I had plans for how this story would end. I thought I knew exactly where it would be going through this next arc, and how it would wrap up, and everything.

Then I started drafting it, and I realized I had no idea what I'd been on about. Things are taking on a direction all their own now, and I think that's probably a good sign.

It means I'm getting back into the groove.

1.

Joey straightened; so did his cane. Hunter had been thinking of the multitude of mistakes he had made in recent months, to have landed him in this situation. He thought of all the lessons his parents had tried to instill into him all throughout his life. How to read people. How to anticipate what they wanted. How many times he had ignored them both.

"If you know what a man wants," his father would say, "you know the man."

"Every interaction is a contest," his mother would say. "It's not up to you to win all of them. But you'll know the ones you have to win when you see them."

Hunter didn't know about all that. Sometimes he thought his parents read too many self-help books to make up for the fact that they'd had a kid without waiting to see if they were ready for one yet. That, or they ate too much takeout Chinese and kept the little slips of paper from the fortune cookies for whenever they needed to impart some wisdom. What Hunter did know was that Matthew Kerns thought he'd known what this man wanted; and Matthew Kerns had had to win that last contest.

He'd lost.

They'd all lost.

"Well," said Joey Wheeler, "that's the thing about public places. You can pretty much talk to whoever you want." He smirked. "As it happens, I'm not exactly in high demand at the moment. Something about keeping my strength up. So yeah. I got a minute. What's on your mind?"

How could he be so casual? So friendly? Here he was, standing inches from one of the colossal fuck-ups responsible for the wound that could easily have killed him, the wound that obviously still haunted him, and this man was just. Standing there. Happy as you please. His brown eyes were practically dancing. He didn't look nearly as imposing as he did in Hunter's imagination half the time, but he still looked . . .

He still looked . . .

"Like a winner," Hunter murmured. Then he sighed and squared himself up again. Forced himself to look Joey Wheeler in the eye. He couldn't keep going like this; he had to own up to his mistakes. That was something his parents said that he fully agreed with. At least, he did now. This man had taught him. "I just wanted to say . . . a couple things. And I guess one of them is . . . I'm glad you made it."

Joey tilted his head. Chuckled a little. "Well, it sure beats hearin' the alternative. Oi, fuck-weasel, why the hell didn't you die?"

Hunter sputtered with sudden laughter, and he nearly bit through his tongue to keep it under control. But now he could tell. Joey Wheeler's eyes were definitely dancing. His smile came easy, and he looked like nothing in all the world could be bothering him. Hunter tried to, and couldn't, think of anyone he'd ever met who could take a bullet to the stomach and just. Roll with it like this.

He was like a golden retriever in human form.

"You know . . . that first time. When you showed up with Mister Kaiba and . . . put a stop to our stunt with that guy's tools. I had this idea in my head of who you were. What kind of guy you were." What was he even saying anymore? He had no idea. But he was too far in it now. "I guess I just. Wanted to tell you . . . to your face. I was wrong. About everything."

Hunter lowered his head.

"I know it doesn't mean anything. I know it doesn't change anything. But . . . I'm sorry."

There was a beat of silence. Then: "Hey." Hunter looked up. Joey's face had a serious caste to it now. "Don't go underestimatin' things, now. Changes a lot, I think. See, there were a lot of people out there that day, including some doofus with a gun. Ain't none of them came and found me. Ain't none of them looked me in the eye and said they were sorry. But you did. So y'know what? I think that means somethin' pretty important."

Hunter found a smile for the first time since his eardrums had damn near ruptured because of some doofus with a gun.

"You . . . you really were one of his guys. The big man. Kenzou Hirutani."

Joey quirked an eyebrow. "I may be stupid, but I ain't gonna take that motherfucker's name in vain. Oh, yeah. I was one of his guys. From the day I turned 10 to the day I started high school, or somethin' like that." Joey ran his free hand through his hair. "Don't trust my memory some days. Concussions. Y'know how it is."

"I, um. I can guess. Yeah." Hunter cleared his throat. "The other guys don't believe you. Well. Anymore. They did when you said it. I guess hearing his name was such a shock that they didn't have time to . . . y'know. Recalibrate. But as soon as it all ended, they started spinning stories. Laughing it off. They're all sure that you just said that to get the jump on them. Nobody like you would have ever made it in Hirutani's gang. That's what they think."

Joey rolled his eyes. Hunter expected him to say something, or at least start to say something, but he didn't. What might have been an insult to his pride—"What, you callin' me a liar?"—didn't just glance off his armor. It didn't even land.

"I, um. I'm not with them anymore."

This caught Joey's attention. "Oh?"

Hunter nodded. "My parents, um. Made it clear. They say I need to, y'know, reevaluate my social circle. That's how Dad put it, anyway. I'm not about to go behind their backs on this one. Not now. Not . . . anymore."

"See, that's the thing. When the chips throw down like that, you get a real look into the people around you. I'm guessin' you either saw a whole lot, or else a whole lot of nothin'. Maybe both at the same time."

Hunter nodded. ". . . Yeah. That kinda sums it up. I don't think any of them . . . get it. They're still playing a game. But what happened . . . back there. That was the real thing. That was the life those guys think they want. I . . . I don't."

