Hello, again.

So, as I mentioned before, this chapter was another foray into inventing an original character. This project is full of them. Kind of like an experiment, I guess. Hone my skills at making up my own people. I like this character, and writing her was a blast. I hope you'll like her.

Part two of Mokuba's journey to find Niisama a birthday gift thus commences. I got the idea from a similar gift that was given to my father several years ago. It's hard to pinpoint just what kind of present one gets a multi-billionaire, especially someone like Seto. I'm sure this plot device has been used far too often in the realm of Seto-centric fanfiction, but I think there's a reason for that.

I offer no defenses when it comes to using plotlines that are overused. I'm working on this project as the ideas come to me, and if they work toward my ultimate goal, then I'll use them, whether they're old and tired or not. It's my version, whatever it is, and that makes it different enough for me.

Hopefully you will all agree.

This is "Touch of Midas."

1.

Seto Kaiba had a flawless memory.

If he'd ever bothered to even really think about it, Seto would have known—in fact, he likely did know, and just didn't care—that the technical, almost mythical term was "eidetic." But it was one of those things, like breathing or walking, that just came naturally. He wasn't called a genius for his looks.

So, Seto never really gave it any thought.

He should have remembered.

But that night, at nine-forty-five, when he slipped into his front parlor to be met with the absolute silence that he had come to not only expect but depend upon in his home, Seto was not thinking of anything, much less random articles of his personal history that may or may not have been missing.

He hung up his coat, removed his tie, and set his briefcase against one wall. Drawing in a deep breath, he felt exhaustion creep up on him, and it was an alien feeling to realize that this night, he could listen to that familiar ache instead of ignoring it. Part of him chuckled at the irony of the fact that he would likely have trouble sleeping, because that ache was so familiar that he had come to associate it with a sort of internal alarm system, and as he felt it, his body seemed to automatically wake itself up in preparation for the work he would have normally been contemplating.

Putting these thoughts aside for now, Seto strode into the kitchen. There was a slight, almost-mess left over from when Mokuba had made dinner, but it was minor enough that he knew his brother had cleaned up after himself. He smiled as he quickly—automatically—finished the job by wiping the counter with a nearby hand towel. He checked the refrigerator.

Mokuba had elected to have the barbequed chicken he had prepared two days prior. He checked the freezer, and found that none of the ice cream that he kept in preparation for certain occasions had been touched. He smiled at that, nodding to himself.

He ascended the staircase that led to the second-floor hall where their bedrooms were located, and found Mokuba—in blue pajama pants—pulling on a loose white t-shirt in preparation for bed. Mokuba poked his head through, pulled it down, and looked over as Seto stepped into the room.

"Hi, Niisama," Mokuba said, and his smile was wider than usual.

"Hey, kid," Seto said, ruffling his brother's—wet—hair. Mokuba hugged him briefly, and hopped into bed. Seto instinctively pulled the blanket up to tuck him in, and Mokuba let him. "Sorry I didn't get home earlier. Things will ease up by the weekend. You get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Mokuba nodded.

"Goodnight, Mokuba," Seto said, and he turned out the light.

"'Night, Niisama."

And when Seto entered his bedroom, the journal that he had for some reason kept around for the past thirteen years never entered his mind. And he never noticed that it was missing from its usual place on his shelf—where it had been before falling onto the floor for Clinton Lanyon to find—nor did he, of course, think to check Mokuba's room, where it was now stored, and hidden.

And even if he had noticed that his journal had gone missing, he likely wouldn't have cared.

2.

True to his word, Mokuba was better the next day.

In fact, he was bubbly. Excited. More chipper than usual.

Because he now had an idea. Since he had found the picture of his mother in that old journal—which he now had buried in one drawer of his desk—he thought he knew what to do for his brother's birthday. It made so much sense that he was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Although, if he had thought of it sooner, it wouldn't have done him much good; he wouldn't have had the picture.

He had read a good amount of the earlier entries in his brother's old journal, and they, combined with certain memories of when Seto had mentioned the mythic figure that was Yagami Yuki to him, confirmed that there had really been something special between Seto and his mother. Mokuba had never known her, but even so, he felt like he knew her. But most importantly, Seto had known her.

And Seto had loved her.

