Doctor's Note: This slice-of-life is over ten years old in my imagination. I have the dated, mediocre middle-school drawings to prove it! I hope you enjoy the read. - Dr. Mini Pie

Warnings: Some uses of "God," not taken in vain.

It was half past noon. Half past noon. Seto had been asleep for over ten hours.

His first reaction was sheer panic. His heartbeat skyrocketed, and he threw off his bedsheets. Oh God, he thought, Oh God Oh God.

But as he raced through his morning routine in his bathroom, he couldn't help but grow a little calmer. No one had come to get him. No one was coming to get him now, as far as he could tell. What the heck had happened? Did someone die? There was no other explanation. Not once had Hobson let him sleep in and live it down. Not once had Gozaburo not sicked the old hound on him for doing anything wrong.

Seto finished dressing himself and stood facing the mirror, lost. He supposed he could venture down to the breakfast room. Would the kitchen staff even be there to prepare him anything?

A knock came at the door. Ah, thought Seto, and his mind was relieved of the burden of uncertainty, even as his heart sank. There he is.

But the knocker didn't knock and then barge right in without an invitation, as Hobson always did. Uncertainty crept back up Seto's spine.

"Come in," he said, wary.

The bedroom door eased open. It was one of the Kaiba mansion's newest hires, a young man with a funny mustache named Roland. He seemed about as startled to see Seto as Seto was to see him.

"Young Master Kaiba," said Roland, tugging at his collar. "Forgive my intrusion."

Seto stared. He nodded a little.

Roland went on, awkward and clearly at a bit of a loss. "It seems Master Kaiba has been...called away on emergency business...which has necessitated the accompaniment of his primary home staff."

Seto blinked. That meant Hobson was...?

"He left very suddenly this morning," said Roland, "and will be gone for four days...until this coming Tuesday. Morning. Tuesday morning. I believe."

Gozaburo had left on business trips before without taking Seto. When he did, he usually—

"Master Kaiba left no instructions concerning the young master and his brother." Roland quirked his eyebrows up in anxious resignation. "And none of the remaining staff has been able to reach him, or any of his party."

Seto was unable to process what he was hearing. So...that means...

Roland obliged: "You and young Master Mokuba are therefore free to...do whatever you want."

If Seto had been gaping before, he now stood dumbstruck.

Roland fidgeted, too new for this. "If you need anything, or would like to travel anywhere, please...alert me, and I'll notify the staff," he said. "I'll be stationed near the main entrance." Roland bowed his head a little. "Thank you, young Master Kaiba." He stepped out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Seto stood there, arms hanging at his sides, pristine dress shirt tucked neatly into his waist.

He was faced with a major rarity: a problem he couldn't solve.

Free to do...free to do whatever...whatever I want.

Nine months of a schedule so strict, so rigorous, not even a minute of his time skirted by without an assignment. Three years of getting by on so little, that for not even a moment was he spared of the worries of tomorrow.

What did he even...want?

Seto knew, at least, whom to ask.

Mokuba's little face positively glowed at the sight of his brother. "Seto!" he shouted, running forward and wrapping his brother in a bear-cub hug. "Are we gonna hang out today?"

Seto flinched, remembering with a start how long it had been since he'd been hugged. But he wasted no time in returning it.

"Yeah," he said, trying to smile. "Yeah, we're gonna hang out."

Mokuba grinned, overjoyed and bursting with energy. "What are we gonna do?" he asked. "Can we go to the park? Or can we go to the pool?" Mokuba nodded vigorously. "Yeah, the pool! Let's go to the pool!"

Seto reeled—the pool? Where was—and didn't the mansion have a—Mokuba danced in a circle and then dove at him for another hug.

This was a little too much for Seto to take. He sloughed his brother off as gently as he could, but Mokuba was too excited to mind.

"Which pool do you want to go to?" asked Seto.

"Fifth Street!" Mokuba announced, as though Fifth Street Pool was the only obvious pool choice one could make. He tumbled over to his dresser and struggled to open the heavy bottom drawer. Then he realized he didn't know what he was doing. "Where are my swim trunks?" he asked Seto.

