Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh, nor do I claim rights to any of the affiliated characters.
Warnings/Notes: This chapter contains somewhat graphic description of bodily injury, and implied corporal punishment.I would like to once again thank all of the wonderful people supporting the progress of this story; you guys have been an inspiration to me in so many ways. I am striving to reply to all reviews I receive from here on out, I really do appreciate them. All responses to anonymous reviews will be written in this section before the story starts. Enjoy chapter ten.
Yoko Sakura: Thank you for your review. I agree with you, Tea's fighting spirit has been worn down in isolation. She has been largely without her friends through the trauma that is captivity, and she is weaker in their absence.
Just me: Thank you for your review, I hope you enjoy the new chapter.
Chapter Ten: Playing To Win
Flames rose from the earth and exploded across the halls, crawling along floorboards and up molding. He was consumed by a stifling heat, choking on the thickness of the air as his comforter billowed with smoke and ash. He tried to imitate the made-for-TV agility he had been so mesmerized by since childhood, but found he could barely shrug the blankets off and clamber to his feet. Blackness was quickly enveloping what faint line of vision remained, and to the chorus of screaming through the doorway, he pushed out into the presence of open flame.
The temperature was rising in front of and behind him, fire creating a barrier around every corridor but one to the left. He held his breath, drawing a pajama clad arm to his face to avoid coughing and sputtering. As it stood, he could barely hear above the roar of destruction at his back.
He tried not to breathe. Common sense said the children would be in the right wing of the castle and had no way of leaving, but if the guards had panicked they could be anywhere by now. A shrill noise filled his ears and heart, thrusting weary legs forward without direction. As fast as they could carry him toward her, he went.
"Somebody help me! Please!" She was sobbing, and in his head he could smell the burning flesh so clearly he was gagging on it. It swirled around his thoughts and infiltrated his throat; he retched violently, stumbling forward to the echo of her voice. "Don't leave me here, please god!"
"I'm coming!" He tried to shout, but his throat was too dry to form words and his limbs felt useless beneath him. He dragged himself to the end of the hallway where a door on his right was radiating heat. The flames had swallowed it. If he entered he would be swallowed too, flesh, sinew, and bone surrendered to the source less combustion. But the screams were thumping in his ears, swarming around his headspace as the smell pushed bile into his throat and teased his mortal weakness. The world caved in and the blackness came and a whisper said,
"Your body will stink, too."
He shook the door open and stood heaving in the entryway. Anxiety mounted in his gut as he gathered courage to charge the heat. His choice was not a shred heroic, but he couldn't face losing her, not again. "Max." She moaned, and for a moment he thought it was the sound of her voice that made the uncomfortable warmth disappear. Cecelia.
His eyes rose from the ground to the untouched room. Heart in his throat, he reached each arm out to grasp the doorway so as not fall through it. The hardwood floor was polished and shining, the chill of night sweeping in on a breeze through an open window, curtains flowing forward, stretching out their mocking limbs for his own.
She was alive, just as he remembered her, blonde hair falling into her face as the rough handed figure in the center of the room jerked a rope around her neck. Her long, nimble fingers gripped at the fibers around her throat, clawing and tugging futilely. "Stop!" He thundered, feeling suddenly powerful. "What the hell are you – "
The figure turned, "I knew you'd choose her." It spat, face and hands charred, skin blackened around exposed flesh and bone. All traces of lips were gone leaving its teeth exposed in the sick flash of a smile, "Why daddy?" It said.
"No…no, no, no, honey…" Tears sprung to his eye, he reached both arms out to accept the child, to hug him and sob over his mutilated body.
"Why wasn't I good enough Daddy? I trusted you!" The being pulled the rope around her throat until she could not scream anymore. Her tongue protruded from her mouth and she gagged on the forced contractions of her chest, trying to draw breath. "You didn't come for me!" It shouted, voice betraying the sadness of eyes that could no longer produce tears. "I waited for you."
