Written for Round One of the Tenth Season (!) of Ryou VeRua's YGO Fanfiction Contest, challenge pairing Crushshipping: RyuujixShizukaxHonda. AU, totally cheesy spy story, an alternate and later introduction to the events and magic of the series.

"Dead Reckoning"

Everything was perfect, down to the last detail—from the pleated tablecloths to the programs that were embossed with the Museum's logo in black, white, and gold. She had been told that those were the three acceptable colors for the evening. This event had to have just the right balance of formality and intimacy that made each patron feel personally valued. At the end of the day, it was all about money.

Shizuka Kawai tugged at her blazer; she didn't care for fitted clothes but she had agreed to volunteer, and if she wanted to stay in the Museum's good graces she had to wear what they requested. Students were about the lowest on their ranking scale, but there were plenty of good things about working this event.

One of the main gallery rooms had been cleared and filled with round tables, a portion of the floor left open for mingling or dancing. It was nearly full of patrons, past donors who would hopefully be charmed into giving more. Shizuka was discreet as she stacked pamphlets and refilled the punch bowl, but the majority of them didn't even try to keep their voices down.

"Did you hear? The Ghost has struck again!"

"Where did he strike this time? A jewelry store , or that actor's house?"

"Well, I heard Seto Kaiba's tripled security since the first robbery. It's mean, but I'm hoping that The Ghost has targeted him!"

Shizuka sighed. The news had been going crazy ever since the first wave of thefts in the wealthier neighborhoods. They had called him The Ghost because he was bold, stealing treasured jewelry and art but never leaving a trace. Nothing had resurfaced, and it was almost being elevated to the status of an urban legend. From what she had overheard, it certainly wasn't keeping these patrons from coming out—in fact, the chance to encounter The Ghost was something thrilling.

Shizuka thought it was dangerous. She wanted to study art, not get caught up in thefts and murders. Grabbing a ladle she stirred the punch bowl with one hand, reaching for a glass to fill. They had been stacked in an intricate pyramid and when she slipped one away from the top the entire structure started to wobble. Fear of being thrown out when the event had barely begun overwhelmed her, and Shizuka dove for it, smoothing both sides of the tower as a single cup tumbled from the very top.

"I've got it!" Shizuka was frozen, nearly afraid to move for fear the tower would think about collapsing again, but she turned her head and found herself very close to a man with the most striking green eyes. He held out the glass towards her. "You're lucky. That could have been a disaster."

"Thank you!" Visions of ruining the event had been replaced by her savior, who didn't look to be too much older than she was. "You really saved me with that catch."

She took the glass, filling it up with sparkling punch and offering it to him. "I'm Ryuuji," he said, smiling. Was it just her imagination, or did his fingers linger for just a moment when he took the drink from her?

"My name is Shizuka. I'm sorry, but I really need to get back to work. I'm supposed to be invisible—and not talking to any of the donors." The schmoozing and chatting was reserved for the higher-ups, the ones with titles and fancy business cards.

"You, invisible? Never." Ryuuji grinned. It was very distracting, the way a little bit of the foam from the sherbet stuck to the corners of his lips, especially when he leant in closer, whispering, "It's perfect then, because I'm not a donor."

Her eyes went huge. "Relax!" he said, smoothing a bit of hair back behind one ear. "I'm a Private Investigator, looking into the different thefts that have happened."

"…But the Museum hasn't been struck yet…"

"Exactly." He scanned the room again as a crowd of older women came past the drink tables. "I'm surprised that this place hasn't been hit. I think The Ghost could be one of the patrons here tonight." He raised his glass to her and winked. "It was nice meeting you, Shizuka." He smoothly walked away and disappeared in the crowd of dresses and dinner jackets. The faint buzzing in his left ear hadn't let up; he poked at the device a little—that was always his first response when it came to malfunctioning equipment.

"Well? Was she cute?" His partner was stuck in the van for the evening, looking over the security feeds and the property's back exit, disguised with the other catering vehicles.

"Yeah," Ryuuji murmured, raising his glass towards his lips.

"This isn't fair! Hey, you better bring me back some of those shrimps, the breaded ones in the nice plum sauce—"

Ryuuji ignored him, scanning the room again, running through the guest list in his mind. He searched for the ones that were here and the ones that were missing.