Joey reached out and patted Hunter's shoulder. "Don't blame you there."

Hunter felt newly awkward all of a sudden, and rather like he wanted to run for the hills. "So, um. Yeah. That's what I wanted to say. I won't . . . take up any more of your time."

"No worries, bud. I appreciate the gesture. Now go on. No more worryin' on my account. Get on outta here. Play basketball. Do homework. Watch somethin' stupid on TV. Whatever you kids do these days."

Hunter chuckled. "Have to get home and mow the lawn. I'm grounded for the next six months."

Joey nodded sagely. "My condolences. Stay strong, soldier."

"Thanks."

He left. Joey watched him go.

2.

Joey was about to take his seat behind the counter again when he realized that his chair was missing. Looking around, he saw Yugi giving him a soft, but unmistakable, reprimanding look. "You've been on your feet long enough for one day," he said. "My shift is starting soon anyway. Go upstairs and visit with your family."

Joey rolled his eyes. "Aye-aye, sir."

"I'm not going to have your sister yelling at me for overtaxing you. She's quiet, but you and I both know the quiet ones are dangerous. Go."

Joey smirked. "Yeah. All right. Good point."

Stairs had never been something that Joey noticed much. Just another part of the eternal interim. An obstacle, sure, but no more noteworthy than a hill or a tree's root sticking up out of the dirt. Just lift up your foot, bend at the knee, blah-blah-blah.

"Y'all oughtta get Kaiba to install an elevator or somethin'," Joey muttered. He hooked his cane on his arm and clutched the handrail like a lifeline. He swore to himself, not for the first time, to never take good health for granted again. This shit was getting ridiculous.

He didn't even want to know how long it took to ascend that single flight.

They were seated on the couch in the living room. Serenity had a mug of tea. Their mother was nibbling on a shortbread cookie. Missus Mutou had set out a kettle and tray for them, but she'd apparently decided to keep clear afterward. Joey wasn't sure if he was grateful or not. He couldn't think of a time when he'd been alone with his family that hadn't ended in shattered dishes or somebody crying.

He eased himself into a chair to Serenity's right and let out a breath he hadn't been holding on purpose. "Nobody warned me about any o' this," he said. "No quick movements. Fiber is the enemy. Bedrest. So much bedrest."

Serenity smiled. "You've just had major abdominal surgery. I'm not sure what you expected."

"I dunno. As much ice cream as I can eat?"

"Wrong surgery, big brother."

"Nyeh." He turned his head slightly as he leaned back against the cushions. "How ya feelin', there, Ma? If I remember right, you had yourself a stint in the same bright buildings 'n sterilized halls as I did not too long ago."

Their mother smiled. "I'm doing fine, dear. Just fine. Had a bit of a scare, but it's nothing I can't handle. What was that about back there? That boy seemed to know you. Is he a fan of yours?"

Joey frowned. "Dunno if you could go that far, but . . . yeah, somethin' like that. I gotta reputation 'round these parts. Think I saw a poster with my mug plastered on it a while back. Ended up having to cancel one of my tournaments this year on account of . . . y'know."

"You're a professional duelist now!" Serenity chirped.

"I'd more consider myself a freelancer, but . . . yeah, I guess I am. Ain't got the kind of reputation Yugi or Kaiba's got, but I make it work." Joey winked. "Close as I'll ever get to gambling."

"If you're . . . living here," their mother cut in after a moment, "what about your bills? Rent, and utilities. And your medical bills!"

Joey flashed a grin. "Talked to Kaiba 'bout that. Hospital I got sent to runs on donations. Ain't got no bills. As for rent 'n stuff, that's . . . also covered. No worries on my account. I'm doin' okay."

Serenity nodded. "I think Mokuba said he talked to your landlady personally?"

"Yeah. S'funny what makin' friends with the richest kid in the city can do for ya. Moku said it's no big thing. 'You saved my best friend's life,' he says to me, 'so the least I can do is make sure nobody punishes you for it.'"

"Well, now. That's . . . a silver lining, then, isn't it?"

"Like I said before, Ma. Luck's kinda my thing. Me 'n the Moku-man, we're tight like that." He crossed two fingers. "Good thing, too. I ain't got much in savings, and barely any-damn-body takes my insurance 'round here." Joey rolled his shoulders, then grimaced. "Adulthood is just a whole buncha headaches piled up on top of each other, all waitin' for you to not be payin' attention so they can just. Clink on down the chute like a Pachinko machine."

Their mother laughed. "Isn't that the truth."

Serenity grinned.

She looked content.

Joey supposed he was, too.

"Ah, hell," he said. "It'll all work out."

3.

Roland found his employer in the basement, which Seto had converted into a home gym. The elder Kaiba was on the treadmill and, judging by the state of his shirt and the look of pained concentration on his face, he'd been on it for some time. Ever since his adoption, Seto had been expected to keep himself in shape. Keeping himself in peak physical condition hadn't been something Seto had started doing when he replaced the old demon. He'd just kept at it.

