Disclaimer: Ego-chan does not own Yugioh, or Law & Order, or Law & Order SVU, or your mother's secret microwave dinner heating strategy (because if I did, then I would never have to worry about having meatsicle and meatloaf slush in the center of the damn thing).
Notes: This fic is just…ah…sad. It is very, very sad. It took way too long to write than it had a right to. (Seriously, there is a law that nothing this dumb should take more than five minutes. Don't believe me? Well, you look for the law then, because I am lazy and am terrified at the idea it may not exist. My world would just fall apart.)
Summary: Held at gunpoint on the rooftop of a building and waiting to get blown far into the other way from heaven is no way to spend an afternoon.
Warning: Dumbness. Irony. Bad puns. Gayness. Swearing. …And other stuff.
Pairing: SetoRyuuji. It just totally owns, doesn't it:smiiiiile:
Ryuuji found the rooftop to be a very upsetting place. He wasn't sure why this was; could it be the wind, the height, or was it the company? Kaiba Seto was too busy straightening his collar to notice Ryuuji's questioning glance.
It was probably the company.
"Listen, guys. I don't like this any more than the both of you undoubtedly do. But, of course, I'm paid if you die, and I'm sure that you both understand how nicely a couple billion can talk when it's got a proposal. So, I'll be seeing you later, then. All you corporate guys go straight to Hell."
In a thuggish way this man sounded sincere. Ryuuji almost believed that he would truly not enjoy killing the two of them. Until this point he'd been convinced otherwise. He looked to his companion on this bloody exit of humanity and found no one was looking back.
Seto had gotten over being furious ten minutes ago. Now, he was calm, almost serene. Ryuuji had begun to think maybe Seto was the sort of guy who denied hideous truth until the bitter end. For all his intelligence and business suave, a time of crisis rendered him sublimely clueless. Ryuuji felt he was justifiably lost on matters. If his fellow captor would not save him, who could? Ryuuji could yell at the stranger with the gun for the next five minutes and receive nothing more for his effort than a bullet shattering his skull and all of his good intentions.
That is if wanting to live was a good intention and not, on the contrary, a selfish one. Self-preservation was a persistent instinct in these life-threatening circumstances.
"Listen," Ryuuji said, facing the gun with a determined look which ultimately meant nothing in the gravity of the situation, "I will match what this guy is paying. I don't care if you kill Seto, but just know I don't want to die right now."
To Ryuuji's horror, the man didn't bother to consider the offer. "No chance," he said flatly. Ryuuji watched the gun shift slightly from its aim into his chest and wondered if it wasn't too crazy to consider making a lunge for it. If he failed, he would at least knock the man down and give Seto a chance to gain control of the moment.
For some odd reason, playing martyr for Kaiba Seto didn't hold enough appeal for Ryuuji to act on it. He simply couldn't shake the notion Seto would never consider doing the same for him.
"I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding." Ryuuji was desperate for time. The misunderstanding card seemed to work on television. Art was imitation of life. In someone's life maybe this had once worked, or semi-worked. What was important was that they had lived in the end. "Your employer sounds like a horrible man."
"He's a horribly rich man."
Ryuuji visibly winched as his own words attacked him. "So am I, and I resent the idea you don't believe I could match his price."
"Oh, it's not that I don't believe you," the man said hastily at Ryuuji's troubled expression, wanting to clear matters up between them before anyone had to die. "See," he continued slowly, "it's just that I don't believe you would. Do you understand that? You can pay me, but you won't. We're not exactly on friendly terms."
"Are you sure we don't have to be?" Ryuuji asked wearily, unable to stall and waiting to crash regardless.
"Well, if you'd like, I could kill you both in the order you want. Your tight-ass friend can die before you." Ryuuji was upset by this more than the man with the gun intended. "Oh crap, I thought you'd like that."
"That's not it," said Ryuuji, deeply hurt and attempting to recuperate. He had stormed over to the edge of the roof and sat down to sulk. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked in all manners the essence of schoolboy frustration. "I'm irritated that the man about to kill me considers Kaiba Seto to be my friend. Not even dying together will cause me to feel any sort of camaraderie towards that selfish bastard."