Shizuka elbowed the door open, clearly marked with an 'employees only' tag. On the outside, in the halls and galleries, no expense had been spared. This was different—the walls and floors were plain, nearly hidden by shelves and racks of paperwork and flat storage for some of the art. Some of the displays had been moved in here too for the night, to make room for the event.

The catering supplies were in the very back, one of the few places food and drinks were allowed. She threaded her way through the aisles, her shoes sounding a rhythm as she walked. "Ice and napkins and spoons," she sang to herself, listing the things she needed more of.

The ice was in a big plastic container, which she shoveled into a bowl she had brought along. The others were in their own bags, and she picked them up in one hand. Shizuka nearly dropped them when she heard the footsteps—heavy steps, from boots—and the voices.

She knew most of the staff there that night, and she didn't recognize the voice. It was male, and a little gruff, and when Shizuka tried to move it was as if her feet were frozen to the floor, like the cold ice in her bucket had frozen her solid. Keeping her bags very still—she was too afraid to drop them; dropped spoons might be loud in a large room like this—she shuffled down the aisle towards the door. The shelves were completely full, but for her it was a blessing. They couldn't see her, and if she was invisible, then she could escape.

She inched closer to the door, chancing a look around a large filing cabinet. The voices were coming from the artifact storage area—more precisely, where the gallery items had been moved for the event. Did someone know that the items would be moved? She peered around the corner, trying to make out a face, but couldn't see anything. Or was someone here anyways? Maybe she was just being nervous about nothing. The night had not exactly gone like she'd thought it would.

She took another step and her dress shoes clacked, going off like a gunshot to her ears. Shizuka bolted, running towards the door and flinging it open, aware of nothing else but the distance back to safety and the racing of her own heart.

"Ryuuji!" Shizuka barely had time to set down the supplies before she ran up to him. He looked a little surprised to see her so soon, and in such a state, but he hid it well. "Come quick—I think someone is trying to rob the Museum right now!"

"What?" His carefree smile vanished. "Shizuka, have you told your boss? Museum security?"

"I tried to, but—just look at her." The event manager was in the middle of a large crowd of even larger patrons, deep in conversation. "She wouldn't even let me start talking; she said I was interrupting them." Shizuka's eyes kept darting back to the door she had raced out of, as if she expected it to burst open at any minute. "Besides, isn't this your jurisdiction?"

"I'm not a cop—I'm at these people's mercy just as much as you are." He turned to one side, fiddling with the device in his ear again. "Hey, Honda? Can you tell me when the security guard's shift change is?"

"Right on the hour, so… three minutes ago."

"Damn. Okay, be ready to go at any second—I think this place just got really hot." Ryuuji reached for Shizuka's hand, trying to calm her down. "Shizuka… can you take me back there, right now?"

Very faintly, she nodded.

They left the gallery and ran down a second, deserted one. The 'employees only' door was still open from when she had left, and so they quickly ducked inside. Ryuuji went on ahead, going down the last corridor that led to the storage area. He disappeared around the corner, coming back a few minutes later. "No one's here," he said, looking a little disappointed. "Would you know if anything has been taken?"

Shizuka followed him back towards the storage area. She scanned the shelves and tables, the feeling from before returning in full force. "The stone… it's gone. It should be on that table, but it's not there." She reached out and touched the table, opening a few drawers underneath it even though she knew it was no use.

"What stone?"

"One of the main pieces in this exhibit—it took four men to move it in here. I don't understand how it could have been moved so quickly."

Ryuuji measured the table with his hands, holding it out towards the only other door. "It could have fit, but barely. They had to have gone out this way." He reached for the handle of the door to follow the path outside.

"Get out of there! The silent alarm's just been triggered." Honda's voice shouted through his earpiece. "Security guards are headed your way—there are two of them."

Ryuuji slipped his jacket sleeve over his hand before he turned the knob, but it was probably too late. They were seen together, entering this room, and Shizuka had touched the table. "The Ghost set us up—we need to get out of here."

"But we didn't do it!" Shizuka said, wavering.