"I'm right here. Daddy's right here." He tried to reason, but the other would not be dissuaded.
"I hate you." As his fingers clasped around his son's, the woman's body fell to the floor, blue and lifeless.
"Cecelia!" The boy he had latched onto was screaming at him, some mangled cry of pain and resentment he could no longer hear. Everything was numb. And she was gone, again.
-x-
He woke panting and feverish. Fully alone, he crossed the room for the picture tucked into his mirror and broke down to her smiling face. In the morning he would probe their thoughts for love and affection to pacify the part of himself that could never choose between his wife and children. For now, he set the picture on her side of the bed and confessed that he didn't think he could do this, anymore.
A feeling of unrest had settled in the room around him. Back to his companion in the darkness of night, Bakura listened hard for the faint whisper of a woman that sometimes permeated the walls. When it did not materialize, he began to worry about the true cause of his anxiety, and rolled over onto his back. Tristan let out a slow breath to signal he too was awake, and did the same. Gazes locked on the ceiling, they began to speak.
"Bakura?"
"Mm?"
"I've been thinking." He stopped, many words he could not say filling the space between them, "Do you remember when Pegasus first locked us up and planned to starve us out?" The other's eyes narrowed to his.
"Of course I do. Yugi and I listened to him give the orders and practically swallowed our tongues trying not to worry you with it."
Tristan flinched; hand feeling blindly for his friend's. He took it, squeezing gently, "I'm so sorry." A lump was forming in his throat at the thought of what he had asked the boy to do earlier that night, "You know I meant it when I said we'd exhaust all our options first." He turned on his side to face Bakura, who hesitantly laced his fingers between Tristan's, otherwise unmoving. They had never slept facing one another long enough to awaken and notice, but in the compact space of the bed, their bodies almost touched.
"Listen, I know what you're saying and I appreciate it, but if it comes down to –"
"No." He interrupted firmly, "It won't. I know it won't. Pegasus cares about us now, in whatever sick way he intended to all along. He wouldn't let us die to keep us here." He continued hurriedly.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we use his own strategy against him, go on a hunger strike until he lets us the fuck out of here."
The other considered this for a long moment, "That's crazy." He replied with a shake of his head, "He'd just force us to eat."
"Maybe he would initially, but not every day for the rest of our lives. If we kept it up, it wouldn't be worth it anymore. We would win this."
"What about the others? Joey's sister and Yugi's grandpa, wouldn't he use them against us?"
"He'll do that no matter what." Tristan reminded him, a bit of frustration in his tone, "I know this will be hard too, but if we let the ring do the work it would definitely mean harm for you. At least this way, we control the outcome. We can fight together."
"How will we tell the others?" He answered shakily, overwhelmed at his friend's show of courage and regard for him.
"We won't, it would be too risky. They'll catch on eventually."
Bakura turned on his side to face Tristan and he tried to ignore the warmth filling his stomach as the brunet's breath caressed his skin, "Starting tomorrow then?"
Tristan nodded, stretching an arm around his friend and letting him inch nearer until they entangled one another in an embrace.
What he felt was not lust, but Ryou began to reconsider the notion that he was only worth saving to Pegasus Crawford. Somewhere inside, Tristan's compassion was filling him up and it did not matter if the boy had only said those things to free up his guilt. The warmth was probably nothing, and things between he and Tristan would probably not change at the end of this, but it made betraying Pegasus easier, to hope with a tiny piece of himself that they could.
In the morning he stood at the head of the table and beckoned them, one by one, to his side. They came and went like cadets, veiling uneasiness with blank expressions, emotion diluted by instinct that knew there were no choices in these matters anymore. He hugged each of them individually to reinforce the relief of seeing their usual, unmarred faces. Though awkwardness was to be expected, their mechanic bodies against his own made him flinch.
The reason he no long appeased his desire for company with cartoons was simple. He did not want imitations in dogs, or baby dolls, or holograms. He wanted the real breathing, screaming, heart melting thing. Perhaps it was because he had always come from money, and was accustomed to the things it could set at his fingertips, or perhaps it was because he could not love things more than he loved himself.
