Stepping Stones

There are too many things that I don't understand. I'll save him for you. Inside my dream… It was your name I wanted to call.

Seto, do you remember when you used to tell me stories? We always fell asleep together when you did that. Most of you stories were about ancient places. I remember when you told me about the founding of Rome. I wanted to know if the two of us would ever be like Romulus and Remus. You said that perhaps we would build something great, said we had, after all, been raised by a wolf.

He supposed he should have gone home. Home where there were gardens that mysteriously flowered and never grew weeds. Home, where the library was always empty. Home, where the nearest person was always right across the hall…and invisible.

Wandering feet through. Kaiba wanted to think, and so he walked. Walked until he recognized his surroundings again. Until the big, white-grey face of a building that had always been there stared back at him. Kaiba stood thoughtfully on the museum steps, looking upward, towards the wooden doors. They were closed at present, but it meant little.

He recalled a time before, after all, when closed doors had been an invitation, strung out on a siren's song. How long ago had it been when he had first met Yami here? Time was of no consequence, anymore, he supposed. It was like sand – easily manipulated. The very structure was possible to manipulate. Enough heat could change sand to glass. Enough force could shift time.

Kaiba stepped up the museum's outer stairs, taking them two at a time with ease. The minimal distance steps had not been created with the long-legged in mind, he mused. When he was at the top, he cast a glance behind to look down at the street. If music were to begin playing, he might not have been overly surprised. This was a moment to himself: he had so few of those, it felt like something of extreme importance.

The wood of the door was pleasantly chilled under his hand. He pushed it inward. The door moved. Kaiba cast one last glance back at the street, then stepped into something he had not…quite…expected.

*~*~*~*~*

"Once upon a time." That was how all the stories began in the story books. "Long ago, and far away." None of them told the stories about victims. None of them were about a child growing up under a tyrant. You never read those books, did you?

Heat assaulted him once he was through the door. Dimly, he heard it click shut behind him. There was no choice in him. His body began to move in a direction. He felt entranced, but no compulsion to fight.

He was running, slowing to a walk, moving backwards through a hall of stone, carved with hieroglyphics. A voice came to him that he recognized. Something tightened inside. Anger welled up.

He was running forward, his long, sure strides having broken into a more frantic pace. That…creature! Hatred, fear, pain.
He stumbled into an alcove, looking out, blue eyes narrowed. There…a pale creature, held in the arms of one so much…

The two of them could have been twins if the pale, Greek brat had been taller. Seth's heart contracted. He watched in pained despair as his prince pressed moist lips to the brat's forehead, kissing him. To watch their closeness, he couldn't help but be jealous.

And when his prince ran hands up the slave's pale arms, pulling at the tunic… It was more than he could take. Seth melted into the shadows, feeling as the sounds of budding pleasure began to grow.

XXXXX

Kaiba's eyes opened. He wasn't aware he had closed them. Nor could he account for where he was. The Egyptian exhibit…

His hands clenched. An echo of the memory – it had too much clarity to be anything but memory – reached him, and his eyes narrowed. He hated what his mind was doing. It was betraying him in the most aggressive fashion he could have imagined. Allowing for other peoples' memories to infect his waking mind!

Giving him…visions, perhaps, of this place.
Kaiba stretched out a hand to run his fingers over a painting done of Egyptian life. His fingers drew together, smudging across the glass. A fist rested delicately against the thin, protective covering.

"I wouldn't advise hitting that."

He didn't have to turn; he recognized that voice.

"Which one are you here?" Kaiba asked. His voice was weary. He growled softly, turning. Blue eyes took in the image of the white-haired killer. A plain white t-shirt and a ripped pair of jeans decorated the young man. Kaiba's eyes flicked over him, taking in all details.

For his part, the assassin simply watched Kaiba out of chocolate-brown eyes, hands jammed deep into his pockets. Perhaps Kaiba might have had the sense to fear him…if he had been afraid of death. As it stood, the only eventuality Kaiba faced from death was regret.

Unfinished…business.

"What does it matter?" the white-haired male asked. His voice was slightly rougher. Kura, then, Kaiba decided; an accountant would hardly speak so harshly.