"They don't think that. I don't want to be around here when the police get here—I can't afford to waste any more time. This case… I need to catch him, Shizuka. Are you coming or not?" He was halfway out the door when he heard voices coming from the hallway. Outside, one of the truck's lights flashed once; Honda was ready to go. He held out his hand and she took it, and together they ran from the Museum.

The van took off before they had even closed the door, nosing out of the parking lot and into the street. It was relatively deserted this late at night, which meant they needed to get someplace busier, where they could disappear.

"Who's your friend?" Shizuka glanced up at the rearview mirror; Honda's eyes flickered to her before settling back on the road.

"Shizuka," Ryuuji said, strapping in to the bank of seats in the back beside her. "She works in the Museum and is a witness to the event." She protested a little that she was a student volunteer and not a true worker yet, but he ignored her.

"Next time I'll ask for a girl, maybe then you'll bring me some food," Honda said, turning right when the light at the next intersection went red. "Did you see The Ghost?"

"I don't know," Shizuka said as the van bounced over a pothole in the road. They were keeping to the speed limit but so far, she didn't hear any sirens. The calm she might have felt only minutes ago had completely disappeared—her legs were shaking and her imagination was in overdrive. Her mind swam with each competing thought: the police were everywhere, chasing them, stalking them, and at each turn The Ghost mocked them all. The glassware pyramid crumbled into dust.

"Should we go back to our office?" Honda continued ahead, towards the center of Domino. There were plenty of high-rises, which meant plenty of people—activity, cars, and people to cloak them. "Is it compromised?" Ryuuji caught the hidden meaning in the words. Are you compromised?

"I wasn't on the guest list, so they have to work a little to find me," he said, reaching for a laptop that Honda had left in the passenger seat. "We'd better not chance it—I can remotely access our case records from here, and we do have contacts if we need more supplies." He passed the computer over to Shizuka, who looked at the blank page, startled.

"Type up everything you can remember about seeing The Ghost. Get it all down, because after too long your memory will be influenced by other things, and we want the best record. Got it?"

She nodded, fingers hovering over the keys. Determined, she started to type.

Honda had a small apartment several blocks from their office and they parked the van in the back, hidden from the street or any other tenants. Shizuka felt tired but was far too jittery to sleep so they got right to work, laying out each piece of the puzzle on his dining room table. There was a page for each theft—the first was for a jewelry store and the second was at the home of a designer and artist. The home of a wealthy CEO was broken into the following week. And then most recently was the theft at the Museum.

"Let's review everything we know—each time, the most valuable thing was stolen—a diamond necklace, a large painting, a fire-proof vault with all of its contents, and a stone. The thief has left no traces behind—the object just vanished—but until now, they've never tried to set someone else up. There are no links between each place except that they are owned by rich men." Honda pointed to each page as he talked. They had a blank page in the middle, where Ryuuji was scribbling the dates and times of each event, looking for any pattern.

"Could it be an insurance scam?" From what Shizuka knew of her time at the Museum, the valuable pieces were each insured, and it had to be the same for the jewelry and art.

"That's what I first thought—that they were all in on it," Honda answered. "I interviewed the artist a few days ago, and while I do think he is crazy enough to pull a stunt like that, he was very…obsessed on this painting. It was unnerving, and I don't think it was acting." He peered in closer to a page they had printed out from the Museum's web page. "I'm not sure what to make of this last one… who even benefits from insurance money here? Who owns it?"

"I don't know…" Shizuka frowned, pulling over a chair to sit on. She hated feeling useless like this—she had the most knowledge about the Museum, but when they needed it, she was useless. The Egyptian collection just wasn't as appealing to her as some of their other works, and she'd never bothered to do much extra research on them. "Probably not the museum, though. Things in the permanent collection, that we own, usually go in a different storage place."

"That's helpful to know," Honda said, and she smiled a little at the compliment.

"Ryuuji? What do you think?"

Ryuuji set down the pen he had been using. "We have to look at this differently. Huge stones, heavy vaults—these things can't just disappear like that. Most speculation points to a single man, working alone, but how could he have gotten away?"

Shizuka swiveled in the chair a little. The text on each page was starting to run together, and some of the words barely looked legible. Lists and pictures and colored lines connecting each piece whirled into something she couldn't even hope to understand. They'd been looking at this for too long. "So what… are you saying The Ghost is a real ghost? He waved his magic wand and made the stone vanish?"