And yet, that tiny snapshot that Mokuba was now carrying in his backpack was the only picture of her that Mokuba had ever seen. It had miraculously stayed in near-perfect condition over the many years it had been stored, but...it was small.

And that morning, on the way to school, he asked Travis Copeland—who was driving him again, since Seto had had to go in to work early, before Mokuba had even woken up—if he knew of any places that could resize a picture to make it bigger, without making it blurry.

"Why do you ask?" he asked.

"...No reason, really. I just want to...make something nice."

Travis did not know Seto's birthday was coming up—he had never had any cause to ask, and had known he wouldn't receive an answer even if he ever had—but he had caught on to the fact that whatever Mokuba was planning, it was probably a gift of some sort. He was being too secretive for it not to be.

So, Travis told him about Gloria.

"...Who?"

"Gloria. Gloria Haley. Is, uh...this picture you're talking about having resized a person?"

"Yeah."

Travis chuckled. "Well, Missus Haley specializes in portraits. She's an artist, you see. And last year for Christmas, I got Tina—" this, Mokuba knew, was Travis's sister "—a portrait done, of our Aunt Christine. Always were close, those two. Anyway, Missus Haley is really amazing. She does pastels. Something like chalk. If you want a portrait of somebody, she's the one to go to."

And Travis knew he'd hit the mark when Mokuba jumped forward and asked, excitedly, "How much does she charge?"

"Three-hundred-fifty per person, about a hundred for the frame. Steep, but I don't think you have much to worry about, do you?"

Mokuba grinned. No, he didn't. It was true that Seto only gave his brother a limited amount of access to the "family fortune," but over the years he had set up a sort of unspoken deal with Seto that allowed him essentially a blank check for almost anything that wasn't for himself, because giving a gift was different from buying something for oneself, and Seto didn't have a problem with Mokuba being generous. If anything, he encouraged it, despite his own general lack of charity.

Seto didn't ask, Mokuba didn't tell. It was a fine setup, really.

And now he had the perfect plan for his Niisama's birthday present.

And with that came a peace of mind that he hadn't had for over a week. He didn't know how long it would take this Gloria Haley to finish the portrait, or if something as small as what he had to give her would even suffice, but he had gotten her business address and phone number from Travis, and he decided he would ask her himself.

"Where are you going?" Connor asked him after school let out that day.

"Gotta do something for Niisama," Mokuba answered vaguely, and Connor figured—as Mokuba had hoped he would—that that meant Seto wanted him to do something for Kaiba-Corp. It wasn't quite a lie, but it still felt like one. However, Mokuba had a feeling that even though his brother had obviously accepted Connor, Seto would not appreciate him spreading the news that he had so diligently hidden over so many years.

October 25th was a secret.

And Mokuba was expected to keep it one.

So he waved goodbye to Connor and—when Travis picked him up again—asked to go to Haley's studio, and Travis grinned. "Yassir," he said. "Off we go."

Mokuba grinned back.

3.

Travis was chuckling as he ascended the small set of stairs that led up to the front door of Haley's place of business, which she called "Touch of Midas," but aside from the somewhat hyperbolic name, the building was rather nondescript. Mokuba thought that maybe that was the point. Maybe Gloria Haley liked to keep a low profile, and wanted her advertising to be mostly viral.

The first thing Mokuba realized when the door opened was that Gloria Haley, in tune with her building, was not what he had expected. And yet, in a way, she was.

Over her clothing was a once-white apron that was stained in that somehow appealing way that only serious artists are capable of, which wasn't surprising, but the rest of her certainly was. Maybe, he thought, it was because Gloria sounded like an "old" name to him, but he had expected a woman far older than the mid-twenties girl who now leaned against the doorframe and winked at Travis Copeland as if he were an old friend.

"You look slightly familiar," she said, and she had the slightest hint of an Australian accent.

The top of her head was covered almost completely by a white bandana, with only a thin, wispy strand of strawberry blond hair poking out over her slightly tanned, vibrant face. She wore a sleeveless shirt beneath the apron, and tight black jeans. A tattoo of a wolf adorned one upper arm.

"Afternoon, Haley," Travis said. "Too busy for new business?"

Haley smirked. "No such thing, you crazy? C'mon in."

