I am walking an endless circle. This is going nowhere. I will look back on this five years from now and laugh at my pointless endeavors. As I look back now on the things that were important to me five years ago. I laugh at Mulder and Scully, although they were the two most exciting characters within my writing capacity. The idea is foolish now, but then it was terribly romantic and captivating.

The fanworld of Yu-Gi-Oh is delicate and intrinsic—a giant web of intrigue and possibility. It is this terribly romantic, captivating thing smelling suspiciously of "cult." It is somehow ancient and transient, weathered and ephemeral at once. It is romanticized. And in five years, it will either be a fond memory of nostalgic days of youth, or it will be overdone to the point of irritation.

I was there before the media. I was there before the t-shirts and lunchboxes and shoelaces. I was there before it was something cheap and tangible. I was there when its success was an issue of doubt. I was there before the starving fans with their collector's tin cans full of trading cards.

I was there when it was this romantic idea.

I wish I were there still.

.

.

.

"I called your friends," Solomon was saying. "They were awfully worried about you. I called them last night to tell them you were home from the hospital."

Yugi stared at him wide-eyed where he sat at his French toast breakfast. He said nothing, swallowed a mouthful of bread, peanut butter, and syrup. He said nothing, but Yami glimpsed the curiosity in his features.

"Yes," Yami said, "you have friends."

"What're their names," the boy asked, his eyes dancing.

Yami smiled. "Joey is one of them," he explained. "You two are very close. His sister is Serenity. There is also Tristan, Bakura, and Tea. You and Tea have known each other for years now."

Yugi was giddy. "Daddy," he begged, "can they come over and play?"

"They're at school right now," Solomon interposed. "But afterwards, I invited them to come see you."

"When is afterwards," the boy asked, squirming in his chair.

"In several hours," his grandfather explicated with a chuckle.

"But," Yugi complained, "what'll I do til then?"

"You should be patient," Mr. Mutou instructed him good-naturedly. "You'll see them soon. Besides, you have many games in your room that I know can keep you occupied until they come over."

The boy's eyes found Yami's. "Daddy, will you play with me?"

Yami regarded him fondly for a moment. "As soon as you finish your breakfast," he agreed.

.

Most of the games in Yugi's possession were thinking games, or strategy games, intended for intellectual reason and sharp mental reaction. They were not for little boys. Yugi's disinterest was apparent.

"You know," Solomon remarked, "I think there might be some old toys of yours in boxes up in the attic."

The boy's eyes lit.

"Let's go up and see," the elder Mutou suggested, motioning for his grandson to follow him out the door.

.

Even though Solomon said it wasn't a good idea and Yami mildly rebuked him for not listening to his grandfather, Yugi began hauling himself up the ladder. He was still in a great deal of pain, so he took the rungs very slowly, clinging to them one at a time, moving his feet up left after right until he was that much closer to the top and Solomon's extended hand. Yami was close behind him, shadowing his movements, one hand instinctively guiding the boy by the small of his back.

Finally at the top, Mr. Mutou gently pulled Yugi to his feet and sternly warned him to stay on the beams—otherwise he'd fall through the ceiling. Yami, himself now at the top as well, again questioned the purpose of the trip if it was, after all, so perilous.

"Over there," Solomon exclaimed, pointing to a particular dusty corner of the attic and commencing to hop from one wooden beam to the next in a surprisingly nimble fashion for a man of his age.

Sweating from physical exertion and wrenching pain that he wouldn't let show, Yugi followed suit with excitement, Yami cautiously tagging behind him.

"Yes, these boxes are yours," the old man said, shuffling through a number of haphazardly stacked cardboard boxes. Several had been placed on an old rocking chair.

"What's that," Yugi asked, dashing forward to inspect it. The wood was mahogany and, though a little dusty and weathered, the scrollwork on the armrests was remarkable. The cushion on the seat seemed to be the original, and a little worse for wear. It could stand to be replaced.

"Oh," Solomon sighed, the spark of reminiscence in his eyes, "that belonged to your grandmother. She used to rock you in that thing all the time when you were a baby. After she passed on, I had no use for it, and I managed to hoist it up here."

"It's pretty," Yugi said. "Can I have it in my room? Please, Daddy?"

Yami smiled at him, still amused at the boy's childlike pronunciations. "Ask your grandfather."

Yugi turned his pitiable gaze on Solomon, who gave into his petition of, "Pleeease, grampa?"

"You can have it if you like," Mr. Mutou resolved. "But I'm afraid my back's not what it used to be. I'm not sure how well I'll be able to put it in your room." He decided it best to divert his grandson's attention. "I wonder what's in all these boxes."

"Can I open them," Yugi asked, his interest effectively transferred to the dusty boxes.

"Of course," Solomon agreed, hoisting a box onto the floor for his grandson's inspection.

"Perhaps we should continue downstairs," Yami suggested, wary of the creaking boards under their feet, but Yugi was already busy prying tape off of corners and lifting cardboard folds to reveal a jumbled mess of action figures and Tonka trucks.