"You don't have swim trunks," said Seto. Mokuba's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

"No, you don't." This was one thing Seto was sure of. And even if they were still around, Mokuba had grown far too big for the old pair he'd worn at the orphanage.

This was unsatisfactory to Mokuba on multiple levels. "But I wanna go swimming!" he whined. "I gotta have swim trunks to go swimming!"

As he pouted, Seto thought hard about how to remedy this. Here was this wild opportunity to hang out, and they couldn't even do the one thing Mokuba wanted to do—how could they find his old trunks? What would they do if they couldn't find them? How could they buy a new pair—wait.

"...Free to do whatever you want."

They had been adopted by a tycoon. They were rich—they were filthy rich. And Roland had the wallet, and the keys to the limo.

"Let's buy you some," said Seto, with a real smile.

After a two-hour trip to the department store and a careful selection of the perfect pairs of swim trunks for the both of them, Roland dropped the Kaiba brothers off at Fifth Street Pool. He followed the boys up the sidewalk and to the door, until Seto stopped and turned around to face him.

"Thank you for the ride," said Seto politely. "You don't have to stay."

"I'll watch you from the bleachers," said Roland. Seto shook his head.

"No, it's okay. You have other stuff to do."

Roland frowned. "Today you are my charges. I don't feel comfortable leaving—"

But Seto was giving him a look that was suddenly fierce. "We can take care of ourselves," growled the eleven-year-old. "You can go."

Mokuba, who had been dragging his massive new beach bag in one hand and grasping Seto's hand in the other, looked between their faces, rapt. Seto glared, and Roland's veins coursed with dread over his dilemma: Leave minors alone and unattended in a public place? Or disobey an order from the young Master Kaiba? Which was the lesser of the two evils? ...Which was less likely to get him fired?

"...I'll be at the mansion, young Master Kaiba," said Roland, and he retreated to the limo.

Seto, feeling a little guilty but quite justified, paid for both their passes at the counter and led an ecstatic Mokuba into the pool area. They had taken care of themselves for a long time before this. They didn't need a babysitter. They didn't need anyone's help.

But as soon as they walked in, Seto regretted his decision.

There were kids everywhere, their shouts and splashes echoing off the tiled walls and floor. Adults stood dipping toddlers' feet into the shallow end, lay lounging on every poolside chair, chatted in groups by the restroom. The lifeguard blew her whistle again and again over the cacophony.

Seto's anxiety hit him like a ton of bricks. Nine months of hell under his stepfather had also been nine months cloistered away from the outside world—whatever social skills he'd had before had withered and died.

A group of rowdy boys ran by, knocking Seto backward and causing him to stumble on the wet tile. He barely caught himself in time. His breath came in short gasps, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear, and why, O why had he sent Roland home, and why had Mokuba wanted to come to this horrifyingly public pool—

Oh God—where was Mokuba?

"Mokuba!" Seto choked out. He scanned the throngs of swimmers and sunbathers. No sign of a little ebony head. Seto had no choice. He took a deep breath and, forcing himself not to run, began elbowing his way through the crowd.

"Mokuba!" he called out again and again, ignoring people's weird looks as he shoved past them. "Mokuba!"

No sign of him at the shallow end. Had he—Oh God, had he fallen into the deep end? But the lifeguard hadn't moved—but there were so many people, she could have missed it—

Seto full-out ran now. He heard the lifeguard's shrill whistle as he dashed right up to the edge of the deep end and dove in, fully clothed.

Masses of the bottom halves of bodies, crammed together. Seto felt his eyes sting as he peered about underwater, looking behind every pair of legs, and even at the bottom of the pool, Oh God, but nothing, no one was at the bottom, and he couldn't breathe any more.

Seto threw his head out of the water and paddled to the wall. He clambered out of the pool, eyes darting everywhere and settling on the restrooms. His last hope.

"No running!" shouted the lifeguard. Seto ran.

He skidded to a halt at the entrance to the men's bathroom. There were voices coming from within a stall—another boy's voice, and an even younger, very familiar little voice.