"Something like that." Ryuuji frowned grimly. "All I know for sure is that it wasn't a scam."

"How?"

"The third theft was a vault that contained something of great personal value, and only two people in the world knew what was in there: my father and I. It wasn't a scam."

Shizuka couldn't look away from him, because then another set of pieces fit together, the picture smooth and perfect and whole. "Your father is the CEO of Black Crown. He hired you to track down The Ghost."

For a moment Ryuuji didn't speak, just nodded. He continued to stare bitterly at the hazy board of paper and ink. They had taken the vault, she understood, and wondered silently what they would find if they opened it.

He could walk a mile just on the smell of bacon, so Honda woke with a smile on his face at the sound of it frying up. Shizuka was in the kitchen, her hair tied back as she concentrated on breakfast. "Good morning! I figured that since you both have been so nice to me, the least I could do is make breakfast."

There was no room at the table so they sat on the couch and balanced plates on their laps. "How did you both become detectives?"

"I was a cop, until a few months ago," Honda said around a mouthful of bacon. "That's actually how I met Ryuuji—there was a case that involved Black Crown, and he helped us solve it. We stayed friends, and when I left the police we decided to work together. This is our first big case, actually…"

She nodded, nibbling at her breakfast. To leave a promising career for something like this brought up even more questions, but she didn't want to pry. Investigating was never a practiced skill of hers, anyway.

"So you drive the van?" Shizuka joked, laughing a little and he joined in, smiling gently.

"You should see me on my motorcycle."

They hardly spoke for the entire drive, and when the car slowed to a stop in front of her apartment she had a hard time opening the door. Ryuuji had been on the phone with his father for most of the morning, figuring out the news' report and the Museum's official story on the theft. Nowhere was Shizuka mentioned in the story, and it didn't take much investigation to figure out why.

"Your volunteer shift ended twenty minutes before the theft even took place," Ryuuji said, smiling a little despite himself. "What were you still doing there, getting more supplies when there was someone else working there too? What kind of person does that?"

"A student with initiative?" It sounded weak even to her. She felt her cheeks go pink at the thought that, for some reason, she had wanted to stay and talk with him again. The ideas of investigators and benefit galas and stopping thieves all seemed so romantic… And she had thought the other girls were silly for wanting to meet The Ghost! She was far too afraid to want her life to be any more interesting than it already was.

"I'll call you if I remember anything else about The Ghost…" Now that it all seemed to be ending was when she wanted to stay the most.

"Please do." It was Honda who had spoken. Ryuuji had barely looked at her for most of the trip. "Thank you for all your help." They both glanced up, just for a moment, but then that moment passed, she had shut the door, and then they were gone.

It was almost a week later when she was next scheduled to volunteer at the Museum, and as she walked back into the gallery the gap in the archive-white walls where the stone would have gone was a constant reminder of their investigation. She took calls and filled out paperwork and filed and cleaned, but besides the rumors and gossipy whispers, not a note of the robbery reached her desk. It really was like a ghost had visited them.

"Is Professor Bakura in?" Shizuka poked her head in the Museum Director's office, her arms full of folders. His secretary, a kind woman with graying hair, smiled at her around her computer monitor.

"No, he's out to lunch with several of the other curators. Do you know where those go? I'll take the course catalogs; everything else goes in the black filing cabinet. It's done by month, so just slot them in." She took the catalogs and went around to the other offices, dropping one on each desk.

Alone in his office, Shizuka looked around, trying to decide which of the four cabinets the secretary must have meant. Settling on the nearest one, she slid it open, sifting through a mess of papers. There was another cabinet closer to the Professor's own desk and she approached it, trying the bottom drawer—it was the only one that she could get open.

She pulled the handle and the entire face of the drawer swung outwards. The cabinet looked built-in, it fit so snugly around the black box inside. That shivering sensation started again in her legs and ran up her spine to her shoulders as she pulled back at the last second from spinning the silver dial of the vault.

On the corner was an engraved design of a crown.

She slammed it shut; jerking away like it had burned her. She had seen the photographs of the original vault, and this one looked like an exact copy. What did the Museum Director want with these things? Did he steal the stone, or was it a copy-cat attempt, a real insurance scam set up to look like The Ghost had visited them? She didn't want to think about the final alternative.