Time would peel back the flesh from his bones, and wipe his name from the empire of duel monsters. Eventually someone would replace him as head of the company, and years would whittle away the importance of the game's origin. His legacy, like all those strictly material, would vanish. He would be nothing more than the simple man who spent his days with a dying woman, trying to cure cancer with naïve thoughts of love and sympathy.
He forced his attention to the children clearing their plates, smiling warmly. Apathy was weighing on them, and not far beyond it hatred was mellowing into acceptance. Soon they would love him as he had imagined. He and Cecelia would finally have their family, and he could make his long overdue mark on the world. They would be his and he would be theirs. Secrecy would be sacred again.
"I think we should play a game." He announced distractedly, taking a sip of hot cocoa and letting the sweetness linger on his lips. The children called out approvingly, and he took in the sight of them with a grin, "Ah, ah, ah," He chided in strangely rehearsed fashion, "No playing until everyone eats breakfast."
The others trained their eyes to the two boys with empty, untouched plates. In turn, they met the many gazes knowingly, and to everyone's surprise, even his own, Bakura spoke, "I'm not feeling well." He lied. Instantly he wondered if it was a mistake. Weren't these things supposed to prove a point? Should he be dismissing what they had planned? Tristan made no sign of discouragement, and instead waited for Pegasus to break the silence.
"What's the matter?"
"Nauseous." The two boys replied in unison, each fighting not to look down as fear leapt into their chests.
His immediate reaction was to probe their minds, but he resisted. Though the part of him that made the children toe the line was very much in control, the fragility of last night carried over into the morning, and he felt compelled to lead with compassion. Even as the child of his dreams cried why wasn't I good enough, he vowed that something was going to change. Today. He would give mercy one more chance because he loved them, and because they were making progress even if it was slow. But in the end this was his battle, and regardless of casualties, he intended to be its victor.
"What a shame." He declared at last, lacing his fingers together, "I remember being sick as a child." The darkness returned to his features then, and the table began to wonder if they had pushed too far, "My mother used to let me sleep in her bed until I felt better, after a few hours I was good as new." He rose ominously from his seat, lips still curved, beckoning the two to rise.
Though they wanted to, they couldn't argue. Silently they did as he wanted: stood and disappeared with him back the halls. In the hours before dinner, their friends sat rooted to the dining table, making awkward conversation well within earshot of the many guards.
"Do you think they'll be okay?" Mokuba finally asked, directing his curiosity to Yugi, who had survived a night with the man.
Yugi nodded to disguise his worry, "They know to be careful by now. As long as they don't push too hard, they'll be fine."
Mokuba was silent for a long moment before the unanimous thought came spilling out among them, "He's got us cornered, you know."
"Mokuba," Seto warned gruffly.
"It's the truth." The younger protested, "We don't have to kiss his feet for this to be over. It's just like your crush card, Pegasus got us right where he wanted us, and now it doesn't matter what little bit we know about him, we don't have the cards to fight back."
"You're wrong." Kaiba countered sternly, turning to face the boy and opening the locket from around his neck, "I came to this island to fight for you." He continued, keeping his tone controlled and even, "No matter what Pegasus takes, I still have you. And I will never stop fighting for that."
Mokuba leapt from his seat and threw his arms gracelessly around his brother, "Seto." He mewed into the fabric of the boy's trench coat, hugging him tight.
"It's okay." He stroked the younger's hair, and as Mokuba stepped back from him to wipe an arm across his tears added, "Leave the worrying to me."
Joey watched the two brothers while battling his own tears. Suddenly he hated Seto more than he had ever hated anyone. Serenity was a world away, by now, if Pegasus had really ordered the surgery, she would know if it had been a success or failure. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes reddened with moisture; he had not been there to coax away her anxiety as the bandages came off. He had not been able to tell her that no matter what the outcome, success or failure, they would face the world just as they always had. Because he had her, and she had him, and that was all they ever needed.
