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Not This Time	By : NihilEtNemo Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5239 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Chapter Sixteen � The Past, Repeated

Yami�s POV

I wake up slowly, expecting to find my Blue
Eyes still asleep, curled up beside me. He always has been, unless I was woken
during the night by his dreams. That�s becoming less frequent, though; the
dreams of our past lives have stopped, but we don�t need them anymore � I think
we remember everything. His nightmares of this life are also slowly fading
away, and I might be immodest enough to claim that it�s me and our finally
being together that is doing it for him.

I slide my hand over the sheets to find him
while an out-of-place tapping noise tries to intrude, only to find the bed
empty and cold.� A few blinks allows me
to open my eyes and look at where he should be. Where he obviously isn�t.

And that damned tapping noise �!

I look around the room in search of it,
blinking as I finally find Seto, sitting at his desk and typing. That�s the
noise, too, I realize belatedly.

�You�re up early,� I say, sliding out of the
bed. I�m still naked from last night, but Seto has dressed already. It�s
Saturday, so no school uniform, but a pale suit for work. He looks so sexy in
it� I wrap my arms around his shoulders and rest my chin beside his neck, idly
watching words fly onto the screen.

�I�m sorry, did I wake you?� he asks, his
tone mildly concerned. He doesn�t look up.

�No�� I frown slightly. �What�s wrong, Seto?�

Taptaptaptaptaptaptap. �Why does something
have to be wrong?�

�You�re distant and quiet� and you haven�t
yet looked at me.� I kiss him as he obligingly stops typing for a moment to
tilt his head back and look at me. �I told you, Seto, I know you better than
you probably know yourself. You can�t hide from me.�

He goes almost immediately back to typing.
�It�s just� strange,� he says finally. �I don�t like strangeness� it isn�t
right. I like my world normal and predictable, routine� logical. The
strangeness is hard to deal with.�

I rub his shoulders as he types. �What�s so
strange, precisely?�

He types a little more before he speaks. �Are
you aware�� he finally says, without looking up, �that I have an entire set of
memories for at least two dozen distinct lives?�

I pause. That many? I don�t suppose I�ve ever
tried to count, but that does seem a little high� Of course, for it having been
thousands of years, that�s probably low. There might be as many as a hundred.
Or more.

�That probably is strange for you�� I finally
say. �I�m used to it, so I didn�t think about it.�

��It wouldn�t be so bad, if the strongest
memory from every single one wasn�t my death��

I kiss his neck lightly. �The strongest
memory from every one of mine is your death, too� In all my lives, Seto, I�ve
never had another lover, before or after you. You�ve always been the most
important thing to me, even before I knew you.�

Seto nods. �I understand that.� It�s not so
much immodest as factual. He understands that he�s as important to me as I am
to him, or more. �I know your intentions. I know that my death was never meant,
and I know that you�re sorry.� This effectively halts the apology on my lips.
�It�s still hard to remember, though.�

�At least you�re not dreaming about them any
more.�

He nods, but silently. I suppose those dreams
still bother him. How bad it is to watch him die, it must be worse for him to
relive it in his dreams�

I rub his shoulders again. �What�s the
pointing of working before you get to work, Set�?�

�I�m not working,� he says. �But you�re
right, I have to go in a few minutes.��
He saves the file and shuts the computer without turning it off, and I
release him so that he can stand up.

�You�ll be home at a reasonable hour?� I�m
not allowed to go with him to work, for some very obvious reasons � such as,
he�d never get any work done. I don�t mind too much, except that it takes away
from the time I get to spend with him. As many lives as I have been without
him, I don�t want to spend a minute more than absolutely necessary away from
him. Unfortunately, this is absolutely necessary, for him. It lets him have a
normal, logical life for a few hours.

He nods. �Yes� don�t worry about it. I�ll
call when I�m on my way home.�

He leans down so that I can kiss him. �Love
you,� I tell him, and he smiles a little as he leaves.

So. Now I have a day alone.