"Wow, cool!" Yugi's eyes were bright with wonder as he picked up individual Power Ranger figurines and chunky plastic dinosaurs—and one large Godzilla with a voice box that promised hours of uninterrupted playtime as soon as an AA battery could be replaced. Several more boxes yielded stuffed animals, puzzles, and Lego sets.

Yami had not seen the boy so animated before. It was wonderful to watch him alive with excitement, starving for all the play in the world, in love with being a child in his own little universe where only he and his newfound joy existed.

With great difficulty, Yami managed to bring down five boxes of Yugi's toys before carefully guiding Yugi himself down. He eventually had to take the boy by his underarms and lift him down from where he clung to the ladder, whimpering through clenched teeth.

"We'll not go up there again," Yami resolved, the boy in his arms tense and in pain.

Solomon joined them on the floor, exchanging a look with the older boy. "I'll take this stuff to your room, and then what do you say to lunch?"

.

The afternoon had been spent lazily, Yugi in his own universe, surrounded by toys in a room that had become disturbingly unkempt in a very short time. Yami stayed with him, sitting attentively on the floor and watching his play habits. Yugi was almost unaware of him, acknowledging him only when a rocket ship or T-Rex would crawl its way up the mountainous terrain that happened to be Yami's legs.

Yami would laugh softly, and his boy would stop to regard him, each time in as much rapture as the first, and they would be silent together; staring, knowing, memorizing features the way a gosling and a mother goose might. The sunlight in Yugi's room was orange.

An eagerly awaited knocking at the door of the shop announced that Yugi's friends had arrived. The boy was anxious to run and see them all, but Yami kept him in the living room so that Solomon could meet the group at the door and warn them all of what was and what was not to be said.

"Of course, he doesn't remember what happened, so I'd like you not to ask him about it. I think it might upset him. Keep the conversation light—he has a short attention span. Oh, I know it will be difficult for you to see him this way, but please, Tea, don't cry in front of him. It will make him sad."

"Okay," Tea obeyed, wiping her eyes.

Joey put an encouraging arm around her. "It'll be fine," he affirmed, surprisingly confident.

Solomon led them up the stairs.

"Be polite," Yami was instructing softly on the couch in the living room.

Yugi stared at him. "What's polite," he asked.

"Tell them each your name," Yami continued. "Ask their names in turn. Don't fidget."

"What's fid—"

Yami laid a hand over the boy's hands, which were tugging at the hem of his shirt, just as the others were entering the room.

"Hello there," Joey said.

Yugi gazed at him, suddenly shy, and said nothing.

"Be polite," Yami whispered into his ear.

"Hi," the boy replied hesitantly. "My name's Yugi, what's yours," he recited.

"I'm Joey." He took hold of Serenity. "And this is my sister."

"I'm Serenity," she said, her voice small, unsure of how to speak to her friend.

Yugi stared at her. "You're pretty," he mused, a distant look in his eye.

Serenity blushed. "Thank you," she said timidly.

Tristan stepped forward. "And my name's Tristan Taylor," he chimed.

"Hi."

Next in line, Tea twiddled her thumbs—still sniffling back tears—and said, "I'm Tea. Tea Gardner."

"Hi, Tea."

Bakura was last. He gave his friend a small smile and introduced himself. "My name is Ryou Bakura."

Yugi heard the accent on his voice; recognized his long hair, fair complexion, and soft features. "You're pretty, too," he commented absently, describing a fact mutually known and never mentioned amongst his small group of friends. He had not meant anything implicit by the compliment, and this was apparent, for in the eyes of children, beauty is not a thing bound to age or gender. His was exclusively an observation.

"Yugi," Yami whispered, sternly now, "boys are not 'pretty.' That was an insult. Apologize."

Yugi, crestfallen at this chastisement, dropped his eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Bakura colored, tucked his hair behind his ear and replied, "It's okay," with an enduring grin. It was not entirely desirable for a young man to be physically attractive in such ways, and it had always been a social obstacle for Bakura.

"I've got to start making dinner," Solomon interjected into what could have become a very uncomfortable silence. "You kids talk all you like, and I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Please, make yourselves at home."

They seated themselves on the couch, the loveseat, and even the floor, Yugi taking them in one at a time, slowly, calculating, sizing up each of his new friends—a little shaken and at a loss for many words. His gentle gaze settled around the room as he was asked simple questions to which he usually had an answer.

"Do you like your house," Tristan asked.

Yugi smiled. "Uh-huh."

"How old are you, Yugi? I forget sometimes," Bakura said, and for a moment, Yami panicked, until he realized the British teen's motive. How old did Yugi think he was?

"I…" The boy faltered, made up his mind, "I'm six."

"And what's your favorite color?" Bakura covered his intentions quickly.

Yugi glanced around, paused on his father's eyes. "Purple," he murmured. Yami grinned.

Tea laughed lightly. "How was your day?"

"Good," he replied, his hand subconsciously wandering to the tender spot on the side of his head, above the temple, where a bandage was now located. "I got a booboo," he announced.

The others were silent.

"That's too bad," Joey played along. "I see somebody got you a band-aid."

