Once again, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

And I couldn't leave it with all that angst. _ Besides…it's only slightly relevant to the main plot. Hell, so is this chapter.

- ~ -

"God-damn…how much more stuff do we need?" Joey rubbed at the back of his sweat-plastered blonde head and stared at the accumulated truckloads of equipment. Tristan and Ryou shot him a nasty glare as they struggled together to heave a box of freeze-dried food into the back of truck. A film crew had been nixed at the last minute, or it was likely that two trucks would have become three, or even five. Tents, food, three ATV's, various picks, shovels, and brushes, flashlights, machetes, rifles and ammunition…it was all there. They had clearance from the government of Japan and permission from Peru and Brazil for a sea-transport to the Peruvian coast. Tristan and Joey would stay with the equipment for the two-week oversea journey, while Yugi, Ryou, and Teá flew in later to join them in Lima. From there it was a straightforward trip through a pass in the Andes to Tarma, and from there, southeast along the great river basin and into the southernmost tip of Brazil and untouched rainforest.

Well, that was the travel plan, anyway.

The box fell into place with a pair of labored grunts and a thud, and Ryou and Tristan fell back against the fender of the truck to rub their sweating foreheads. The first box of food had been easy as pie. It was the sixth box that really took it out of them. Tristan wasn't sure why five people would need all that junk…but he wasn't going to doubt Yugi, and besides, the brunette had a hunch that they'd be needing it, too.

"I don't know why Yugi's got his heart set on this stone," Ryou panted, tugging fretfully at the hem of his shirt to let cooler air underneath, "the legend says it'll work, but what if that's just a lot of lies?"

"Think about what the poor little guy's living with," Joey insisted, hooking an arm over the bed of the truck, "if that were you…oh." He flushed furiously and looked away, realizing what he'd just said. Ryou and Tristan exchanged amused smiles. Joey glared at the pair of them, until Tristan elbowed him in the gut. He would have retaliated, but Teá called Joey's name from the game store entrance, and he was forced to concede defeat. This time. The other two men waited until he was out of earshot, and cracked up.

After a few minutes of rampant snickering at Joey's expense, Tristan sobered and tipped his head curiously at his ice-blonde companion. "Hey, Ryou?"

Ryou looked up. "Yes, Tristan?"

"Are you coming with us just in case Yugi's stone really does work?"

Ryou shook his head, strands of snowy hair shimmying across his shoulders. "I'm coming because I can be of help. And because Yugi asked me to. If it is possible, then…" The soulful blue eyes turned down, "I'll…have to think about it."

"Hm. Okay." Tristan wasn't sure he understood. After all, why did someone as gentle as Ryou deserve to be at the hands of a madman's whims? God knew what kind of things the demon living inside of his friend told him. This hesitation could be a suggestion planted in Ryou's mind by that evil thing…

"Tristan…"

"Yeah?"

A slender hand cupped over the curve of one of Tristan's broad shoulders. "I have more control over him than you think." Ryou's gaze rose again, and he squeezed the warm flesh under his hand. "I'm stronger than that. Do give me a little credit, will you? I'm just…not sure I want to give him up, yet." He flushed. And Tristan, with the depth of thought that rarely manifested in public, realized what he meant and blushed just as scarlet.

"I guess I can understand that," Tristan replied, with a sheepish grin. He jammed his hands into his pockets. They looked at one another, and pretended they hadn't, and turned with a start when Teá announced that lunch was ready. Joey returned with the tonneau covers for both trucks and unrolled them over the top of the equipment. The three men made short work of snapping the covers down, and trooped in silence to join the rest of their friends.

Just at the door, Tristan jerked back, as for a minute he could have sworn he'd heard the familiar roaring thrum of a motorcycle dying down. The expensive sound of a rebuilt Victor, heavy with the steel tubing and frame and utterly unlike the fiberglass buzz of the local Yamahas and Hondas and the putter of scooters.

Only one person he knew of would have a motor that sounded that sweet.

It matched his own.

The street outside of the game shop was pastorally quiet, baking slowly in the heat of the day until the air above the pavement rippled. Above the low hum of traffic from the center district, there was only birdsong. A dog barked. A blessed breeze lifted and Tristan scanned the street from one side to the other, following the ribbon of grey at either end until it spun out of sight.

Nothing.

It couldn't have been him. He was across town and a lifetime away, as far as anyone knew. He turned back to follow the others with a philosophical shrug. For all he knew, the guy had sold that bike.

"Hiya, Tristan." Said a voice from the driveway.

Tristan yelped. It was stupid, he knew, and he practically tumbled off the front steps as he spun back around. "What the hell…?"

There sat the Victor, leaning casually on its kickstand in the same glittering metal-flake black paint that it'd always worn. And straddling it just as casually was a familiar lanky man, grown and evened out some since he'd last been a part of the group, but still unmistakable. Right down to the legs that seemed to go on forever and the typical self-assured smirk. Tristan noticed both in that order. When he finally reached the other's face, the corners of Devlin's mouth twitched knowingly. He dismounted and stood, one hand folded jauntily on a slim leatherclad hip. "It's good to see you, too, tiger."

"Dev!" Tristan yodeled, and rocketed off the front steps to slam the other man into a fierce, back-pounding hug. "Hey, you guys! Dev's back!"

Devlin grunted in shock, but joined in the exuberant display of greeting with just as much gusto as his friend. Nobody had tackled him like that in years. And it'd been almost that long since someone called him 'Dev.'

Good old Tristan. Suddenly he didn't give a damn what Kaiba thought.

The others came to the door in response to Tristan's yelling, and tumbled out into the driveway to join the pair in another round of hugs.