The Path of Vengeance

whoa...if you thought the last chapter was angsty, wait till you get a load of this one...


Blinking is a natural reflex. One necessary to maintain the eye’s natural moisture. An action that most don’t even notice or ever think about. He’d noticed once that cartoonists were beginning to make their characters blink on occasion. Probably to make them appear more human. So how was it then that his gray eyes were burning? He was sure he was blinking. It’s not something you can avoid doing. Maybe the tears pouring out of them were making them burn.

Blink.

His cell phone lay on the floor several feet away, forgotten in the struggle. He refused to move a muscle. If he moved he would feel the nauseating crackle of blood drying on his hands.

Blink.

Images flashed through his mind, a notable contrast to the paralysis in his body. The orphanage. Gozaburo’s cruelty.

Blink.

Why was he thinking about this now? Because in circumstances of insurmountable emotional bombardment the mind will ramble on in an attempt to self-distract from the horror the eyes have relayed unto it.

Blink.



“American pop superstar Madeline Spencer was arrested last night for slam dancing in the nude at Finley Park in Los Angeles.”

Yugi snickered. “What is ‘slam dancing’?” he asked.

Ryou frowned over the top of the magazine. “I have no idea,” he replied. “But it sounds painful.”

Yami tightened his grip on the teen sitting in his lap and rested his forehead against him. “What are you reading?” he asked.

“One of the magazines that Malik brought. Hey Yugi listen to this; ‘Mei Ling is set to star in the music video for Vulture’s latest hit single’.”

“Ugh,” Yugi said, wrinkling his nose. “She’s so skanky.”

Yami chuckled. “Skanky?” he repeated. Both Ryou and Yugi burst out laughing to hear so juvenile a word come from so ancient a soul. Yami raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

Ryou leaned back and kissed him, trying to contain his amusement. “Say it again.”

“Skanky.”

More peals of laughter followed.

“Stop,” Yugi cried, clutching his side. “Stop making me laugh.”

Ryou set the magazine aside and took Yugi’s hand. “You okay?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” Yugi replied with a giggle.

“What’s so funny in here?”

Three pairs of eyes went to the door. “Hi Becky,” Ryou said. “Yami just learned a new word.”

Becky smiled. “And what would that be?”

“NO!” Yugi and Ryou exclaimed, looking at Yami.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said to the nurse, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes. “I am as uneducated as I ever was.”

Becky shook her head, grateful to see her patient with a smile. “I'm not sure I even want to know.” She pushed a wheelchair into the room and focused on Yugi. “Well, kiddo, you ready to get this over with so you can go home?”

Fear gripped Yugi’s heart. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Its okay, Yugi,” Ryou said soothingly, rising to his feet to allow Yami to do the same.

“Come on,” Becky said. “I promise to drive slowly so you can peek into the other rooms.”

Yugi managed a smile. “Okay,” he whispered.

Becky pushed the chair so it was flush with the side of the bed and set the brake before lowering the guardrail on the bed. “Alright, this’ll probably suck,” she said gently. “But I’ll try to make it as quick as possible.” Yugi nodded and she removed his blood pressure cuff and the electrodes from the sticky white circles on his chest. “We’re going to keep your catheter and IV in,” she explained. “That way we don’t have to stick you again when we get back.” She transferred the suspended bag of saline from the stand attached to his bed to the one on the chair as well as the drainage bag. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I help?” Yami asked.

“I think we can manage,” the nurse replied, laying a pillow in the seat of the chair for added cushioning. “He’s a strong one, right Yugi?”

“You bet he is,” Ryou answered for his friend.

Becky gripped his arm firmly and helped Yugi sit up on his own. “What I want you to do is just slide over until you’re at the edge of the bed,” she explained. “Then I’ll lift you into the chair, okay?”

Yugi nodded and managed to scoot inch by inch until Becky put her arm beneath his knees and one behind his back, effectively depositing him in the chair.

“There we go,” she said brightly. She picked up one of the blankets from the bed and laid it in his lap, both for protection from the drafts and his own security. “We’re ready to hit it. Is either of them coming along?”

Yugi held out a trembling hand to Ryou, who took it immediately.

Yami walked around the bed and kissed Yugi on the forehead. “It’ll be okay, Aibou. If you need me…” he nonchalantly tapped his temple.

Yugi nodded his understanding.

