The Ride

Thanks to all who've read so far, and that goes double for all those who took time to review! It's much appreciated, and I intend to post a long thanks at the end of the story, so don't feel neglected! ^_^ This entire story was inspired by Holly McNarland's song of the same name, and this chapter is sorta a quasi-songfic to it. You'll see what I mean! ^_^ All this by way of saying that no, I did not run out of chapter titles, LOL.

In any case, slashes denote song lyrics in this chapter. Enjoy, and please leave a review! If there's something you think could be improved, please let me know! I'm here to learn, and D-chan (the genius behind a whole slew of MST's) has taught me the value of constructive criticism, so if you think I can take a lesson from you, teach away! ^_^

Oh, and I obviously don't own any of Holly's songs, or anything affiliated with Yu-Gi-Oh!

Chapter 4: The Ride

I arrive at Taylor's house at precisely 8:01, just to spite Yami. The house itself isn't a palace by any means, but it's not a shack, either; two-story, three bedroom house, painted in some awful shade of green that looks like that time Mokuba ate green Jell-O while he had the flu. Exactly what I would expect from one of Yugi's painfully average, middle-class friends.

Before the driver has a chance to pull away, I tap on the passenger side window, and he rolls it down nervously. "Yes, Mr. Kaiba?" he says.

"I want you back here in an hour to pick me up. You're late, you're fired." I order, and wait for his answer.

For a brief moment, my chauffeur tries to decide whether or not he should bring up the fact that he was supposed to be off work two hours ago, or perhaps the equally pertinent fact that he's not getting any pay at all for this extra time. In the end, though, he nods slowly. "Whatever you say, sir," he says as he switches the limo into drive and returns to the mansion. Perhaps not all hired help is completely stupid.

I knock briskly a few times, trying to make myself heard over the music inside, but finally give up and try the door. Mercifully, it's unlocked, and I step inside, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from my trench coat as I do so. Immediately, I realize two things; Tristan's parents must be out of town, and somebody's done a lot more than just spike the punch, since half the guests are passed out on various pieces of furniture and the other half are dancing drunkenly around the living room. I step over the shards of what used to be a very cheap lamp, dodge the advances of at least three drunken girls in clothing more suited to whoring than anything respectable, and shoulder my way into the kitchen before I catch a glimpse of Yami's familiar hairdo. The former pharaoh is tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, his eyes fixed on the wall clock, and this scene brings a smirk to my face. I love knowing that I've gotten to him.

Crimson orbs flick up at me as my briefcase slams down on the table. "You're late," my opponent accuses.

"I never said I would be on time, only that I wouldn't wait for you if you were late." I slide my duel deck free from its pocket and set it down. "It's not my fault if you were unable to interpret it correctly." I cut my deck and shuffle briskly, drawing my starting hand. Yami does the same, and I win the coin toss.

Get ready to lose, I glare as I draw my sixth card and Yami turns on the video camera resting on a tripod next to the table. With so much at stake, I certainly won't.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I allow myself to relax just the slightest bit. The duel's been fought with equal vehemence by both of us, but now, at last, it seems that my victory is assured, even though Yami's five hundred life points are more than double my own pitiful two hundred. It was worth it, though; I have just managed to get my Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon onto the field, and my great beast is facing a pathetic Mystical Elf in defense mode and Yami's omnipresent Dark Magician, powered up with a Sword of Dark Destruction and a Book of Secret Arts. The pharaoh also has his Yami field card in play, giving his mage a total of three thousand four hundred attack points.

I can win this duel right now, I realize as I draw a card. All I have to do is destroy his Dark Magician, and I'm the victor. My eyes search his side of the field; no face-down cards, absolutely nothing save his two monsters and their power-ups. I am about to declare the winning attack when something stops me in my tracks.

Once I've won, I'm going to have this duel aired, of course. How much more humiliating it would be if I dragged out Yami's defeat, though. I would be able to watch my opponent's hope shatter as he draws a useless card, turns his Dark Magician into defense mode, and resigns himself to his fate. How great it would be to watch his shoulders slump ever so slightly in defeat, as I destroy his favorite card with my Blue-Eyes and wipe out the rest of his life points with one of the weaker monsters that I have in my hand, meant to be used for tribute purposes only. As the fantasy draws to a close, I decide to make my dream a reality.

"I destroy your Mystical Elf," I say, and Yami's crimson eyes snap up to stare at me. "You heard me," I continue impatiently. "Your Elf's gone, and it's your move."