It had never been enough for Gozaburo to have a son who could outthink him; he'd also wanted—expected—that son to outfight him.

Roland waited, wondering how long it would take to be acknowledged. You could rather reliably tell Seto's state of mind by how quickly—or how slowly—he noticed someone else in the room. When he was at his best, there wasn't anyone who could escape his notice.

Seto didn't take out his earbuds for two full minutes.

Roland could hear, from half a room away, the music Seto had had blaring straight into his brain. Seto preferred classical music, or videogame soundtracks, when he was working; while exercising, he tended toward obscure metal subgenres. "Trouble sleeping, sir?" Roland asked idly.

Seto hopped off the treadmill and began the process of wiping it down. "When do I not have trouble sleeping," he muttered. "People express shock and awe when they realize what kind of shape I'm in. Where do you find the time to exercise? You're a see-ee-oh! How can you possibly pull it off? Well. Here it is. What a confounding mystery."

Roland offered a little smirk. "You always did like defying stereotypes."

"Genetics, luck, and chronic insomnia." Seto flashed a thumbs-up. "That's the real recipe for busting belly fat!" He tossed a towel over his head and groaned as he walked across the room in Roland's direction. "I exemplify twice as many stereotypes as I defy. Let's not mince words." He paused, sighed, and shook his head. "Speaking of, I hesitate to ask what time it is."

"Almost midnight, sir. The boys have been asleep for an hour."

Seto grimaced. "Midnight. Damn it. And here I thought I was going to be responsible and get to bed at a reasonable hour."

"C'est la vie," Roland said.

Seto grunted. "How are they doing?" he asked suddenly.

"Well enough, considering," Roland said. "It seems they've been having a heart-to-heart, if you'll take my meaning. Working through things at their own pace. I won't deny that I'm glad Miss Yoshimi is on call, but I'm not entirely certain they'll be needing her guidance all that much. The young master seems to have things well in hand."

Seto nodded. He patted at his hair with the towel. "Heaven only knows where he picked up healthy coping mechanisms. It certainly wasn't from me."

"Perhaps he's picked up on that age-old mantra: 'Do as I say, not as I do.'"

Seto chuckled. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've ever believed."

Roland bowed his head. "By your leave, sir. I'll be heading home."

Seto nodded, waving a hand. "Good night, Roland."

"Good night, Master Kaiba."

4.

The night was quiet. Connor was curled up on one side of Mokuba's bed, while Mokuba was sprawled out on the other, looking like a starfish in plaid. He held his plush Swordstalker in the crook of one arm.

Sausage slept between the two boys.

Mokuba had offered to let Connor have his pick among the guest bedrooms. Gozaburo had kept several for the sake of his various associates, and even considering the members of the house staff who lived with the Kaibas, there were still plenty to pick from. Connor had declined. The very idea seemed to frighten him; Mokuba hadn't pressed.

They'd spent the day playing games and watching anime. Seto had made dinner himself, and the three of them ate while Iron Man played in the background. Mokuba taught Connor how to build a Dungeons & Dragons character; Connor taught Mokuba how to fold a paper airplane that did a loop-de-loop every time you threw it. They'd even managed to convince Seto to break out his dueling deck and play a few matches against them.

For a first sleepover, it was a resounding success.

Mokuba's bedroom wasn't the biggest room in the house. Aside from his "choice" collection of comics and novels, which he kept on a shelf beneath his window, his bed, a chest of drawers and the desk where he kept his laptop, there honestly wasn't much to say about it. Mokuba didn't cram everything he owned into one room; owing to rather obvious reasons, he didn't have to.

This wasn't, however, to say that the young Kaiba's space was organized in any particular fashion. Clothes and toys and homework still managed to litter the floor, and he did plaster his walls haphazardly with posters and magazine clippings.

All in all, it was a quiet room. A pleasant room. A safe room.

Nonetheless, not all was well.

Mokuba was a light sleeper. He tended to blame this on his brother, but whether it was actually Seto's fault didn't really matter. He shifted, sat up, and watched Sausage hop onto the floor with an indignant whine. At first, Mokuba wondered if the kitten hadn't been what startled him awake.

But then he heard it again: a soft little whimper.

Connor was shaking. He was still asleep, but his face was scrunched up in distress. Mokuba found himself wondering, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, whether or not this was what his brother felt.

His best friend was in the grips of a nightmare.

Tears came trickling from Connor's eyes, which were clamped shut so hard that they almost disappeared beneath his eyebrows.

Mokuba let out his breath. His face went suddenly, coolly neutral.

"Y'know what, God?" he hissed through his teeth. "This is a bullshit move. I can handle this. You've already tried to break me, and Niisama. You can't beat us and we all know it. But him? That's not fair. It's underhanded and dirty. Fight me." He looked up at the ceiling. "Are you listening, you celestial prick? Fight me."

Mokuba put a hand on Connor's trembling shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could take all this away. I bet . . . Niisama wishes he could do the same thing for me." He shook his head. "This really must be what it's like. No wonder he's so mad at the world all the time."

The young Kaiba settled back down, pulled Connor close, and held him.

"It'll be okay," Mokuba whispered. "I'm here. I'm right here."