"What the hell are you talking about? I apologized."
Both turned to look at Kaiba Seto, whose calm obliviousness had finally given up and dropped him, disheveled and once again furious, back into reality. The stranger's expression was confused; Ryuuji's was hurt and defensive.
"Apologized? Since when has a thoughtful sound and change of subject made an apology? You're too proud to admit you were wrong."
Seto, despite his lowered eyebrows, tone of measured fury, and intense glare, somehow managed to appear scandalized. "Oh, sonow I'm too proud? Just what do you think you're playing at?"
"Maybe you'd like to tell me what you think about my 'idiot' friends first."
"This argument isn't about what I think of your friends."
"Are you trying to change the subject?"
"What subject? I don't know what you're talking about."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know you anymore."
The stranger with the gun felt oddly defenseless in the midst of this argument. It didn't wash over his head like most couples, but instead pounded into his mind, eroding away his sanity by the gallon. "Maybe this is just a big misunderstanding?" he interjected meekly.
"Shut up," Ryuuji and Seto snapped in unison. He whimpered and stepped back. Life was never fair, and now it was proving it had a hard time staying lucid, too. Wasn't the man with the imposing handgun supposed to be in control of the situation?
"Ryuuji, I distinctly remember apologizing for not getting home last night to program the new satellite dish for your pre-sets. I'm really sorry you had to watch 'Law & Order: SVU,' but you'll get over it."
"I'll never get over it. I couldn't find the plot; it was awful. I knew the guilty party in the first ten minutes."
"God, Seto, the first ten minutes!"
The idiocy of this revelation caused the man with the gun to sweat-drop profusely. He was a fan of American crime drama in all shapes and form, but he didn't feel prepared to present this to his victims. The unrealistic components of the show had caused him to believe that the only place you could really get busted for breaking the law was network television. The arresting officers would berate you with lectures drowned in political correctness and witty remarks until you eventually collapsed and threw up, giving away your criminal status with how proficiently you gagged. Though they you would like to believe there was a great process of elimination involving mysterious clues and circular argument, the elimination was more like that of a standardized test. The first guy to buckle up and look queasy, that one was your man. All he had to ask was that you please shut the hell up on the drive to the station.
And this whole process within the subtext was unbelievably entertaining.
"Seto, you have no idea what it is like to watch crime drama. I never want to get arrested in American for anything. I don't even want a fucking speeding ticket if that cop is going to lecture me about current events and how my situation relates without exactly saying it does relate, but making sure I have the general impression it does anyway."
Seto sighed, forcing himself to the great effort that was resignation without a purpose. "If it makes you happy, I swear I will never be politically correct with you."
"Is that sarcasm in your voice?"
"No, it's insincerity. Why does this mean so much to you?"
"If you cared about me then you would understand."
"Can't I care and not understand? I'm good at that." Seto sounded almost hopeful.
"You're heartless." Seto's expression dampened. Ryuuji's tone was final and drenching, demanding a change in Seto that was not forthcoming. Both grew silent. Clearly the two would've stayed for eternity staring at the ground in their separate roles of confused boyfriend and hurt and confused boyfriend if the stranger hadn't chosen that moment to check his bullet load. He was making sure there were at least three left. Life was beginning to look very meaningless.
"Dammit," he swore to no one in particular since he wasn't aware he'd developed an audience. After a moment of wondering and debating what it was the stranger could possibly be angry with, Ryuuji asked, "What's wrong?"
"Ah, I'm not sure how to explain this…" the man said, rubbing around his neck thoughtfully. Many people understood this to be the one surefire way to stimulate thought when suffering embarrassed confusion. "There is, ah, one bullet."
Kaiba visibly collapsed into himself. "Idiot! Just what kind of assassin do you think you are?" Ryuuji had to physically hold him back as he strangled air and reached for the man with the gun threateningly.
"Seto," he soothed rather poorly, "being killed by someone who's incompetent can't be too bad."
"How will he kill us with one bullet?"
"We're on a very tall building."
Seto looked horrified at the idea. "Jump from a building? Oh god, I'm being killed by an amateur…."