"Joey…"
"Just leave me alone." He replied, slapping Yugi's concerned hand away and massaging his temples to distract himself.
"What's wrong?" Mokuba pressed, holding onto Seto's shirt sleeve and allowing his curious eye's to meet the elder's.
"Nothing buddy." Joey lied, fighting harder to collect himself. "I'm just missing someone, that's all."
"You're being an idiot."
Anger surged and he nearly reached across the table to choke the CEO, "Where the fuck do you get off –"
"She's with your mother." Kaiba continued, unfazed.
"My mother is in idiot."
"Would she be better off here?" He countered, Joey froze, deflated.
"No." He admitted, voice still trembling with anger, "But none of us can know if she's really with my mother, he could be holding her hostage somewhere."
"Oh shut up."
"Seto!" Mokuba scolded, outraged, "He's just worried for his sister like you worry for me."
"And he's endangering all of us with his stupidity." The elder replied, eyes locked on the blonde's, "A reputable newspaper reported that Pegasus's staff was preforming surgery. The same newspaper reported a storm left us safe but stranded here. No one in the outside world knows what's going on, but the disappearance of a kid would sure as hell insight suspicion. There's a difference between good and bad attention. Usually, as a business, you can work with both. Right now Pegasus doesn't want either. He did the surgery, it was a roaring success, and she's safe in bed while your mother sobs that she can never make this up to him."
"How do you know?" He spat.
"Because we haven't heard otherwise –"
"How could we, we're trapped on a fucking island with no access to know otherwise."
Kaiba chuckled, shoving roughly against the table to vent his frustration, "If something went wrong the paparazzi would be swarming this island like the dogs they are. He's not exactly hiding out for Christ's sake. Newspapers know what sells and they're not going to settle for some scripted apology. They'd have tracked Pegasus down and made him answer for a little girl losing her eyesight, or for the mysterious disappearance of a child from his hospital."
"She's fine?" Joey forced, dry and rasping.
"She's fine." Kaiba repeated, "And she believes the newspaper that says you're safe in a castle built to combat hurricane season."
"Kaiba's right." Yugi put in hesitantly, "Serenity's holding out for you to come home. She's with you just like you're with her, in spirit, when you physically can't be next to her. She's learned how to be strong from you, Joey. She's counting on you to keep it together so we can go home."
The blonde nodded, swallowing thickly, "You're right." He managed to choke, sitting up straighter in his seat.
Before he could continue, Yugi held up a hand, "I understand, you don't have to apologize.
He did anyway. Turning to Kaiba, he uttered two words he thought he would never have to say to the man, "Thank you."
Kaiba nodded wordlessly and ushered Mokuba into his seat. Behind them, a clock on the wall chimed five times and the servants craned their necks for the approaching figure of their master. Five minutes passed, and he did not appear. Ten minutes, fifteen. The remaining five captives sat, as they had all day, and slowly observed the faces of the guards contort with curiosity and concern. The smell of food was wafting through the room, and with no sign of Tristan and Bakura, there was no delight in seeing the cruel men squirm with confusion. As per usual, all they could do was wait, and worry.
"Poor babies." He cooed, motioning for each boy to sit up, "Still not feeling well?" They shook their heads in response, unable to meet his eyes. For hours he had kept them in complete silence, suffocating under mounds of well-tucked blankets. He had done little to conceal outrage simmering beneath the surface of nicety, occupying his time in an arm chair at the corner of the room, positioned diagonally to face the bed.
"We want – "
"Hush." He asserted firmly, pressing a finger across Tristan's lips. "It's rude to interrupt Daddy." Any flicker of normalcy that existed in the man the previous day had been replaced by his typical insanity. "I find it…odd that you both presented with the same, single symptom at the same exact moment. No fever, no chills, no headache or vomiting." He took to pacing the room, malice washing over them in thick, potent waves. "Have you two been sharing food or drink?"