The folders went into the fourth cabinet, in the drawer marked with a fresh, new label. Shizuka had leafed through the papers on her way in, but she didn't realize what she was holding until then. It was the donation records for the museum—three of the top four were names she recognized from a mess of papers that had blanketed Honda's dining-room table like falling snow.

Paradius Corporation.

Industrial Illusions.

Black Crown.

Kaiba Corporation.

She had to talk to Ryuuji and Honda.

Honda approached the door cautiously; after the third ring in as many seconds he was automatically on edge. "Shizuka! What are you doing here? N-Not that it isn't great to see you, but we thought you'd have forgotten all of this by now."

She stepped in, noticing Ryuuji in the back of the apartment. "Forget this? Never," she said, smiling. "I think I know the identity of The Ghost."

They welcomed her back in and circled around the table, where Shizuka added a few papers of her own. "I did a little digging after I discovered your vault in his office. It turns out that just before the first robbery, his wife and daughter died in a traffic accident. It was a tragedy, and while I don't know him very well he has been acting strangely—working odd hours, his devotion to the fundraising campaign. If anyone knew how to move that giant stone we had in our collection, it would be him."

"That doesn't explain the others, though. He'd still have needed help."

"Maybe he got it," Ryuuji murmured, holding a picture up closer to his face. It was a color photo, taken recently for the fundraising campaign, and he studied the man in the photo intently. He was wearing a rugged, traditional button-up shirt over a cord necklace, nearly hidden by his white hair and beard. He looked tired, someone who had gone days without sleeping and eating, someone who was letting himself waste away into something desperate and wraithlike. He was a shadow of his former self.

Everything was perfect, down to the last detail—from the pleated tablecloths sprinkled with gold glitter to the programs that were embossed with the Museum's logo. Shizuka was wearing that irritable blazer, but had bought a new sun-colored dress to wear that shimmered gold in the large gallery. She figured that if something were to happen, she wanted to look memorable. It had a little to do with Honda and Ryuuji, hiding somewhere in the museum, but also it was for herself. She didn't have to be invisible.

This black-tie gala was the pinnacle of the fundraising campaign, but the real reason they knew The Ghost would appear was the guest list—the leaders of each company were in attendance tonight, to be honored for their contributions to the arts. They were all vigilant.

"You look fantastic." Honda had weaved through the crowd until he stood next to her. He put one arm around her shoulder and squeezed softly. "How do you feel?"

"Nervous," she said, and meant it. "I'll be at that table near the front, with the champagne. Last time I nearly knocked over every glass—I'm afraid I'll spill champagne on Professor Bakura, or even Seto Kaiba himself."

"That would be terrifying… but don't worry. I'll catch every glass before it breaks." As if he could sense her thoughts he nodded at the stage that had been set up at the front of the gallery. "Ryuuji is with his father, so he's safe. And I talked to a few of my police friends who are in the audience tonight—if he tries anything, we'll get him.

She traded places with another girl whose volunteer shift had ended, hiding behind another glassware pyramid that gradually came down as the champagne was given out. She wore her pleasant smile like a mask, but her eyes never stopped scanning the room. One of the patrons left a flier on her table; for something to do she picked it up and started to read the schedule. It was only a matter of minutes until the champagne toast and opening speeches.

"May I have this? We're going to need one for the toast." Without waiting to hear her answer, Professor Bakura had left her table clutching the bottle she had just opened. He disappeared behind the stage—they had used curtains and a black painted backdrop to make their stage more elegant, but all it meant for her was that-however small the prize—The Ghost had struck again and vanished.

There was only one thing she could think to do. Taking the two empty glasses she was going to fill up, Shizuka brushed her arm across the table, sending them both tumbling to the floor. The sound rang out loudly enough, and true to his word when she had finished sweeping the debris underneath the table Honda had arrived to help her.

"Who is going to be at the champagne toast?" She asked it quickly, before he could get in another word.

"It's for the highest-level donors…Shizuka, what's happened?"

She nodded towards the stage. "The Professor just took a bottle of champagne with him. I'd bet anything he's adding something to it. We've got to warn them, tell them not to drink it!"