He gave no reply, and they stood in silence, Kaiba only vaguely aware how the other moved. He had turned back to the painting, stroking the glass again as if his mere touch might cause the barrier to evaporate. What lurked on the other side?

"Have you changed your mind?"

"I never came to find you."

A fluid shrug greeted him when he turned to glare at Kura. "Did you ever consider I might have been sent hunting you?"

He felt as if a shiver should have gone through him. Instead, a cold numbness settled in place. "Who?"

Laughter, and Kaiba flinched when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. "No one; don’t think I'd take the commission, even if it did come." A grin lit the creature's face. "You're too…amusing."

Kaiba opened his mouth to say something. Kura pressed two fingers to his lips, a mad glitter to brown eyes. "Shhh –"

And was gone.

*~*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who was locked up in a tower. I'm not a princess, not beautiful, and not locked up in a tower. I guess I'm better off than she is.

The door opened under his touch. Kaiba pushed his way through the entryway. The sheen of the past still hung in the air, even if it wasn't quite visible any longer. The first floor had been disturbed by the arrival of the Moutus. The quiet that had once been so oppressive had been shunted aside, a little, enough to make room for the ball of life that Yami had brought with him when he'd invaded.

Kaiba rested his forehead against his closed hand for a moment before proceeding in silence through the lower portion of the mansion. The silver decay that had coated the place when Mokuba still lived was there…but almost fragmented. Certain rooms held the oppression closer. The rooms he dared not enter were on this floor; ones left over from when he had first begun his training as Gozaburo's heir.

Most of those were in the back.

Footsteps echoed. Kaiba looked up. It was Yami, looking tired, though a small smile was on his face. It vanished when their eyes met. Something twisted with delicate uncertainty within the brunet. Tiny flashes of the vision he had seen – an ancient version of Yami – raced through his mind. Kaiba's mouth opened; whether to accuse or ask, he was not certain. His tongue was spared the difficulty of choosing words, however, when violet eyes peeked out from behind Yami.

That something that had no name which had stirred within Kaiba upon the sight of Yami vanished abruptly, leaving not even a trace to mark its passage.

"Kaiba." Yami's voice was sharp.

He merely nodded in response.

"Where have you been?"

"It's no concern of yours," Kaiba replied tersely.

Yami's eyes narrowed, but Kaiba was not watching him. Instead, his gaze focused on the violet eyes, wide and too-innocent. Could a creature be demonic in innocence?

Yuugi's skin was pale, had always been pale. Even Yami with his fair complexion, was darker than the child-like youth.

A scowl darkened Kaiba's face. Another flash of that peculiar memory-vision invaded his senses, rocked him back on his heels for a moment. Ancient Yami, lips parted, eyes shut tightly. And violet eyes, bright.

*~*~*~*~*

I understand what it means to be surrounded by lies. I understand what it means to be surrounded by betrayals. But bother, you who search for falsehoods everywhere, do you understand? Or have you reached your own limits?

"I don't think Kaiba-kun likes us."

Yami was sitting on the bed. Yuugi's head was in his lap, and Yami's fingers threaded through the smaller male's hair over and over. He looked down at his aibou then inquired, "What makes you say that?"

Yuugi sighed softly and rolled over, sitting up. "He doesn't like us," the violet-eyed male said, more forcefully. "I just know he doesn't. He looks at us funny." Yuugi spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but Yami wasn't so sure. He supposed Kaiba wasn't overly fond of them; their presence was connected to Mokuba's death after all, and no man with a heart could easily dismiss something like that. Kaiba had a heart, no matter the image he chose to project.

"He doesn't hate us," Yami said.

Yuugi crawled into his lap, curled up like a slightly over-large puppy. "He hates me," the violet-eyed male whispered. "I can see it."

Yami's arms wrapped around Yuugi and he rocked back and forth, trying to give comfort. Yuugi seemed reassured so Yami let him go, but then the smaller male began speaking of Kaiba and Kaiba's hatred again.

Brief annoyance flickered through Yami, and he felt horrified. Never had he been upset with his aibou before!

"Aibou?" Yami asked softly.

Yuugi's eyes met his.

"Aibou, please let go."

Yuugi was clinging to him. He wanted a little space to think – and Yuugi refused.

"No."