It�s a lot more boring than one might think,
to be cooped up in a mansion with the ability to do anything in the world I
want. Mokuba isn�t here; he�s staying with a friend again. He doesn�t spend a
lot of time here; I don�t know if it�s a vain attempt to be normal, or the real
desire to be with his friends, or maybe to give us some privacy, and I don�t
know if it�s a new development or not, but since I moved in he hasn�t spent
three days straight in the same house with his brother. It�s not really my
business, I guess.

I suppose first I should get dressed.

My clothes from last night are strewn about
the floor � through no design, just because we were fairly eager to get them
off. Seto�s were there as well, but it looks like he picked them up this
morning. I gather my own and stuff them in the hamper with his clothes and
search out some clean ones so that I can take my shower.

There�s nothing to stop me taking as long as
I want, but I don�t spend long in the shower, and then collapse with a sigh of
boredom on our bed, which has been changed and made in my absence. I think I�ve
yet to see Seto�s maids, but he assures me they exist and the house isn�t
haunted by some very cleanly ghosts. It�s disconcerting, at best.

So. A little more than half an hour passed.
Only about eleven and a half more until Seto gets home. (This is, of course, a
reasonable work ay for Seto. Of course, he can�t work much during the school
week, so he makes up for it on the weekends.)

The ceiling is spectacularly boring to look
at. I roll onto my side and find myself looking at his desk. The lights on his
computer blink reassuringly at me, and I find myself mesmerized after a moment.
Little green lights�

After a long time of just staring at it, I
rouse myself enough to go sit at the desk and open it. Now that I�m here, it�s
obviously not his work computer; if I hadn�t been half asleep before I would
have known that.

I play Minesweeper for a little while. It�s
not like there�s any chance of me beating one of Seto�s times, but it�s a
decent diversion and helps me waste some more time. And now� Bored again.

I idly open the typing program he uses, with
the intention of amusing myself for a little while. Something must have
happened, though, or I clicked on something without meaning to, and his file
comes up � the one that he was working on this morning. I know I shouldn�t� I
really, really know I shouldn�t�

I am a priest. I am seventeen years old. The
pharaoh is my cousin, and we are madly in love. I need him, the way he makes me
feel, how special I am to him. I matter to him for myself, not for my power or
the opportunities I present. He sacrifices his own life to save us all, and I
hate him for it. I make him promise to find me. He promises our next life will
be different. I sit beside his dead body and stab myself with my knife, and bleed
to death looking at him.

I am his servant boy, fourteen years old, and he is
my master. We do not remember, but there is still love between us. I am allowed
to sleep with him. I love him. He treats me like a favored pet and I love that
too. He even taught me how to read, and I can read the philosophy of the great
living men now, like Aristotle. There is a political upheaval, though, and he
is attacked by the poor people who are jealous of him. I beg him to escape
while I hold them off; he kisses me and promises it will be different when he
finds me again, and flees. The peasants kill me. I hope they don�t get him.

I am a strong warrior. I am fifteen years
old. He is the High Priest. We have our love, but we knew it would never last.
I have always known that I will one day be sacrificed to keep the Sun alive
through the next night. Tonight is that night. It is a special night, the
marriage of our king. He whispers his promise that he will find me and that it
will be different next time. I make no noise; he cries silently as he cuts out
my heart.

I am a nineteen-year-old slave sent into the
arena. He is the king. If I win, I will win my freedom. I kill almost two dozen
men stronger than myself but he orders me killed because a weapon went astray
in my fight and hit a spectator. I try to fight off the guards but it does no
good. As they kill me I see him whisper his promises that it will be different,
and he will find me.

I am an important priest among my tribe even
though I am only fifteen years old. We are peaceful and worship our gods
without bothering the men who are invading our land. I know him, even though I
have not met him. I have known him my entire life. They attack us during out
celebration of Belfast and capture us all. He is among the Christian soldiers
who make an example of me. I meet his eyes through the flames of the pyre and
watch as recognition dawns upon him, see him fight against himself and struggle
to let me die, as he must do, promising that he will find me and it will be
different.