"I dunno how to tie this," said Mokuba.

"Here, lemme help you," said the other boy.

"I dunno how, but my brother does," Mokuba went on idly, and right then Seto burst into the stall.

"Mokuba!" There were no words to articulate his relief.

"Seto!" Mokuba cried with a happy smile. He took in his brother's sopping wet clothes. "You look silly!"

Mokuba stood barefoot and in his new swim trunks with his beach bag at his feet. Kneeling beside him was a blonde boy about Seto's age, who was in the process of helping Mokuba tie off the legs of his trunks and was squinting up at Seto with blatant mistrust.

"This your brother?" the boy asked Mokuba. Mokuba nodded.

"Yep, that's him."

"What's it to you?" snapped Seto. "Get your hands off my brother."

Seto shoved the boy out of the way and knelt to tie the knots himself. The boy puffed up, indignant. He seemed used to shoves.

"Some brother you are, leavin' him in here by himself," the boy challenged. "Somebody could've kidnapped him!"

"Somebody like you!" Seto, already finished with the knots, stood up and faced the stubborn boy. They were the same height, but Seto was much thinner – both naturally and from nine months of hell. Still, he could wipe the floor with this kid if he had to.

They sized each other up, glaring daggers, until Mokuba stamped his foot and said, "Hey!"

They both looked down at him, and he stared right back, unafraid. "Hey, Seto. He was helping me," he said firmly. "He thought I was lost."

The boy seemed proud and happy at the thought, but Seto bristled. "No," he said, "you don't know anything about this guy! He could've been trying to kidnap you."

"I'm a kid!" said the boy, throwing up his hands. "Kids don't kidnap other kids! Sheesh, don't get out much, do you?"

Seto's adrenaline was still wearing off, and he couldn't come up with a clever reply, so he settled for his darkest glower yet. Noises from the crowded pool outside seeped into the bathroom, and they made his stomach churn. He suddenly felt ridiculous in his soaking wet clothes.

"Come on, Mokuba," he said. "We're gonna go home." He picked the beach bag up off the grimy floor and reached for his brother's hand.

Mokuba refused to take hold of it. "No! I wanna go swimming."

Seto squeezed his hand into a fist. "Come on. We have to leave," he insisted.

"Why?" demanded Mokuba, who would not budge.

"We just do. Come on!"

"Why?"

"There's—there's too many people here!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh! Why do you wanna fight me?" Seto slammed his fist into his thigh, overwhelmed. Mokuba started tearing up.

"But I wanna swim!"

"We're going home!"

"Do you want me to swim with 'im?"

Seto jumped. Even in the confines of the bathroom stall, he had forgotten the other boy's presence. The boy was watching them with a look that was not confusion or pity—rather one of matter-of-fact determination.

"Huh?" said Seto.

"I'll swim with 'im, and you can watch us from the bleachers," said the boy. "They ain't as crowded."

Mokuba sniffed and looked up at Seto for approval, who struggled to digest the offer. The boy waited.

"C'mon," said the boy, impatient. "How am I gonna kidnap him if you're watchin' us?"

Seto gave him a long, uncertain look. Then he handed Mokuba the bag, who lit up, and he pushed open the door of the stall.

"Alright," he mumbled.

"Do you like Fifth Street Pool?" asked Mokuba as he pushed his dripping bangs out of his face.

"Oh, yeah," said the boy, doing the same.

"Do you come to it a lot?"

"Yeah, every day."

"Where's your dad and your mom?"

"Where's yours?"

"On a business trip."

"So's mine."

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Joey. What's yours?"

"Mokuba."

"That's a cool name."

"Yeah."

Seto could see their lips moving from the bleachers, though he couldn't hear them over the wall of reverberating sound. He had shed his soggy t-shirt and had wrapped a towel over his shoulders. The beach bag lay at his feet, a crisp and dry new towel waiting for Mokuba within.

He saw Mokuba splash the boy in the face, and then saw him throw his head back and laugh; and it prompted Seto to give his own little smile.

Three more days of freedom...to do whatever they wanted.

Maybe they'd come back tomorrow.