Then twisted it.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Yami protested, pressing a quick kiss to Yuugi's forehead. "I just…need some space right now, aibou."

Violet eyes darkened. "No!"

A shudder ran through Yami's body. He had to fight the urge to pry Yuugi off of him. "Aibou, please,” he tried to reason, but Yuugi would have none of it. "Get off me!"

Moments later, Yuugi was curled up on the bed, whimpering. Yami was standing all the way across the room, shaking. The sense of needing to be alone redoubled and he pulled the door open. One glance over his shoulder – Yuugi was sitting up, violet eyes brimming with as-of-yet unshed tears. Yami stepped out the door and shut it. His heart nearly broke as Yuugi keened in grief.

Yami couldn't stand the sound; he fled.

*~*~*~*~*

Have you been jealous before? It's uncomfortable. Your throat contracts, like you're going to cry, and your mind is consumed. It feels like anger and hatred and love all at once. I don't like feeling jealous. This time, brother, I think you might be.

Kaiba sequestered himself in the library. Yami wondered about that. Always the library – was it safer in there, did Kaiba have work to do, or was he more comfortable around books?

A spark from a dream Yami had had a few night prior pulled at him. Libraries, it whispered, were places where people found answers.

What answers is Kaiba looking for? Yami wondered.

XXXXX

"Get back!" he screamed. His mouth was dry, tasted like ash. The sky was red and grey. The sun had been trying to set for hours.

Trying…and failing.

Wailing choruses of agony rose. He sawed at his horse's reins, trying to get the beast to back up. His mount refused, shrieking when it stepped on a bloated corpse that exploded, showering them both with bits of human flesh.

Silence descended then – not the quiet born of awe or fear, but a true, impossible barrier against sound. He screamed to no avail;' the chorus of the wounded cut off eerily mid-howl.

Warm blood sprayed over him then, and his body twisted awkwardly as his horse collapsed, jerking, trying to neigh through the hole some had ripped in its windpipe –

Yami fell out of the hallucination when a hand shook him. His eyes snapped open, focusing on a glaring Kaiba. "Either shut up or go away," the brunet ordered, releasing Yami's shoulder as if burned and retreating back into the library. Yami stared after him, then slowly, and shakily, rose to his feet. His back hurt. He wondered if he'd fallen.

*~*~*~*~*

Time doesn't mean much to you anymore, does it? You used to be like this before, too. Time meant nothing as long as there was food, water, and I was safe. Does it mean more now? How about now? Seto, can you hear me? You're fading in and out.

Kaiba was sitting on the floor, staring upward at the display. He was in the museum again. Security personnel had walked by earlier, ushering left-over guests out; they hadn't even seen him. Kaiba wasn't sure if he should sneer at their lack of notice or wonder if they had explicit orders to ignore him. He was waiting. Ryou didn't work here, but for the past day or so, Kura had been tailing Kaiba. He was sure of it, and equally certain the white-haired assassin would put in an appearance once he was alone. The easiest place to ensure solitude was the museum after hours. And so he'd come.

The Egyptian exhibit drew him. Not in the manner of compulsion, for Kaiba was loath to admit such a thing could exist, but simply for its own peculiar sort of beauty. The artifacts of a long-dead civilization that had dealt with so many secrets was intriguing, of course. He entertained a certain fascination for the displays depicting the building of the pyramids. However, what really captivated Kaiba, what drew him to this place, was wrapped in his own memories of the strange visions that had been visiting him with increasing frequency and vigor.

They had begun after Mokuba died. Kaiba reasoned they would vanish after he killed Jou. Connections, and once more, he would be fine.

"Now tell me, is this a secret tryst, or am I the jaded lover, come to find proof of unfaithfulness?" As if he possessed the ability to meld and separate from shadows at will, Kura stepped from them, shaking back his hair and grinning.

"Neither," Kaiba answered, refusing to smile in response.

Kura wound closer, pouting. Kaiba stiffened when the assassin's hand cupped his chin. Belatedly, he realized Kura was nearly in his lap. "That's no way to answer a business associate," Kura rebuffed gently. He leaned forward and Kaiba leaned back.

Don't ask me anything more. It makes me feel choked…like there's a knife to my throat. Don't ask me. Just know. Just know.