We are both warriors; we have fought side by
side in many battles, sailed together across the seas to raid many villages. We
have even seen fair Greenland in our eighteen years. No one knows of the love
we share. No one can, or we would be killed. We do not mind too much; our life
is good. We are fighting side by side yet again in this battle; someone strikes
me down and he goes into a rage � Berserker � though I am not seriously
injured. I stay out of his way and let him kill; it is a formidable sight, and
I am all the more in love with him. He seems to have recovered when there are
no enemies left for him to kill, but when I touch his arm he turns on me and
strikes me down. Only then does sanity return to him, and he almost breaks
down. He cannot, though, and only tells me that he will find me again, that it
will be different.

I am a sixteen-year-old street rat; I steal
food to stay alive and sleep in a crumbling, abandoned home. He lives in the palace.
He tries to help me but there is little he can do for me, and I like my life.
He encourages me to sneak into the palace because it is difficult for him to
leave; he offers to take me as his servant so that I can live there with him
but I refuse to be anyone�s servant. One night a guard finds me as I am
sneaking out again and kills me, calling me a thief. He hears and comes to me
just in time to promise that he will find me and that it will be different.

I am a villager in a small village: my first and
only life as a female. I am sixteen years old, and he is my husband. We both
remember. We have known each other all our lives and always remembered. Because
of this and my very high intelligence, the other villagers accuse me of being a
witch. He cannot save me. He tries, but they burn me. He promises that he will
find me again, and it will be different. I do not want to die this time. I am
pregnant.

I am a servant scribe, fourteen years old,
traveling with my master, the magistrate. He is an important man in the Mongol
army that captures us. My master is killed almost immediately, but he keeps me
alive for amusement. He and his men rape and torture me but he does not allow
me to be killed. I am his servant. One night one of his men steals me and rapes
me again, and when I threaten to tell Him and have him killed he holds me down
and slits my wrists to make it look like suicide, and leaves me for dead. He
finds me and tries to apologize for all that he has done but I don�t let him,
only make him promise that he will find me. He promises it will be different.

I am a French knight. I am nineteen years
old. He is a small English lord who calls himself king. I find him on the
battlefield, after he has already dealt my deathblow. He promises he will find
me next time and that it will be different.

I am the son of a wealthy businessman,
sixteen years old. He is a priest in the Catholic church. The church has
somehow been convinced that I am a heretic; I have been arrested and they have
tortured me to make me renounce sins I have never committed. He has been my
main torturer; he has rejected everything I said as more blasphemy and signs of
the Devil in me. I know I am not evil. I know it. One night I convince him and tell
him, and he remembers as well. He promises it will be different and renounces
his actions and position in the church. We are both hunted down and killed.

I am a native of this land. I am sixteen
years old. He is a pale-skinned foreigner. His people would not approve, but he
visits me at night. I want him to come with me before it is too late, but he
will not leave his people, despite their unfamiliar and evil deeds against my
people and the land. I have no chance to warn him before we attack. I have to
find him, though. I hear him yelling. Yelling for people to kill the savages. I
ignore the white men and run to him. I only want us to leave, together. He
doesn�t recognize me. There is a flash and a sound like thunder, and pain. When
he sees what he�s done he comes to me. I don�t understand why but I know that I
am dying. He is crying as he promises it will be different, and he will find me
again. All that�s left is the tree that says �Croatoan� where he tried to teach
me to write the name of my tribe before I made him stop hurting the tree.

I am the son of a powerful man in my tribe
and a warrior in my own right. I am nineteen years old. I was captured by our
enemies and sold to a pale man who transported all of us farther from my home
than I have ever been, to the ocean where a vessel awaits to take us away, to
make us work in a land we never knew existed. I refuse to go. I would rather he
kill me. He does. It is only then that we both realize and he promises me that
when he finds me again it will be different.

I am an outlaw on the seas of the Caribbean.
I am nineteen years old. I have captured his ship and begin to slaughter his
men in hopes of drawing him out. He threatens to kill me if I do not stop. One
of his men dies. He shoots me. Only then do we realize. He promises that he
will find me and that it will be different.

I am an English soldier; I am nineteen years
old. He is fighting in the militia. We are both shot and our respective armies
leave us for dead. He lies with me and promises that he will find me and that
it will be different.