"My Daddy," the boy agreed with a smile. "It's a Pikachu one. It made my booboo feel better."

"I'm glad," Serenity said.

Yugi glanced around again until his focus alighted on Joey. "I have toys," he exclaimed.

"Oh, what kinds?" Joey was good at this.

"All kinds—I have trucks and planes and zoo animals! You wanna see?"

Joey shot to his feet. "I'd love to see, Yuug!"

"Maybe we could play," Yugi suggested, rising from the couch.

"Yeah—hey, come with us, Tristan," Joey demanded, yanking his friend up by the arm.

"O—kay," he replied, unsure of how to react.

"Try not to bore your friends," Yami instructed.

"Nah, don't be silly," Joey objected. "C'mon, Yuug."

The three bounded to Yugi's room, leaving the rest in sudden silence. Tea was losing the fight to suppress her tears, Bakura bit his lip, and Serenity looked from one occupant of the room to another, searching for explanation.

"He's different," Bakura said at last.

Yami sighed, shifting his weight in his seat. "It will take some getting used to," he agreed. "And I am still not aware of how to parent him."

"I think you're doing a marvelous job," Tea commented, her eyes brimming.

"So do I," Serenity said. "I can tell he easily obeys you."

Yami grinned wearily. "I only hope it remains as such. I do not know what to anticipate in raising a child."

"But Solomon will be there to help," Tea reminded him.

They slipped into silence again, evening sun outside the window stretching shadows across the floor. Bakura stirred. "What of his Millennium Puzzle," he inquired.

Yami hesitated, ran a hand through his hair. "Taken," he explained at length.

"I'm sorry," Bakura said.

"There was no real use left in it," Yami continued. "But I know it meant something to him…as it did to me."

After a respectful pause, Serenity observed, "He seems happy."

Yami nodded in agreement. "He is."

.

Joseph had been a wonderful help. He had never felt he'd been particularly good with children, but his little cousins revered him, and the skills he'd learned from babysitting them came into invaluable use now with his friend. He'd sat on the floor with Yugi and played and made the boy laugh. Tristan had joined in eventually, tentatively, cautious of how to act, but Joey made all the pretend very easy for him. Playtime had been good.

Afterwards, dinner had been eaten, and the gang filed into the living room to watch a movie. They picked a mild cartoon—something Disney—and cued it up, confident Yugi would be satisfied with any of those trite fairytales, since this would be, in a sense, his first time to see it. Yami excused himself from their company to go relieve Solomon of dish duty, and Joey followed him into the kitchen several moments later.

"Hey—you okay?"

Yami paused, mid-scrub, and leaned against the sink. His eyes wandered through the warm, soapy water at the partially submerged cups and plates. "I will be," he replied at last.

Joey picked at the edge of the counter. "Things'll be a lot different 'round here, I'm sure," he remarked. "But the worst is over, eh?"

Yami said nothing, clenched tightly the sponge in his hand, water running between his fingers. "I could never," he forced out, "do what you do. You play with him, Joey. You make him laugh."

The blonde thumbed his nose. "Nah," he said. "I play with him. But you?" He shook his head. "You get to be his father. He needs that guidance so much more than a playmate. It's real special—what you're doing for him. You're givin' him a second chance, an' I admire that."

Yami looked him in the eye. "Thank you, Joe. Thank you for everything you do." He glanced away once more. "I only hope I can live up to your expectations."

Joey smiled, laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. "We all believe in you. We're trusting you with our bestest little buddy. He'll be fine."

Yami returned his smile.

Shortly after Joey found his way back to the rest of his friends, Yami finished his tasks in the kitchen and also entered the living room. For a moment he stared at Yugi who, entranced by the movie, sat with wide eyes solemnly glued to the screen.

He glanced to where the boy's attention lay transfixed. There on the television was a large gray elephant—he recognized the animal—and, seeing it chained in a train car with bars over the windows, Yami surmised that it was either a beast of entertainment or labor. It was cradling a smaller elephant in its trunk.

Yami understood. This was a sad moment. The animal was a mother, and she was embracing her young from behind bars. She was singing to it, Yami guessed, the words that swept across the room and to his ears: baby mine. Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eye.

He looked at Yugi again to find that he was crying. They were silent tears, evoked by this cinematic display of love and affection. Yami was moved. He longed, standing there, watching his boy, to be that kind of parent. A gentle parent. A loving parent.

.

Yami was only half asleep when he sensed the presence right next to his bed. He'd been anticipating another visit from Yugi, and therefore had not fallen into quite as deep a sleep as he might have been enjoying otherwise. The night was wearing on and he distantly grew concerned that his boy would not come, but it was at that moment he sensed the presence beside his bed, and he opened his eyes, instantly alert but unalarmed.

There were Yugi's orbs locked calmly with his own. No words were spoken because no words were necessary. Yami knew what he wanted, and he momentarily tossed aside a corner of the comforter in offering, which the boy accepted gratefully. Wordlessly. He slipped under the covers and he was warm—they were both warm—Yami tenderly cradling him with arms and blankets and silent affection.

Rest your head close to my heart. Never depart, baby of mine.