A drabble, because this idea wouldn't stop pestering me while I was trying to write a different story. I have a lot of feelings about Kaiba with kids, ok? Named Marshmallow because that's what Kaiba is. A giant, skinny, glowering marshmallow.

Credit for the cover art goes to my wonderful, amazing, talented girlfriend Tobi (on here as VanillaKokain), who drew this forever ago and it JUST HAPPENED to look exactly like the scene I pictured in my head for this story.

He'd barely noticed when Isis had entered the room, barely heard her as she asked him a question. True to character, Seto had given her a curt, "Fine," in response to whatever she'd said. Honestly, couldn't she see that he was balls-deep in spreadsheets and budgets? Just because they'd been dating for a few months didn't mean he didn't have work to do.

Twenty minutes later, he heard crying coming from down the hall. Seto's brow furrowed as he rubbed a hand down his face. It had been a source of hesitation for him when Isis had told him that she had a daughter. Isis, who had always wanted to be a mother, had unfortunately developed cysts on her ovaries. Of course, due to a shortage of hospitals and trained doctors in the tombs of Egypt, these went undiagnosed until they had grown numerous enough to make removal impossible. Therefore, Mira, a bright-eyed toddler, had been adopted when she was not even a year old. She'd been abandoned by her mother, cared for in an orphanage in some inner-city sanctuary until Isis was cleared to adopt. The two were inseparable-Isis could often be seen walking around the Domino museum with the black-eyed, plump-cheeked little cherub in a sling across her front.

Of course, when she and Seto had officially become an "item," being around a small child had taken some getting used to. The first time Mira had toddled up to him and held out her chubby hands to be picked up, he'd stood completely still, staring down at her until Isis had swooped in and scooped the child up herself, smirking at his apparent "function interruption." A few times he'd helped feed her, and he'd brought her toys from time to time, but for the most part, he'd tried to keep their interactions to a minimum.

Until now.

He rose from his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose; the kid's crying was exacerbating a troublesome tension headache. "Isis?" He called out. No answer.

Seto, I need to go to the museum for five minutes, can you watch Mira for me? I'm sorry it's short notice, but there's a problem with the papers of that new Chinese exhibit. I promise I'll be back as fast as I can, she might not even wake up.

Of course. Seto groaned, running a hand through his hair as Mira's screams grew louder.

"Goddammit."

He quickly saved his work and walked to the back of the modest two-bedroom apartment that Isis had rented. Truth be told, Seto spent more time here than in his own place, but they both preferred it that way. Rishid was back in Egypt, working as an interpreter for visiting politicians and dignitaries. Malik had taken an extended road trip with Jounouchi; he called in every day to tell her where they'd ended up and to reassure her that he was safe. Still, not having her brothers around left Isis feeling rather lonely, even with her little one to look after.

In her crib, Mira was standing in a tiny green dress with miniscule lambs printed on it, her face screwed up in a wail, tears streaming down her cheeks. The instant she saw Seto, her chubby arms reached for him, small fists opening and closing in a plea to be held.

Seto didn't even have to think. He crossed the room in two long strides and plucked her out of her crib, settling her bottom in the crook of his arm and holding her head in the crook of his neck. "Shhhh," he soothed, gently rocking from side to side as he'd seen Isis do so many times. "I know, Mira. I know."

Her body shook with sobs for a minute or two, then miraculously, she quieted, sniffling every so often, her arms encircling his neck, little fingers clutching the collar of his coat. Mira's breathing evened out, her eyes fluttering closed. Seto smiled to himself.

"So what was all that about, hm? Did you have a bad dream? Or were you just upset that no one was paying attention to you?"

He bent over to lay her back down in her crib, but as soon as he did so, her arms tightened around his neck, and she let out a shrill, "Nooooo!"

"No?" He glanced down at her as she burrowed her face in his neck, then sighed. Bouncing her gently along the way, he walked back into the living room-turned-office and sat back down at his computer. He'd missed a call and three emails while he'd been gone. He answered two of them (the third was a spam email) and saved the voicemail to listen to later. No need to make unnecessary noise around a child that just wanted to sleep in a strong pair of arms.

A lump rose in his throat as he remembered the last time he'd held someone small like this; the first night he and Mokuba had spent in that orphanage, he'd snuck into the separate ward where they kept the younger boys and curled up in his brother's bed. Mokuba had wrapped his arms around his neck and cried, muffling the sound in Seto's shirt so they wouldn't wake anyone else. That was the last time anyone had needed him to hold them. A soft, barely-there smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he laid his cheek across Mira's soft nest of unruly curls.

"Don't worry, kid. I've got you."