The stranger winced at the accusation and attempted to defend himself, "Listen, I have been killing people since I was—"
"Talk to me when you know what you're doing, okay?" Kaiba interrupted. "I can't believe it. Society is more competitive than professional soccer, and even common criminals are impossible to expect results from."
"Hey, I didn't think I would need so many to get you two up here. You, Kaiba-san, would not shut up."
"And what, you didn't anticipate that and pack extra bullets?"
"Oh, well in that case I should be glad you still have one. Do all of us and your employer a favor and just shoot yourself."
"I'll shoot you if you don't shut the fuck up," the man said angrily, holding the gun up to Kaiba's nose. Ryuuji yelped and Kaiba saw in his mind's eye a very small dog.
"Go ahead and shoot. You'll miss. Maybe you want me to shoot myself for you. At least that way we both know it'll get done."
"He's right," Ryuuji added optimistically, "he'll do a good job. Perfectionist, you know."
"OH WILL YOU BOTH JUST SHUT UP!" the man screamed, waving the gun about in a frenzied dance. Ryuuji wasn't sure about the tempo, but tapped his foot anyway. At least he was going to die amused.
Unfortunately, the last thing Seto wanted to do was go to Hell with a song in his head. "Cut that out," he ordered harshly and Ryuuji stopped trying to hum along. Deaf men carried tunes better.
"I can't take this. Five billion is not enough money to kill one of you. There is no money in the world to pay that. I'm just going to give up now."
Ryuuji and Seto watched, one with alarm and the other with disinterested interest, as the man raised the gun for the final time to his own temple. Ryuuji was first to respond.
"Stop! It's not so bad. You don't want to get blood all over the place."
It seemed not to have occurred to Ryuuji the irony of convincing the man who had wanted to kill him not to commit suicide.
"I don't want to live in a world where people like you two exist."
"Oh, quite bitching about it. You were supposed to stop us from existing thirty-five minutes ago," Seto snapped irritably from the background where he was trying to force open the stairway door through determined manhandling of the knob. Unlike Ryuuji, his survival instinct hadn't completely malfunctioned.
"Well, I'm sorry if I am overreacting when I suddenly realize that the fate of this country's economy is in the hands of two lunatics with beef over American crime drama torture." The man's voice climbed as he spoke, reaching the peak of high-pitched hysteria, and then promptly crashing back down. The result was him kneeling over and asking God what the hell he was thinking when he invented cherry cough syrup and microwave dinners, before passing out from the stress of direct contact to a celestial being. (Everyone knows God only listens to people who have gone insane—no offense, but they're just a lot more interesting than everyone else.)
"Oh crap," Ryuuji muttered, "If I were naturally optimistic, I'd say its good we're alive and he's unconscious. I'm not, so I'm just going to stare at everything around me and wonder how I measure up to the universe now that I have cheated Death."
"Whatever," Seto said, before shooting the door handle with the stranger's last bullet. An audience in his mind cheered for him and his manly ability to shoot a gun and break down a door. He was feeling very proud and filled to the brim with himself, but something caught him as not being right. He was a perfectionist, so he grabbed Ryuuji.
Ryuuji was rather stunned by this (he could've sworn Seto had just reached seven feet out without taking a step), but watched patiently as Seto went through motions, spelling out for his boyfriend primitively, "Me Kaiba, me shoot gun BANG, me open door, me need worship."
"Yay, the door opens!" Ryuuji cheered appropriately. Hand in pocket and hand on shoulder, they descended the stairs. Behind them, twitching as though he felt an itch and thought twice about scratching, the stranger without a gun dreamed about puppies and someone whispering in his ear, "In the criminal justice system…something…something…oh crap…ah, these are their stories."
Endnote: I'm sorry about the L&O bit there. It's just, I loff the show to pieces when my brain isn't on enough to comprehend it. It's easier to surprise me when I'm half asleep than when I'm on full charge, you know:neeeeervous:smiiiiiiile:
And all the characters are OoC. Even the original one. I suck... v.v;;
If you can tell whose writing style I'm imitating here (if I didn't totally butcher it, poor guy), then you own and have proven that you pay a hell lot more attention to things like that than I normally even want to.
Ling no Yong