“He’ll be okay,” Ryou assured, squeezing the pharaoh’s hand with his free one. He had told Yami of Yugi’s wishes the night before. The spirit was understandably upset, but immediately agreed to anything that would help his light through the ordeal.

Becky released the brake on the chair. “Here we go. I’ll be back after he’s checked in with the doctor,” she explained to Yami. “I’ll be changing his bedding and whatnot.”

Yami nodded and watched sadly as she left with two most important people in his life.



The sun had just begun its nightly descent on the other side of the earth. Bakura stood in the large window of the extravagant hotel suite, one foot on the ledge, staring out into the heart of the city. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives. The neon blazed through the remainder sunlight, intent on getting to the darkness where it would shine brightly, beckoning patrons into its individual establishments.

A small smile played upon his lips as he recalled the occurrence with Marik in the spa tub. It had been eons since he’d allowed such an act to be bestowed upon him. It had been a surprisingly pleasant change in pace. Hell, he’d gotten more action in the past four days than he had in three thousand years prior. Well, not including solo missions.

He sighed contentedly and turned away from the window. He smiled to see Marik still asleep in the grand plush bed, the blonde’s beautifully tanned body entwined in the start white sheets.

Moving quietly, so not to wake him, Bakura gathered up his clothes and began dressing. He had spent so long harboring the hatred and being fueled by his detestation of the Pharaoh that to suddenly be without the drive to cause him eternal torment was somewhat overwhelming.

He tried to contact Ryou but the hikari quickly informed him that it was a bad time. Bakura didn’t even want to consider what his light would be doing. Ryou told him he’d talk to him in a few hours. That was fine by the tomb robber. He had business to attend to.

He looked again at the object of his growing affection. Marik would sleep for at least three more hours. That was plenty of time. He opened the canvas bag and emptied its contents into one of the empty dresser drawers. With a satisfied smile, he separated two thousand from the pile and put it into the pocket of his jeans. Making sure he had his key, he pulled on Marik’s coat and left the room, empty bag in tow.



The lustrous car flew over the asphalt as Tristan sped back to the mansion. He was at least an hour out of town but figured he could make it back in half that time at the speed he was driving. There was no worry in his mind about getting pulled over. There wasn’t a cop in town that would stop a car that carried the vanity plate KAIBA4.

One hand on the steering wheel, he dialed Mokuba’s cell phone number again. It rang four times before the boy’s cheerful voice mail greeting came on. “Damn it,” he yelled in frustration. Mokuba wasn’t answering, the home phone just rang and rang, and Kaiba’s cell phone wasn’t being answered either. It would just figure that today was the butler’s day off.

“What the hell did you do, Seto?” he asked to no one in particular, tears dripping off of his chin. All he could picture was getting to the mansion and finding his lover in a pool of drying blood.

“No,” he whispered. “That’s not going to happen.”

Funny how suddenly nothing else mattered but getting to Kaiba when just a few short hours ago all he could think about was getting away from him. He had tried to convince himself that he was returning for Mokuba but immediately dropped that façade, ashamed that he would even pretend not to worry about the CEO.

Desperate for distraction, he turned on the radio. It didn’t help. Images flashed through his mind, bringing more tears to his eyes. His first date with the brunette. Kaiba had asked him to dinner and a movie and though to impress him with the fanciest restaurant in Tokyo, where he had flown Tristan in his helicopter. The meal had been quite good but Tristan didn’t feel that it was worth the obscene bill that came with it. Kaiba had laughed and called his bluff. “If you think it’s so easy to take a headstrong brunette on a date then you try it,” he had said. The following night Tristan had taken them through the drive through window of the Snack Shack and out to a night club.

The Jag drove impossibly faster. Tristan knew he was stuck. There was no way he would ever be able to turn his back on either Kaiba. Seto was the love of his life and Mokuba was like a brother to him.

He tried Mokuba’s phone again. The same cheerful voice mail greeting. He threw his cell phone against the dashboard, relishing in the satisfying crunch. The mansion was still fifteen minutes away.



Yugi held tightly to Ryou’s hand as Becky pushed him into the elevator. He was petrified. That was the only word to describe it. He just knew that Bakura’s disembodied voice was going to have a field day with this newest torment.

As the elevator began to descend he morbidly wished that one of the cables would snap, plunging him to the ground floor. Anything to escape the latest in what seemed to be an unending chain of horrific events.