My opponent nods, placing the female monster at the top of his graveyard pile. I notice his eyes glaze over just the slightest bit; he's communicating with his hikari, as he frequently does during duels. His hand rests on his deck, and he draws the top card, eyes shut tightly. I watch triumphantly as those fiery eyes crack open just the slightest bit, but instead of the fear, anger, or resignation I expect to see reflected in their depths, I see a look of triumph that mirrors my own. Impossible, I think to myself, He must be bluffing. Thes nos no way in Hell that he could possibly have drawn a card powerful enough to destroy my Blue-Eyes. Not at this precise moment, when he needs it the most.

Nevertheless, Yami sets his hand down, save for the card he just pulled. "Good game, Kaiba," he says, and the riorriority in his tone makes me want to kill him, "but it ends here." Then, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat, he sets his De-Fusion card down right next to his Sword of Dark Destruction. For a moment, I stare in disbelief, one word engraved upon my mind. No. This can't be. I was winning! I was beating him! He can't do this to me!

"Kaiba." The sound of his voice jars me back to my senses. "Your dragon?"

Growling deep in my throat, though not loud enough that the camera would pick it up, I remove my Ultimate Dragon from the field and replace it with the three Blue-Eyes from my graveyard. Now, it is I who is in the position to lose, I who must stare defeat in the face and not blink. I won't grant him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply this is going to affect me. I swear on my dragons, I will not so much as flinch under this defeat.

"Now, Dark Magician, destroy one of his dragons and end this duel!" Someone needs to tell Yami that we're no longer playing with real monsters. He doesn't have to shout out his commands anymore. Just as well we're playing with cards, however; I don't think I'd have been able to resist the urge to have my Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon incinerate the overconfident royal pain.

As though I were carved from stone, I sweep my cards from the table and put them away, rising from my seat and turning towards the living room, where the number of drunken dancers has been halved in the time that it took for us to duel. Behind me, I can hear the sound of Yami ejecting and pocketing the tape, and I can practically see the grin on his face, the one that I had pictured myself wearing not thirty seconds ago. Hearing that muted noise, I know what death must feel like. At least the emotional side of it.

Without making a sound, I find a relatively clean spot on a sofa in the far corner of the living room and sit down, lowering my briefcase to the floor and glancing around. There are more people than I thought still dancing, but none of them seem to be paying attention to me, or anything else for that matter. I watch Yami cross the living room without looking back, camera bag slung over his shoulder and the tape clenched in his hand tightly. The sound of the door opening and closing reaches my ears, and to my credit, I last a whole five seconds before my facade crumbles, and I lean back with a grunt of frustration.

Stupid Yami, and his damned heart of the cards bullshit. I had ethinthing before he showed up with his pesky aibou and little circle of groupies. I had money, power, and most importantly, glory. Glory for something other than the old man's company; glory for my own talents as a duelist. I suppose I shouldn't have let it mean as much to me as it did, but after being called hleshless for losing one measly pawn in a chess match that I went on to win, taking beatings from my adopted father just to protect Mokuba, and never being able to have friends because my superiority made me so unreachable to anyone that they were never motivated to try to get to know me, can you blame me?

That's not entirely true, though, is it? Yugi tried to bridge the space between us, between me and the rest of the world. And like the loner I am, I shot him down, probably planted the seeds of what will grow into a great inferiority complex in his impressionable mind, and reveled in the act. I have worked toward becoming this ruthless, this cold, my entire life, but now that I've achieved it, I no longer know why I wanted it so badly in the first place.

To feel is to be weak, I recite again. To survive in my world, I must be strong. To weaken is to condemn both myself and Mokuba to a hell worse than this. Still, doesn't the only one stronger than I at anything, Yami, feel? Of course he does; his feelings for his light far surpass anything I could ever imagine. How life-altering it must be, to have a heart. Am I right in killing my feelings, or am I just destroying myself further?

A heart might be life-altering, my cynical mind interjects, but never forget the one thing the old man taught you; once you start down that path, it's only a matter of time until you lose all control of your life, and crash and burn. In this world, there is no spare time or energy to waste on such a trivial thing as emotion. Isolation has made you rich, powerful, and immovable. What has love ever done for you?

I have lived my life by this rationale, yet now it has lost its power to sustain me. In desperation, I flip open my locket and look at the picture contained within. I stare at my little brother's smiling face, yet all that I see is the shattered look he wore this morning, when I as much as said I felt nothing for him. The sound of his crying, for I can no longer deny that's what it was, assaults my senses. While I was absorbed in my own mess of a life, I have hurt the only person I have ever felt anything but animosity towards and at the same time systematically alienated all who have tried to bridge the space between myself and the rest of the world. During my short life, my fifteen minutes of fame have come and gone; I have hit my dueling peak, and once Yami airs that tape, I will lose any reputation I might still have had as the best duelist in the world. What is left for me but whatever sweet oblivion might wait beyond this filthy mortal coil?

"Never expected to see ya here, Kaiba."