The interior of "Touch of Midas" was much bigger than Mokuba had anticipated, and samples of Haley's work covered the entire back wall. As he looked around at those samples, Mokuba realized that Travis hadn't been lying. The portraits here were absolutely incredible. Not to say that he knew enough about the artistic process to really understand the work involved in these portraits, but Mokuba thought a few of the people inside those frames were actually breathing. One of them, he realized, was. He quickly understood that it was a camouflaged computer monitor, with a self-made screensaver, strategically placed so as to provide its primary purpose to the system set up beneath the nearby desk, but also to fool the less observant of her clientele.

Mokuba laughed.

Music blared from a set of speakers on the desk, in the far left corner, while the subwoofer jumped and shook rhythmically on one of the shelves, and Haley turned it down as she strode inside. She spun on one heel and turned to face them, raising a curious eyebrow. "So what can I do ya for?"

"Going rate's twenty-seven-fifty," Travis offered.

"Damn inflation. The shrimp any cheaper?" Haley asked, smirking and with a mischievous glint in her bright green eyes, and it was only after a few seconds of silence went by that Mokuba understood the joke, and blushed furiously. Haley saw this and laughed. "Oh, he's adorable. Can I keep him?"

"Sorry, not for sale," Travis said. "Not mine to sell even if he was, anyway."

"Such a tease, Trav," Haley said, shaking her head in disappointment. Mokuba wondered if Gloria Haley knew Travis personally, or if she were just very friendly. "So what's up, then?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Here for another go? Want me to do one o' this little cutie, here? I might just give you a discount."

Mokuba blushed again.

Travis laughed. "No, no. Actually, he's the one who wants to borrow you for a while. I'm just here so I won't get fired."

Haley's eyes lit up. "Oh! That so? Well, then, sweetie," she said, looking at Mokuba, "pick your poison. Whatcha want from little ol' me?"

Mokuba reached into his back pocket and produced the photo of Yuki, and handed it to Haley. "This," he said. Haley took the picture, gave it a cursory glance, and raised an eyebrow.

"Hmmm...she's a pretty li'l thang, isn't she? This one should be fun. Okay, so...you wanna go over your options, then?"

Mokuba waved a hand. "No need," he said. "Just...whatever your best is. Gimme everything. I just want that picture...bigger. Like that size." He pointed to one of the samples on the wall. Haley looked. It was a two-foot by three-foot canvas of an elderly man in an old-fashioned suit. Haley looked down at the photo again, and back to the portrait.

"...I can do that," she said. "But it'll run you a pretty penny, if you want the best I got."

"That's fine."

"Like, six hundred dollars. For everything. You telling me you got that much in saved lunch money, kiddo? Got it squirreled away in your pockets, there?"

Mokuba reached into his pocket again and removed his wallet. He glanced inside, nodded, and produced ten bills. He passed them to Haley. Travis smirked, and Haley gaped, when they realized that each was $100.

"...Whoa."

"So...make it perfect, okay? Please?"

Haley blinked, looking up from the thousand dollars in her hand. "For this much, honey, I'd paint it on your wall if you wanted. You'll have a masterpiece, on my honor."

Mokuba smiled. "Okay. Thanks. Um...how long will it take?"

"One person? Ah...week, week and a half."

"Okay, great. Thanks a lot."

Haley winked. "S'what I'm here for."

Travis elbowed Mokuba's shoulder. "Always the generous one, aren't you?"

Mokuba shrugged, still smiling. "I just wanna make sure."

Travis chuckled, then seemed to remember something. He looked at Haley, and his face was more somber. "By the way, I...know you usually keep copies of your work, for your 'show-off' catalog, but, uh...I'm thinking this one'll have to stay a secret. One of a kind. Right?"

Mokuba thought about this, then nodded.

Haley frowned curiously. "Why for? This gal a spy or something? Got some CIA action going, Trav?"

"...Something like that."

"Huh...well, okay, then. With how much you're payin', kiddo, I don't think I could say no if I wanted. Mum's the word. Nobody sees this but you, me, and whoever this is for. Lucky, whoever they are."

"You don't know the half of it," Travis said.

"If this turns out to be a masterpiece," Mokuba said suddenly, "I'll be sure to put in a good word for you."

Haley quirked an eyebrow again, but Travis laughed. "Oh, you are generous, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Mokuba replied, shrugging, a bit of his brother's arrogance coming through in a smirk. He obviously had managed to regain his footing after having been embarrassed, and was having fun with the confused look on Haley's face. "I'll have to see."