"I'm on it. Stay here and be safe, okay?" He threaded quickly through the crowds, one hand pressed to his ear.

A moment later the gold-colored curtains were pulled open and the opening speeches started. They were greeted and welcomed and thanked several times over by several different people, and then Professor Bakura took the stage.

"Please welcome a much honored group to the stage. These are our corporate sponsors, who have generously given to the Museum this year and without whom… we would be nowhere. We will be toasting their continued health and success, so please raise your glasses to our sponsors!"

Behind him, the four men had walked onto the stage in a single line. They stood several paces apart, hardly acknowledging the others—they were rivals even here, different pieces that only rarely came together so the real picture could be seen from it.

The Professor produced his bottle of champagne and four glasses, pouring one for each distinguished guest. His own had been waiting for him on the podium.

"Cheers!"

They all raised their glasses—the sponsor in a red tailored suit bumped his glass against the one beside him merrily, but the rest just stared into their glasses.

It was about then that Ryuuji slid out onto the stage. "Don't drink it!" he shouted, snatching his father's glass away from him and dumping it out. "It's poisoned!"

The rest of the audience had gone very quiet, the odd clink of glasses and hushed conversations gone away to silence. "What proof do you have of that?" The Professor looked furious.

"Because I had poisoned them, but now I've had a change of heart." Ryuuji looked at the Professor meaningfully before flinging his arms out wide towards the audience. "I am The Ghost!" He removed the diamond necklace from his coat pocket and tossed it back to its rightful owner. Then, he ran off of the stage.

Shizuka couldn't move. Honda's face had gone completely pale. The gala turned to chaos.

Everyone was shouting and pushing, pointing where they thought he had gone or worrying for their own jewelry and champagne they had drank. Several near her thrust their glasses back at her table. One or two threw them onto the stage.

Cameras were flashing at the stage as the five people still there looked around, completely at a loss for words. Before the curtains pulled shut, Shizuka thought she saw the Professor remove something from around his neck. He threw it to the ground, a curious eye sparkling gold, and then it, too, was gone from sight.

The rest of her semester was boring by comparison—her classes were uneventful and her hours at the Museum were the same as always. She smiled as Professor Bakura waved cheerily at her on his way out. Summer had that affect on people—she supposed it was a different kind of gold.

Shizuka had seen him showing around a photograph of his son the other day. He had gone back to smiling but she could still sense the exhaustion that was in his first picture. He had been nothing but a shadow, a void. And like any emptiness that casts a shadow, something dark crept in to fill it. She hoped they were all healing, and that any ghosts still lingering would be eventually put to rest.

There was a letter from her brother and three packages in the mail for her when she came home. Always too impatient to open an envelope without completely tearing it open, she reached for the smallest package first. She tugged at the tabs and reached in, her fingers pulling out something small and flesh-colored. Experimentally, she poked at it.

"Is it working? I sure hope this works. …Shizuka?"

Ryuuji couldn't see it, but Shizuka was beaming. "I can hear you."

"That's great, or what's in those other two boxes will be really confusing. Have you opened them yet?"

"I am now." She grabbed at the next one, fumbling at the flaps until a glossy book slid into her lap. "It's a guidebook? Am I doing some travelling over the summer?"

"See, I said you were a great investigator." It was Honda on the line now. "Open the third one."

She did, the largest box containing nothing more than an unsealed envelope holding several thin strips of paper. She looked at the tickets in her hand, ready for another adventure. She couldn't wait for it to begin.

The End.

Footnotes:

Dead Reckoning is a process of navigation where you estimate where you are now based off of where you once were, and extrapolating a path from there. It can also be used in determining the relative value of an item.

Zorc/The Spirit of the Ring's possession of Mr. Bakura stems not only from his sorrow and loss, but his actions are an attempt to lash out at others connected to the Items and AE. Attacking Mr. Otogi is an attempt to attack Solomon and Yugi by proxy; he had stolen the Cursed Game that they had played in the events before the series (in the manga) and would play, presumably in the future.

This was inspired by the anime Eden of the East, which I watched all in one go yesterday when I had an already finished Crushshipping done and thought I wouldn't get another idea on the last day... Funny how that happens sometimes! :D Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.