His rational mind, what was left of it anyway, kept trying to remind him that unless this was done he wouldn’t be allowed to go home. That part of his conscience was immediately squelched when the elevator bell chimed, announcing their arrival on the Floor of Torment.

This was happening way too fast. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to be zipping by in rapid succession. Ryou let go of his hand in order to open the oversized door to the examination room. Said hand dropped down to grip the arm of the wheelchair in a death grip, mimicking his other.

Becky pushed the chair next to the bed and turned it to face the door. She smiled sympathetically at her patient. “I’ll be back to pick you up when this is all over, okay Yugi?”

Yugi’s eyes were brimming with tears as he nodded. He watched her leave and pulled at the blanket in his lap.

“Yugi,” Ryou said softly, his heart breaking to see the fear in the teen’s eyes. “Just try to remember that this will be over soon.” Yugi nodded again. Ryou’s fought against the urge to cry himself. “Hey,” he said. “What do you say you and I hit the cafeteria tonight after Yami goes to sleep? We can raid their ice cream counter.”

Yugi looked up at him. “Is that a bribe?” he managed.

“No,” Ryou corrected. “Just something to look forward to.”

The smaller teen nodded. “I’d like that.”

Ryou smiled. “Me too.”

They sat together for about ten more minutes before a middle aged doctor came into the room with another nurse. “I'm Dr. Hokkaido,” he said, extending his hand.

Yugi made no move to take it.

“I'm Ryou,” the pale teen interjected smoothly. “This is Yugi. It’s nice to meet you.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, Yugi, I'm going to need you to move onto this table. Do you need some help or can you manage on your own?”

Ryou could see is friend beginning to shake. “He’ll probably need help.”

“Of course,” the doctor said. “Nurse?”

She stepped forward and removed the bags connected to Yugi’s wheelchair, holding one high and the other low.

Dr. Hokkaido knelt in front of Yugi. “Can I have your hands?” he asked calmly.

A sense of relief flowed through Ryou. It was obvious that the doctor had been informed of Yugi’s condition.

Yugi slowly released the blanket and extended trembling hands for him to take.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

Nod.

“Okay then. Up we go,” he said, pulling him to his feet. Pain flashed over his features.

“What is it?” Ryou asked immediately.

Yugi shook his head, his stomach wound on fire as the skin stretched in this new position. He shuffled with the doctor’s assistance to the table, his nurse following behind.

Ryou winced with every step the smaller duelist made. He could almost see the waves of pain radiating off of him. Pride rode high within him as he saw that his friend was trying to be strong.

Yugi fought against the instinct to pull away as the man put his hands under his arms and lifted him onto the table.

“There you are,” Dr. Hokkaido said. “Can you lie back?”

Yugi immediately stiffened.

Ryou stepped up quickly. “Yugi, it’s okay. I'm here,” he reminded him.

Yugi’s hand sought out the pale one of his friend and he lay back on the table, shaking visibly. “Ryou,” he choked.

Dr. Hokkaido covered him with the blanket. “I'm going to be as careful as possible, Yugi,” he explained. “But I can’t promise that this will be painless. I’ll try to go as fast as I can, okay?”

Yugi nodded, clutching Ryou’s fist so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

“Can you turn onto your side for me, Yugi?”

Tears flowed forth in a river of shame as he complied with the doctor’s wishes, turning toward Ryou. “I can’t do this,” he whispered to his friend.

Ryou leaned down and rested a hand on Yugi’s damp forehead. “You can,” he whispered back. “I know you can.”

“Alright Yugi, we’re ready to begin,” Dr. Hokkaido announced. “You’ll probably feel…”

Yugi didn’t hear a word beyond that. His eyes were glued to Ryou’s hair. So like Bakura’s…

A scream tore from his lips when the doctor pressed a gloved finger into him. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body automatically trying to eject the offending digit.

“Yugi, I need you to relax,” the doctor said gently.

“Come on, Yugi,” Ryou pleaded. “Let him finish so you can go home.” He was eternally grateful that Yugi had opted against allowing Yami into the room. There was no doubt in his mind that the doctor would have been reduced to a bumbling idiot at Yugi’s first scream.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no….

Yugi’s free hand went to his chest.

“Yugi,” Dr. Hokkaido said firmly. “You need to breathe.”