"Yes." Tristan quickly replied, biting his lip at the eagerness of his response. He didn't want to dismiss his true motives, but he also couldn't risk them being discovered before they had spread to the others.
Pegasus's millennium eye glinted briefly in the fading light of sunset, "Now Tristan." He purred, a warning in his voice, "It's not polite to lie. I raised you better than that."
"You didn't raise me at all." The brunet challenged before he could stop himself, earning a swift cuff from Pegasus.
"I'm not here to play games darling. I can see your every conniving, disobedient thought, and I know about the ring." He informed them nonchalantly, eyes drifting from Bakura to Tristan as he gripped the brunet's cheeks roughly, "I have made very special arrangements for it, I'm afraid. You've no hope of escaping me in one piece, and if resistance is your game, I guarantee I will outlast you." He had stalked so close that his cold spit was spraying the boyish face.
Two raps at the door pulled him away from the child, leaving faint red marks where his fingers had buried themselves in his cheeks, "Come in." He cheerfully instructed, turning on his heel to face the visitor.
"I've come to examine the children." The doctor was distinctly middle aged, receding hairline modeling tiny wisps of gray among black. He looked and sounded tired, droning on about the basic procedure of investigating common ills.
"I'll just leave them to you." Pegasus offered in a gracious turn of character that made them sick. "Poke your head out when you've finished."
The doctor worked his jaw helplessly for a moment before inclining his head, "Of course sir."
Pegasus returned the nod with a polite smile, and strode briskly out of the room. The elder could sense his anger, but dared not question it. Advancing on the two boys and lowering his voice several notches, he began, "What sort of discomfort are you experiencing?"
The boys stared quietly back at him for a moment before exchanging a look of uneasiness, "Nausea. We've been held against our will for months, unable to see or talk to our families. What else would you expect?"
When the doctor ignored Tristan and reached for a pen light to check his eyes and nose, he continued on, "Look, it's obvious the guy has some kind of personality disorder but you're innocent in all this. Nothing would come back on you if you just –"
"Listen kid." He interjected, exhaustion more apparent in the creases of his face, "I'm here to do a job. I'm not paid enough to be a hero."
"Just enough to be an accomplice to kidnapping." Tristan retorted smugly.
"Let me put it to you another way." The doctor replied, tugging at the collar of his coat, "If you sit here and shut up for ten minutes I'll tell him you have the flu, keep fucking with me and I'll tell him you're fine and let him deal with you."
"Don't you have kids?" Ryou pressed, knowing that if they could just get one person of their side they could escape this.
The older man nodded and turned to look at them in the mirror, "Crawford's bonus pays for college."
"We'll get out of here eventually, you know."
The elder cleared his throat and glanced habitually at his watch, "Good luck."
"I'm sick of your incompetence." He hissed into phone with a grunt of frustration, "Get a senior employee on the phone." The young woman hesitated for a moment, clearly flustered, but passed the device to the only seasoned employee present. Addison Langley was a 68 year old father and grandfather, who only agreed to the voyage to get as far away from the monstrosity of duelist kingdom as possible.
"Hello."
"I have very specific instructions for you, so listen carefully." The menacing edge of his boss's voice snaked its way around him, and he could do little more than pause in stunned silence, hoping he would continue. "The millennium ring is currently in the care of Ushio Sato, I've arranged for him to meet you at the capital to hand it off. Once you have it, I want you to find a person or a family willing to make a sacrifice to the spirit inside, in return for 500,000 Egyptian pounds."
"What do you mean a sacrifice?"
Pegasus sighed irritably, "Just what it sounds like, you fool, an offering! The spirit requires a living vessel with no soul to contend with. Once the apparition takes the body, you will bring the item back to me, immediately."
"But sir, we can't just ask someone to give up their life for money! It's absurd, it's, it's immoral. I won't do it."