My eyes flick up unconsciously, and I see Joey Wheeler standing over me. Immediately, my masks slide back into place, lest he should become aware of just how vulnerable I am at this moment. I'm not very worried about that eventuality, though; the mutt's face is flushed, his clothes are disheveled, and his normally clear golden eyes are bloodshot. The aforementioned symptoms, coupled with the fact that he's actually smiling at me, are more than enough for me to deduce that he is well and truly drunk.

"What do you want?" I growl. Ignoring me completely, the blond drops down on the couch beside me, much closer than I would think propriety calls for, and judging from the stench on his breath, it's a wonder that he's still able to stand upright. How ironic that a dog would have a better constitution than a roomful of humans, I observe, yet even that fails to amuse me.

"I gotta want somethin' to talk to ya now?" If I thought his accent was awful before, it's absolutely unbearable now. I'd throw out one of my usual 'gutter trash' comments if I thought it would get through to him at all.

"If you must know, yes." I reach for my briefcase, deciding that I would prefer to wait outside in the bitter cold for my chauffeur than to spend one more minute in the company of this drunken canine. To my surprise, though, his hand closes around my wrist with a strength that should be beyond someone at this stage of inebriation, and he gets up, once again towering over me.

"C'mon, let's dance," he says, and I'm vaguely aware that a relatively slow song is playing. He can't be serious.

"No way," I reply, bringing myself up to my full imposing height. The puppy doesn't seem to be daunted in the least, though; quite the opposite, in fact. His hand is still around my slender wrist, and he drags me out into the middle of the living room, leaning against my chest and swaying like a boxer who's taken one two many punches

My hands fall to his shoulders, but just before I push him away, I remember the second reason I came to the party. While he's drunk... this is the perfect opportunity to find something damaging that I can use against him. Mustering all of my willpower, I force my hands back down to my sides, glancing around. Thankfully, we're the only ones still around and/or awake. As I take a deep breath to steady myself, a different song begins to play. It's not exactly to my taste, and I don't care for the singer's voice, but I listen anyway, for lack of anything better to do while I'm standing here acting as a pillar for the damn mutt.

/Did I make you wanna dance?
Sitting here by myself
Was it a small war out there?
Are you gonna look at me in the morning?/

Without warning, my quote-unquote dance partner's knees buckle, and I catch him reflexively, immediately wishing I hadn't. He giggles and throws his arms over my shoulders to steady himself.

"Looks like I'm fallin' for ya, Kaiba," he chuckles, and I force myself to return his smile. This is an interesting turn of events. Unless that was a joke, or a slip of the tongue, I could be on to something... Still holding him up with one arm around his waist, I go back to listening to the music.

/She's still so down,
Waiting for you
He's fallen asleep, should we wake him?
Are you gonna kiss me back in the morning?/

For the second time in as many minutes, Wheeler stumbles, but my arm prevents him from falling. "My hero," he murmurs, and before I can even anticipate his next move, his lips are on mine, the pungent aroma of alcohol now worse than ever.

I can't believe this. My body refuses to move. I just stand there, paralyzed as his tongue begins to probe at my closed mouth. This has gone far enough, I finally decide, and push him down to the floor angrily. The shock takes the rest of his energy out of him, and his head lolls to the side as he sinks into unconsciousness.

I retrieve my briefcase, dragging my forearm across my mouth, wishing I had some soap, or better yet, disinfectant. Before I leave, I check that he's all right; the last thing I need is him filing a lawsuit for criminal negligence on my part if he really is injured. His pulse is a little quicker than normal, and he's going to have a few bruisesthe the morning, but nothing else that I can see. Satisfied, I stride over to the door and pull it open, letting a gust of wind into the house. The whine of the wind isn't nearly enough, though, to drown out the music, playing on despite whatever might happen around it.

/And I didn't know I was the ride,
Didn't realize, I'm sorry.
Didn't know I was the ride,
I didn't know myself.../

* * *

Joseph Wheeler, with all the ammunition I now have against you, you're going to be lucky if I haven't put you in a mental ward by next week. That thought warms me as I stand in the cold, drawing my trench coat around me with one hand and closing the front door with the other. At least now, there's one more thing I have to do before I can die in peace.

The limo pulls up right on time, my driver yawning widely. "Please excuse me, Mr. Kaiba," he begins.

"Save it," I say as I slide into the luxury car and watch Tristan's house fade into the distance. Already, the beginnings of a plan are taking shape in my mind, and the idea itself is so fiendish that the mere contemplation of it thrills me with an anticipation more intoxicating than any drug.

I suppose sometimes, we really do hand over the tools of our own destruction to others all too readily, without even realizing it, I muse as I lean back and stare at the crescent moon hanging in the sky. And what a glorious destruction this will be indeed.