“You’re safe,” Ryou whispered, cradling the shaking teen’s head in his unbound hand. “He’s not here, Yugi. You can trust me, remember?”

Yugi refused to look at Bakura’s double but did take a few deep breaths. “I'm sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

“No,” Ryou insisted. “It’s okay to be upset. But remember that I'm here for you. You aren’t alone, Yugi.” He let a relieved sigh escape when Yugi squeezed his hand in understanding.

Over the next hour and forty minutes things went from bad to worse in Yugi’s fractured mind. He dealt with Ryou’s appearance by pressing is face into the teen’s shoulder, blocking his view of the entire room. He felt for all the world like the scum from the bottom of someone’s shoe. His shame steadily grew with every passing second, exploding into full-blown disgrace when asked if he wanted to see his mutilated colon on the monitor behind Ryou. All he wanted was for this anguish to end.

He could swear he heard dark laughter echoing off of the sterile white walls of the room and wondered seriously if he was going insane. It was blatantly obvious that he was the only one that heard the sinister cackling.

He released Ryou’s hand and covered his ears, trying to block it out. It didn’t help. If anything, it grew louder, mocking him every time he winced in pain at the doctor’s expense. The world as he knew it was gone. All that remained was the agony and shame inside his mind being fueled by the feeling that his bowels were being manipulated by dozens of tiny razor blades.

The sickening feel of the camera tube easing through his intestines was making him nauseous, another fact that Bakura’s voice found hilarious. He tried to curl into as tight a ball as possible but that only provided more pain as his catheter tube was pulled.

He could no longer hear Ryou’s gentle whispers. Cautiously, he opened one red-rimmed eye only to come face to face with Bakura himself. A sight that helped him find his voice.

“NO!” he screamed, scrambling away from the white haired figure. His escape attempt was over before it really started as two pairs of hands grabbed and held him in place. He began to sob. “Bakura,” he choked. “Please…” He could see the pale lips moving but no sound came from them. At least not one that could be heard over the ever present laughter.

His stomach was burning. He could feel fresh blood spilling from the wound, warming the front of his hospital gown. With sickening clarity he recalled Bakura’s act of assertion against him, feel the burning fire of the thief’s release contaminating him.

Suddenly a cooling sensation shot seeped through his arm, combating the heat of Bakura’s immoral seed. It became harder to hear the upsetting laughter and the bloody river pouring from his body ceased. A new coolness touched his face and he opened his eyes to see Ryou leaning over him, tears in his chocolate eyes. In his hand was a damp cloth which he was using to wipe the sweat from Yugi’s brow. Suddenly a voice filtered through the receding darkness.

“All done, Yugi,” the doctor said gently.



The sound of squealing tires and the scent of burnt rubber followed Tristan as he screeched to a stop at the formidable iron gates of the Kaiba Mansion. He cursed their creeping slowness as they opened and shot through as soon as he could clear it, only to stop again at the small guardhouse. “Get in,” he growled to a surprised Kenji.

“Master Taylor?”

“Get in the fucking car quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, the guard pressed a button, effectively closing the gate again before jogging around the Jag and climbing into the passenger seat. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Tristan didn’t answer. He focused on making it to the grand entryway of the mansion as swiftly and safely as possible. Seven feet of tire marks marred the flawless driveway when the pair jumped out of the vehicle and ran up the steps to the doors.

“SETO!” Tristan yelled as soon as they entered the foyer. He shot into a dead run, the elder guard at his heels. “SETO? MOKUBA!”

The brunette thundered up the stairs, his heart hammering in his ears. As he passed them, he glanced in to every door, looking for either brother. Instinct told him however that he’d find them in Kaiba’s office. It was the condition he might find them in that drove fear into his every step.

Light poured through the open office door at the end of the hall, casting lumpy shadows onto the opposite wall. He raced toward its source, intent on halting the relentless “what ifs” with stone cold fact, even if the outcome was everything that he dreaded.

He skidded to a stop in the doorway, the guard crashing into his back. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as his mind tried to process the scene before him. “Seto…”



Yami shot to his feet when Yugi was wheeled into the room strapped down to a stretcher, a tearful Ryou holding his hand as Becky and a nurse he didn’t recognize guided the mobile bed. “What happened?” he asked frantically.

“He had a hard time,” Ryou explained as gently as possible.