Travis continued to chuckle.

"I, uh..." Haley said, "...feel like I'm missing something, here. What don't I know?"

"Oh, you know it," Travis said. "You just don't know you know it."

"...Uh?"

Mokuba's smirk widened, and he took his student ID out of his wallet, showing it to Haley. She took it from him, frowning again, and her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, God..." she breathed. "K...K-Kai...oh, shit."

Travis tossed his head back and laughed again.

Haley scowled hotly at him. "Bit of warning next time," she snapped, "'fore you let me make a damn fool out of myself in front of...oh, you little...! I'm charging you extra next time! God!"

She shook her head, slapping a hand across her face. Her face had gone red. She dared steal a glance at Mokuba, who was grinning, amused and delighted, at her. "I'm a dope," she said. "Sorry about that...embarrassing you and all. I, uh...uh...yeah. I've seen you on cable a couple times. You do good work...er..." she cleared her throat, "...Mokuba."

She looked as if she were preparing to be shot for insulting him, but Mokuba's smile widened. "Thank you," he said, and the sincerity in his voice surprised her. She did not realize that he wasn't thanking her for the compliment.

He held out a hand. "I'll see you in a week or two, then?"

Haley looked like a deer caught in headlights until Travis nodded to her, which she took as the okay to actually shake the offered hand. "You'll have it. My best work, swear to God. You, ah...won't tell your brother I made that crack about buying you, right? I don't wanna get into trouble with that one."

"If I told Niisama what you said, I'd have to tell him why I came here. Can't do that."

"Eh? Why would—" she stopped suddenly, glancing at the photo again. "Oooh..." she said. "I get it. So that's why this is s'posed to be a secret, huh? Well, you guys just wanna get me nervous as Atkins at a doughnut shop, don't you? Sheesh." She waved them off as she headed back toward her computer. "You two sadists head out. I'll get started. I'll call Trav when I'm done. I still got his number."

She made some quick strokes of her keyboard, glancing over at her monitor, which now displayed a standard UI. "Should I send the receipt to you, too?" she asked, directing the question to Travis. "Hush-hush, right?"

"Yeah, do that," Travis said.

Haley nodded. "I'll get started, then. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks!" Mokuba said, waving as he slipped through the door Travis held open for him. Haley looked over, smiled, and held up her own hand in return.

"Thank you," she said, and winked.

4.

Roland Ackerman had been Seto Kaiba's personal assistant for four years.

In that time, he thought he could say with some amount of authority that his boss didn't sleep enough. But at the same time, he knew that telling his boss that he didn't sleep enough would do no good. If Mokuba—who was the only person with any amount of real influence over Seto's behavior—could not convince his brother to at least try to go to bed at a decent hour, well...Roland would have bet, considering that, that the devil himself could do no better.

He tried not to fall into the trap of worrying for Seto. While it was true that he was many years—indeed, over a decade—older than his employer, that did not afford any amount of authority, and to assume that it did would be not be a step in the wrong direction; it would be a headlong rush, and Roland knew that if he began to worry, then he would begin to (try to) influence him, and Seto would take it as a grave insult.

Roland had been nothing but a rank-and-file employee under Seto's predecessor, and he had watched the boy genius that Gozaburo had selected as his heir ever since his first visit to the offices, which had been a scant two weeks after the adoption. Gozaburo had introduced him as "Ackerman," and Roland had not said a word on the matter; it was not his place to. But young Seto had seemed to note that being referred to in such a manner was uncomfortable for him, and since the day that the new leader of the Kaiba Corporation had approached him over the matter of a promotion, Seto had never called him by his last name.

Roland appreciated that slight, indeed minimal, matter of respect too much to allow worry to conflict with the rather comfortable relationship he had with the man who now signed his paychecks. He was one of the few individuals that Seto treated with any outward respect. The list, in fact, was short enough to count on one's hands.

And so he did not attempt to convince Seto to leave his office, even when the clock on his watch declared that it was past ten. He did not leave his own office, in fact, choosing instead to scan the feeds from the myriad of security cameras stationed throughout the building. So intent on this was he that he jumped when his phone, set to the left of his computer's monitor, suddenly attacked the sterile silence of the building with its shrill screeching.

He took the handset from the cradle and put it to his right ear. "Yes," he said quickly.