I am a samurai of high renown, and I serve my
lord as he does his. I am seventeen years old. We have been happy. We thought
it was this time. His lord begins a feud between them and they decide to settle
it like men � with a duel between their two strongest. He does not want to kill
me, nor I him; I pull my defense and let him kill me. He promises he will find
me and that it will be different.

I have been a slave all my life of sixteen
years; I am scarred from my many attempts to escape, and I have never made it
away. He is a young man I have seen visit my master�s plantation often; he is
the one who brings news that we are free if we can but make it North, or if the
North wins this war. He sympathizes with me. He helps me to make my final bid
for escape that night. My master is too old to fight in this war but he can
still shoot a gun; I protect Him from him. I have no name, but he gives me one
as he promises he will find me. That it will be different.

I am his childhood friend; we drive cattle
together. We are both sixteen years old. We are forced to hide that we love
each other. There is a stampede while I am on watch; I am thrown from my horse
and trampled. He is only barely able to get to me before I die, only long
enough to promise that he will find me and that it will be different.

I am a Japanese soldier. He is an American
soldier. I am nineteen years old; I am wounded in the battle and he finds me,
with the intention of helping me. He is ordered to kill me by his commander. He
tries to defy him but I cannot allow that. It will ruin his life for no reason.
I tell him to kill me, assuring him that I will die soon anyway even if he will
not, because they will not help me. He promises that he will find me, that it
will be different, before he shoots me.

I am a thirteen-year-old Jewish boy. He is a
soldier. He has been nice to me, even if he cannot protect me. My family has
been dead for years. They were killed when we were brought here. He has kept me
alive and tried to spare me. We both remember. We cannot escape. When the war
is being lost and they begin to slaughter their prisoners, he promises me that
he will find me and that it will be different as he shoots me, sparing me a
more terrible death.

I am a spy. He is a spy. I am seventeen years
old. My assignment was to get close to him and kill him. I got too close to him
� I remembered that I love him. I cannot fulfill my orders. I cannot force him
to kill me again when I have a choice. I kill myself instead and tell him that
if anyone asks he beat me. He promises that he will find me again. He promises
that it will be different.

I am a rich and powerful CEO of a large company. I
am seventeen years old. He plays games for a living and has defeated me
mercilessly, again and again. He nearly forced me to kill myself once, but was
stopped. We have a good relationship. We are madly in love. I need him. How he
cares about me. He is the only one who truly does. I need to be the center of
his world. He has promised me that it will be different this time. I do not yet
know how I will die.

Oh. My. Gods.

I have never� I didn�t even remember some of
these lives that he has recorded here. The detail he put into some of them�
He�s dutifully recorded the lives he�s dreamt, not bothering with his feelings,
just setting down the facts� and he�s set them all in chronological order. How
can he do this so dispassionately? After remembering some of the terrible
things I�ve done.

I never remembered being the Mongol� I think
I repressed it because of the horrible things I did to him. I remember it now.
He was a beautiful Chinese boy, and I loved to make him scream with pain as I
took him�

How can he still love me after all of this?
How can he possibly?

And he was so young� He was always so young.
What I�ve done to him is so horrible, and he was so young, too young to have
borne all of this. He was held captive in a concentration camp when he was
thirteen. In Greece, I allowed him to die for me and he was only fourteen. He
was fifteen when he allowed me to sacrifice him to the sun. Sixteen when he�
she� and our unborn child were burned for his intelligence and power. Seventeen
when he killed himself to spare me. Eighteen when I slaughtered him in a rage.
Nineteen when I tried to sell him to the slavers and he forced me to kill him
instead.

He�s never lived to be twenty.

Oh my god, Seto� I�m so sorry� He forgives me
for all of this and still loves me� I would neither forgive nor love so easily.

I do not deserve this man.

A/N: Yes, I know the ages are disproportionately balanced. Lots of
sixteens and nineteens and only one eighteen and such� But if you look, there�s
a pattern in the kind of deaths that goes with the ages� Kind of, anyway. Upon
rereading it, I can�t even spot the pattern for sure myself. ^_^
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Not This Time

Chapter Sixteen � The Past, Repeated