“He’ll be alright,” Becky said soothingly. “Try not to worry.” She undid the brown leather restraints and with the help of the second nurse, carefully deposited Yugi into the freshly made bed. She covered him with a blanket. “The doctor will be here in about forty-five minutes to go over the test results with you.”

“Thank you, Becky,” Ryou said.

Becky nodded and left the room with her co-worker, stretcher in tow.

“Yugi?” Yami whispered, leaning over the teen.

Yugi’s eyes slowly opened. “Hi Yami.”

“How are you doing, Aibou?”

Yugi struggled to take a deep breath. “I want to go home.”

The spirit turned swollen eyes to Ryou. “Can I take him home?”

Ryou’s bottom lip quivered as he stepped forward and pulled the pharaoh into a crushing embrace. “Not yet,” he whispered. “We have to wait for the doctor.”

Yami burrowed his face into the soft snowy hair, doing his damndest to hide his distress from Yugi. “I can’t do this,” he whispered back.

Ryou pulled his head back and kissed Yami’s forehead. “You don’t have a choice. Yugi needs you…us…to be strong for him. Don’t make him be the strong one. Not now.”

Yugi lay on the bed, hearing their hushed conversation but unable to make out the words. It was a relieving change from Bakura’s voice, which he was able to make out all to well. But whatever medicine they had given him had silenced the fiend for the time being. All he could focus on now was the desire to leave this place of torment and go home.



Bakura sat behind an ever-increasing pile of chips at the round poker table, five cards resting in his hand. Nearly a thousand dollars lay on the line for a hand which held a ten high and nothing more. He’d been in the casino for over two hours and had already won an obscene amount. But not before losing all but four hundred of the two thousand he came with.

The sixteen hundred dollars he considered an investment. It cost him that much to learn the ins and outs of the games, dealers, and other players. Video gaming machines were a waste of his time. There was little to no skill involved and he didn’t deal in chance. He learned the same lesson with roulette and keno. Blackjack returned to him the original sixteen hundred but he was having a hard time remembering the value of cards and adding the numbers as quickly as was necessary.

But poker…poker proved to be a game he excelled in. Not because he understood one bit of what beat what but because he could read people’s subtle expressions of excitement, nervousness, or dejection. Not to mention the fact that he was the best bullshitter to ever come out of ancient Egypt.

“Looks like you win again, Mr. Ishtar.”

Bakura nodded noncommittally but on the inside he was rolling with laughter. The ‘Mr. Ishtar’ the dealer was referring to was Odion, whose identification Bakura had stolen and had altered back in Japan in order to gain entrance into bars and nightclubs with Marik. “I'm going to cash out,” he said to the dealer, picking up his drink and rising to his feet.

Twenty minutes later he was several thousand dollars richer then when he started and turning down the offer of the high roller’s suite in the hotel, preferring their room at the Luxor. He stepped out into the street, pressing through other gaming patrons on his way back to the hotel.



Blood. There was so much of it. Tristan’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Seto?” No response came.

Seto Kaiba, Chief Executive Officer of Kaiba Corporation, didn’t even glance up from his kneeling position on the floor in front of his desk. The obscene amount of blood oozing from his face flowed down his bare chest, unobstructed in its path to the floor until it hit the elastic waistband of his light blue pajama bottoms. Clutched in his hand what Tristan recognized to be his prized antique Colt .45 automatic handgun, his finger still resting on the trigger.

“Sir?” Kenji said quietly, shocked to see his employer in such a state.

“Shh,” Tristan cautioned. He could see his boyfriend’s hands begin to shake harder. “Call a doctor,” he whispered.

Kenji backed out of the room slowly.

Tristan fought back the waves of nausea as he gingerly stepped forward a few more feet to reach Mokuba, who was curled on the Persian rug in fetal position, his eyes wide and vacant. “Mokuba,” he said as quietly as possible. No reply. Carefully avoiding any quick or jerking movements, he lifted the boy into his arms and walked backward to the doorway. “Kenji,” he hissed.

The guard came quickly, a cell phone to his ear. “What is it?” he asked.

“Take Mokuba to his room. Make sure to put him under the blankets he’s freezing.”

Kenji barked a few more orders into the phone before hanging up and taking the unresponsive boy. “Mr. Kaiba’s private physician is on his way,” he explained. “He’s one of the best and knows the meaning of the word ‘discreet’ if you get my meaning.”