"Roland?"

It was young Mokuba's voice. He sounded tired.

Roland frowned. "What is it, little one?" he asked quickly. "Has something happened? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine," Mokuba assured him, sounding amused now. "I just wanted to know if Niisama was still there. Is he working?"

"Yes, in fact, he is," Roland said. "Would you like to speak with him?"

Roland knew the answer. Mokuba would not have called him if he'd wanted to speak to his brother. He had Seto's personal number, was the only person with permission to use it at all times, in fact, and the only reason he would not have used that number was if he was convinced that his brother was busy.

Which, Roland figured, he was. Seto was nothing if not a workaholic, but even he did not make a habit of spending the entire day—for he had come in before the sun had risen—without setting foot in his home; since he had, he had a reason.

"No," Mokuba said. "That's okay. Tell him I said goodnight, please? I wanted to wait for him, but I'm tired. I'm gonna go to bed."

"I will tell him, little one," Roland assured. "Rest well."

"Thanks. Bye."

"Goodnight."

Roland dropped the handset back into place with a nonchalant twitch of his hand as he strode quickly toward Seto's office. He knocked quickly to announce his presence, but did not wait for an invitation to enter. Seto looked up from his desk as Roland stepped inside.

"Yes," Seto snapped, and it was not a question.

"A message for you, delivered to me, Master Kaiba," Roland said. "Your brother bids you goodnight."

Seto flinched suddenly, and he glanced at his computer's monitor, eyes widening slightly as he saw the time. "Damn it," he muttered sharply. "...Thank you, Roland. I...I'll be heading home now. Damn it!"

Roland smirked.

Seto did not respond to that smirk.

He swept out of the room, and Roland thought that perhaps Mokuba had more influence over his brother's behavior than he had given the boy credit for.

5.

Not a single light led Seto's way through his home when he entered, and when he strode into the kitchen and flipped on the light, he checked to make sure that Mokuba had eaten—he had; beef stew—and quickly made his way up the stairs to his brother's bedroom.

The door was closed, and Seto swept the door open. He did not open it slowly; to do so would only make more noise. The light was off, but he could tell as his brother's form shifted beneath the blankets at his entrance that Mokuba was not yet asleep.

"Hey, kid," Seto said, as apologetically as he could manage.

"Niisama," Mokuba said softly, and Seto strode inside and clicked on a lamp as he sat on the boy's desk chair. He was smiling. "I didn't want to bother you. Are you sure...?"

"It's fine," Seto said, waving it off. "I should have come home. I'm sorry, Mokuba. I lost track of time." He reached out instinctively and swept back his brother's hair from his brow, and Mokuba's smile widened. "You look exhausted. You got up early again, didn't you?"

"Later than you did," Mokuba said.

Seto smirked.

"We played dodge-ball in PE," Mokuba said. "Guess I am pretty tired. I'm okay, Niisama."

Seto nodded. "I see. Well, you get some sleep, then. I'll make you breakfast in the morning, all right? How would that be?"

"You don't have to," Mokuba said quickly, and while the sincerity of that statement stung, the concern behind it made Seto smile. I know that, that smile said, and Mokuba caught it. His own smile returned, and he said, "...Thanks, Niisama."

"Of course." Seto stood, tucked his brother in again, and turned off the lamp.

"Love you," Mokuba said, as he often did these days. There had been a fair stretch of time that those words hadn't been entirely necessary for either of them. But Seto could not say that he wanted those days back. Not in the slightest.

"I love you, too," Seto said as he closed the door.

And as he walked down the hallway toward his office, he thought idly that each time he said those words...it became easier to say them again.

END

I know that Roland's name in the original Japanese version is Isano. I've decided to use Roland for a very simple reason: I really like the name Roland. You'll notice that I have quite a few divergences when it comes to names. You'll see dub names and original names scattered throughout the project. I do this because I've seen both versions, and both of them integrate themselves into my mind as time goes on.

Although the general idea is: if I like one name over the other, I'll use it.

If any of you are wondering about why Seto's so...mushy, I guess you want to call it, wherever Mokuba is concerned, there's a reason for that. Just like why he's so hostile toward Matt. It's not just because I think Mokuba is his soft spot. There's a specific reason why he's somewhat over the top. You'll see what I mean after this three-part arc is finished.

That's when the fun really starts.