Well, this had a whole backstory to it, but the backwork never made it into the actual shot, and so a bit - okay ALL - the humor got pulled right out of it. But it's not my fault! Really. It's just that oneshots are too short to be any use and if I write longer than a oneshot, I forget what in the hell I was doing. Even trade off, I guess.

I go back to visit every once in a while. It's strange, I know. Logic says I should shun the place after all the bad memories that were born there.

Logic doesn't play a big role in emotions.

I've been outside the gates a dozen times already. I still haven't set foot on the grounds again. Something tells me I will again though.

It isn't fate or divine precedence or any other nonsense. It's me. I still have a debt to repay. I don't accept being forced into debt lightly, and paying this one off has lingered on my mind for a long time.

I've carried it since I was 13, and even though it never left my thoughts, until recently it never weighed on them. I can feel it calling.

That's why I'm here.

Thirteen is supposed to be an unlucky number. Like hell it is. We make our luck. There will be someone here, waiting without knowing why.

Not a kindred soul – the two of us would have met long before that, if one such person even existed.

No. There will be one who will stand out. I can feel it.

I push the gate open and step onto the property as the small, shrill watch on my wrist chimes at 1300 hours. I have thirteen minutes to find him.

The staff knew I was coming. I called about two weeks ago, letting them know exactly when I planned to be there, from the day and hour down to the minute and – possibly – second. I doubt the receptionist on the phone really believed me when I said I'd be there fifteen minutes tops. Thirteen to find him, one and a half for him to get ready while I signed paperwork and thirty seconds for us to leave.

She kept insisting in that irritating voice of hers that surely I'd need more time. Finally I'd curtly said goodbye and hung up. I have no patience for idiocy.

I had everything figured out, but it was no use explaining that I already knew the place as well as the back of my hand. In the end, I'd invoked the special privileges that come with the green paper straightjackets and ordered things arranged as I wished.

For thirteen minutes, the place could be almost like I remembered it, distorted only by my different – higher – vantage point.

Except now I have no time for reminiscing.

I wasn't exaggerating the slightest when I said I knew this place like the back of my hand. By regular travel, it takes twenty minutes to get through every room .Through connecting doors and side passages, that time can be cut in half. I still have to hurry though.

My long strides carry me easily down the halls. I won't run, but this pace easily matches anything I managed as a child.

I check all of my old favorite haunts first. Nothing. No one under the stairs, hidden in the janitor's closet with the broken lock, or camped out in the match teacher's old classroom.

I'm not discouraged. There are eight minutes left. Now the real challenge begins.

There are plenty of them everywhere, staring at me as I go by. No doubt some of them know me, or think they do. At any rate, at least half of them recognize the logo I bear, and those who don't are quickly informed by their peers.

A few crowd in my way. I brush past them without even pausing to consider them. Wrong temperament.

Five minutes.

I sweep by the classrooms again, taking a little more time to study the inhabitants. A set is engaged in a chess game and briefly I pause, watching. They're raw amateurs, both of them. In disgust I move on.

Three minutes.

Frantic isn't the proper word to describe me right now. Rushed, or forced would be closer. I always duel my best when the pressure increases, though. Somehow I doubt this search will prove any different. They're just two entirely different concepts.

There is no voice of doubt because I have no opponent. There is the voice of reason, because I did make a promise. There is no easy way to back out, but there is a silent solution only the green armor can offer…

One minute.

They're all wrong. All of them. I stop in the halls, shaking slightly – why am I shaking? The bathroom door is open slightly. I push it open further, figuring whoever is in here can be the one I pick.

There's no one in here. The broken mirrors though –

I take off sprinting down the hallway.

Thirty seconds.

The small bathroom is dark when I crash into it. I look quickly for any sign of life.

No one.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

I watch the numbers count down.

Five…four…there…

I wonder if someone will mysteriously come out of the blue and tap me on the shoulder.

One.

The buzzer goes off on my watch. I grimace and silence it. I guess I'm too tall for fate to tap me on the shoulder.

Disgusted, I turn to leave.

"Wait!" The quavering, broken voice stops me. I turn around, ready to dispel the hopeful's wish.

Only, when I meet his eyes, I find I can't. He's got that look, that same, desperate, take-no-prisoners, give-no-quarter, do-or-die look I'd recognize anywhere. Mokuba calls it the broken winged bird look.

I go down on one knee, the same as I do for Mokuba, without really knowing why. It just feels right. Sometimes a man has to trust his intuition.

They all knew hwy I was here. I bet some even contrived to make themselves seem like more suitable candidates. The two playing chess, for example, each hoping to attract attention.

"Let's go," I whispered.

"I'm ready," he whispers back.

I nod and regain my feet.

"I'll be back," I promise. It's the work of seconds to make it to the secretary's office. I suppose I look rather out of sorts from half-sprinting here, but I don't care. I may not have found him in my self-proscribed time limit, but he and I are damn well getting out of here before fifteen minutes expires.

The paperwork is all signed and she gives me something like a half-melted smile, sugar-coated, of course.

I glance at the ugly digital clock inlayed in the wall on my way out.

13:13.

No big deal. The clocks around this dump always ran slow.

The bird and I get to the edge of the property. I glance down at my watch – call if force of habit – before we're quite out the gate. The minute hand lays quietly at the thirteen while the second hand hops excitedly between twelve and nearly-thirteen.

This is too strange.

I guess my watch is malfunctioning. We step outside together and it begins to hum quietly. Yes, the watch definitely requires a replacement.

I look down at the child, wondering what he makes of all this. It's written on his face. Mokuba's "Broken-Wing Bird" look is still there, but it's dimmed slightly, overshadowed by whatever brilliant, light-filled thoughts his mind is generating now. But the look hasn't vanished. It never does. I only have to look at Mokuba every morning, and he says the same of me. We never see it in ourselves, though.

He claims it's dimmed for me in the years since Gozabaru vanished. He wondered if we could make it disappear entirely. I guess it remains to be seen.

"What's your name?" I ask on the ride back.

He looks up at me with startled eyes. "Natsuki…"

I nod and look back out the window.

Hope.

A fitting wish for the future.

Author's Note: Yep, yep - Kaiba-kun is back! Whoot! It's a little disturbing that I can only write from his POV, though. For me, anyway. I did look up 'Natsuki' on a baby name-finder and it means "summer and hope" in Japanese. I don't know how accurate that information is, but it looks Japanese, it sounds Japanese... Eh, whatev, right?

Re 13:00 - Yes, I do realize that in the US, most people function on a double twelve hour day, so AM and PM. I decided to use military time in this to get the 13 I wanted, so it's really the equivalent of 1:00PM. Thanks to Chibi's Sister remarking on it! I would have forgotten to put a note here otherwise! As to Seto's watch... I've decided he's just used to thinking on a 24-hour clock.