Tristan nodded. “Good. Make sure he doesn’t come barging into the room when he gets here.” He kissed Mokuba’s clammy forehead and again stepped into the room.

Kaiba hadn’t moved. His eyes remained glued to the gun resting in his hand. Tristan took a few wary steps forward. “Seto?” he said quietly. “Baby, its Tristan.”

Kaiba’s left eye, the one free of blood, twitched sharply.

Tristan slowly descended to his knees, crawling carefully to the unstable millionaire until they were side by side. He swallowed the bile in his throat as his eyes roamed the mutilated flesh of the once beautifully sculpted right side of his lover’s face. “Oh, Seto, what have you done?”

The hand holding the gun shook even harder before slowly beginning to rise.

Tristan’s eyes grew even wider. “No,” he said forcefully. He reached out and covered Kaiba’s hand with his own.

The CEO blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the sensation. His head whipped to the side and his mouth fell open. “Tristan…”

Tristan grasped the gun and removed it from his boyfriend’s grasp, setting the safety on and sliding it under the desk. “I'm here, baby.”

Kaiba burst into a fit of disconsolate tears, his body falling forward, his forehead pressed against the carpet. Tristan watched helplessly as the brunette clawed at the rug, his body wracking with the force of his sobs.

“Seto,” he said gently. “Come here.” He grasped the bloodied arm closest to him and pulled his lover up and into a soothing embrace. He was at a loss. Never in a million years would he have pictured this scenario. Kaiba was, up until this day, an impenetrable fortress of composure and self-assurance. To see him in such a broken state pulled at his heart like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Relief like he’d never known came flooding in when Kenji appeared in the doorway with an elderly gentleman in a white lab coat.

“Tristan, this is Dr. Tochigi.”

The man stepped cautiously into the room, obviously heeding the guard’s warnings. “What happened?” he asked.

Tristan shook his head, his arms wrapped tightly around the man in question. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “I think he tried to shot himself.”

Dr. Tochigi seemed as taken aback as everyone else in the room. “Well,” he stuttered. “Let’s have a look then.” He knelt down next to the pair and opened his medical bag, sliding on a pair of latex gloves.

Kaiba remained glued to Tristan’s chest, his hands clutching the teen’s brown trench coat. His sobs had subsided and the room seemed eerily silent.

“Come on, baby,” Tristan said relaxingly. He grasped his lover’s shoulders and pulled him back. “Kenji,” he said.

The guard stepped forward and took hold of his boss, separating the pair long enough for Tristan to move behind him, pulling the CEO back against his chest.

Dr. Tochigi repositioned himself in front of his patient. The immediate grimace that crossed his face did little to assuage Tristan’s fears. “Mr. Kenji,” he said sternly. “I’ll need several clean towels and a bowl of warm water.” The man rushed off quickly. “What type of gun was it?” he asked, picking up Kaiba’s hand.

“A Colt .45,” Tristan replied, his hand resting on Kaiba’s forehead, brushing his hair back soothingly.

“Did you witness the shooting?” he asked.

“No,” Tristan replied. “Not unless you count hearing it over the telephone.”

Dr. Tochigi released his hold on Kaiba’s wrist. “His pulse is a little sluggish,” he said. “Most likely due to his mental state. Has he spoken since you got here?”

“Not really. He said my name but that was all.”

The doctor nodded and pulled a penlight from his bag, shining it in Kaiba’s left eye. “Well, his pupils are responsive,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”

Kenji jogged back into the room, an armful of towels and a bucket full of water in tow. “Is this enough?” he asked.

“I believe so,” the doctor said. “Thank you.” He turned to Tristan. “Try to hold him still.”

Tristan’s hand came to a stop on Kaiba’s forehead and the other snaked around his waist, effectively pinning him down. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I'm here, Seto.”

Dr. Tochigi wet one of the towels and set to work removing the blood from Kaiba’s chest and arms first. When that was done, he folded one of the cloths and placed it on the millionaire’s shoulder, effectively catching the blood that still oozed from his face. “He’s going to need stitches,” he said gravely. Another visit to his medical bag and he retrieved what he needed for the procedure along with a syringe and small vial. “This will sedate him,” he explained when Tristan raised an eyebrow in question. “I think that’s the best thing we can do for now.” He injected the cool liquid into the millionaire’s arm before picking up his sterile suture equipment.