"Let's match business with business, hm? I'm paying you to do a job, and you haven't done it. I am going to give you instructions to a hotel in Cairo where you will meet Sato and receive the ring. Either you do as I've asked, and find one of many spiritually devoted villagers to give up their body to a higher being, with the added bonus of a large sum of money...or I tell Ushio to let the spirit have you. Either way, I will have my ring, and my answer, before Christmas."
The man on the other line was completely silent. His companion shook him gently, and Pegasus could hear her asking if he was alright from nearby. "Have we reached an understanding?" He growled out lowly.
Breath ripped from his chest, the man nodded twice before realizing his boss couldn't see him do so, "Yes." He croaked, defeated.
Pegasus chuckled darkly into the phone, "Very good." He replied, "Oh and Addison."
"…Yes, sir?"
"Do keep me posted." He chirped, snapping the phone shut and making his way to the bedroom.
The doctor met him at the door, desperate to get away from the teary teenagers as the blonde remarked, "Do you think he knows?" and the brunet replied with the obvious lie that it didn't matter, it wasn't going to stop them.
Pegasus froze at the man's grave expression, "Is something wrong?" He inquired, rushing to the doorway and peering in at the obviously distressed children.
"The flu," he replied flatly, "They should be fine in a day or so." He paused for a long moment before cursing the sight of his daughter's face, persistently invading his thoughts to push him into action, "Y'know they're just kids – "
"Thank you, doctor." Pegasus countered, glowering as he shoved passed the man and moved to close the door. Outranked and unwilling to further risk his paycheck, the man turned back the way he came, and was gone.
All kindness he previously considered extending had been eradicated, consumed by his anger at their continued plotting. He had seen their plan for the ring, but had not probed further to reveal their current strategy. In his opinion, there had been no need. They were waiting for the ring to find its way back to them, and in the meantime, sought to be as defiant as possible. He was a fool to be soft with them.
He crossed the room and lurched Tristan forward to the edge of the bed. The last of the boy's tears slipped down his face as he struggled to face the man. Perhaps they had been wrong to think he cared. Perhaps his real motive was still buried somewhere, impossible to discover or decode.
"I'm sorry I doubted you, little one." He pressed a pensive kiss to each of the boy's cheeks, flushed and warm from crying. "But you know better than to test me." Even as anger reared its head, Pegasus could feel it dissipate as the helpless body against his own became like an infant, something he could cradle, love sternly, and forgive. His heart fluttered for a moment. They were maddening, but even this disgusted with them, they were his.
He pulled away and guided the child's gaze to his own, "Is there something you want to say to Daddy?" He coaxed. Tristan blinked at him, "What do we say," he pressed, in a slow, chiding voice that made the younger flush deeper with embarrassment, "when we've been misbehaving?"
"I'm sorry." He murmured.
Pegasus made a small noise of approval before standing the boy up and capturing him in an embrace, "Ryou." He prompted.
The child felt guilty and obstinate in the same moment, "I'm sorry too." He offered despite himself, to which Pegasus nodded in satisfaction.
"Glad to hear it." He told them both, eyes never leaving Tristan's, which trailed to the carpet at their feet, "Ah, ah, look at me." He ordered, and hesitantly, the child obeyed, "I've given you plenty of chances to listen, and to do this the easy way." He lectured, "You chose to ignore all of that and to mouth off, and we need to correct that." He began to remove his belt, doubling it in his hands.
"Daddy…"
"Lean over." He nodded toward the bed, broad, toned body a stone barricade between the child and his only exit. "You too." He addressed Bakura this time, in an unmoving stance that reiterated he had all the time in the world.
Of course he adored the children; he would not have gone through the trouble of this charade if anything else were the case. "I love you." He continued as they relented, a strange determination in their features, "But I'm very disappointed in you."
It was a lie of course. Despite their willfulness, he was only disappointed to realize his suspicions were correct. Having the family he wanted dictated a period of brutality.
His babies would have to endure much more than just a whipping.
Author's notes: Thank you again for reading, reviewing, and sticking with me so far. Chapter eleven will be a lot better than this, but the current chunk of story you've suffered through was essential.