy. I accept your challenge.”

Releasing a small breath Seto hadn't been aware he was holding, Seto nodded tightly and prepared himself. He led the way to the set-up on a worn, scratched wooden table and settled himself on a seat. Gozaburo took the other seat across from him and looked down at the chess pieces with bemused narrowed eyes.

“So certain that I would accept, boy?” There was an edge Seto heard underneath the words; an almost challenge that Seto couldn't leave alone.

“I play to win,” Seto said coolly, and lightly clasped his black pawn beneath his fingertips.

“So do I, boy. So do I.” And with that, Gozaburo made his move.

We'll see, Seto thought, and tightened his hold on his knight. We'll see.