Tristan winced with every whimper the doctor pulled from his lover throughout the mandatory labor. His mind was on autopilot. He refused to think about what could have been and what might have happened. He had to focus only on the task at hand and nothing more. He wasn’t used to being the strong one in their relationship. Sure, he could be just as stubborn as his lover but when it came down to it, Kaiba wore the pants and he was okay with that…so long as it was kept just between them.

He wondered also how Mokuba was doing. When he questioned Kenji he was told that the boy had been placed in his room and Li, whom the guard had called in early, was sitting with him. He couldn’t imagine what was running through the boy’s mind. With a sickening realization he knew he’d have to pull and view the security tape to see what had transpired.

Dr. Tochigi set down his equipment and picked up a large package of gauze along with a tube of medical cream. He opened the cap and squeezed a liberal amount of ointment onto one of the pads before placing over Kaiba’s cheekbone and taping it in place. He did the same for the laceration adjacent to the bridge of the millionaire’s nose. One more pad was placed over his right eye, taped, and secured with a black eye patch. “All done,” he said, gathering up his supplies. “Let’s get him into his bed.”

Kenji stepped forward and he and Tristan carried the now only semi-conscious teen down the hallway and to his room. Tristan went to the closet and got him a fresh pajama set to wear and the two set about getting the fallen CEO into them before placing him under the blankets in the massive bed. Upon completion of the task, they convened with the doctor back in the hallway.

“Here’s what needs to be done,” the elderly man said once joined by the pair. “The bandages need to be changed every morning. Apply this ointment liberally every time you change them. Don’t let it get into his eye, however.”

Tristan took the offered supplies and tucked them into the pocket of his coat. “How much damage did he do?” he asked bluntly.

Dr. Tochigi shook his head. “It’s too early to tell if there is any permanent damage done. The bullet seemed to start beneath his cheekbone, just barely missing his eye, and go through the skin at the innermost point of his eyebrow.” He paused. “He was extremely lucky. There is quite a bit of blistering across the right side of his face caused by the close proximity to the gun. You should use a cold compress on that side for twenty minutes every hour to prevent further swelling.”

“What kind of permanent damage are you meaning, doctor?” Kenji questioned.

“Well we can’t rule out the possibility of blindness or loss of hearing.”

“Why would you be worried about his hearing?” Tristan asked.

“Have you ever heard a gun go off?” Dr. Tochigi asked the brunette.

“No,” Tristan admitted.

“It is extremely loud. Loud enough to cause permanent damage in some victims.”

Tristan groaned. “Should he receive further testing then?”

“Most definitely,” the doctor confirmed. “You should bring in a specialist to look over him within the next few days. And a counselor or therapist might not be a bad idea either.”

Tristan nodded gravely. “Thank you doctor,” he said appreciatively.

“Of course,” Dr. Tochigi replied. “I’ve written out three prescriptions for him as well. A painkiller, an antibiotic, and a sedative. I suggest you make use of all three,” he added pointedly, holding out the pages.

Tristan moved to take them but Kenji was faster. “I’ll see that they are filled,” he said quickly. “You’ve got your hands full, Master Taylor.” He smirked. “Besides, they’re in my name anyway.”

The brunette raised an eyebrow in question.

“Anonymity is the key to employment with Seto Kaiba,” Dr. Tochigi explained.

“Oh, right,” Tristan said.

“I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow afternoon. And if I may suggest,” the doctor said grimly. “Keep a close eye on him. Don’t give him the opportunity to finish what he started.”

Tristan nodded and shook the doctor’s hand. He watched both men descend the stairs before stepping back into Kaiba’s grand bedroom. The tears he’d held back slipped unnoticed from his eyes as he stared at his unconscious lover. “Why would you do something so foolish?” he asked, expecting no response.

With a heavy heart, he approached the bed and ran a hand through the unruly brown locks that lie across the CEO’s forehead. He couldn’t understand it. In less than a week they had gone from complete and utter contentment to this. There was still so much he didn’t understand. And now he would have to wait even longer for the answers to the very questions that would decide whether or not he had a future with the newly fallible Seto Kaiba.


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As always I want to send a thank you to my reviewers. You all are amazing. This chapter was a hard one to write. I hope I was able to do it justice.