I must first make this perfectly plain, to avoid any confusion:

I do not begin to say mine is an unjust God, or an unloving God, or a God blind with rage and vengeance. Mine is the God Who speaks to me in the setting of the sun, in very real words of the glory of His creation. Mine is the God Who worked in miracles and parted seas for His people. Mine is the God Who came down on the mountain, and shielded Moses in the cleft of the rock as He passed by. Mine is the God Who leads nations and infantries into victory, Who rules all things by the might of His hand. Mine is the God Who breathed the Word, to silence disbelief. Mine is the God Who gave His only Son to save sinners, among whom I am chief.

May the works of my hands, the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in Your sight, oh God. Amen.

( )

Some days were just difficult.

At first he thought there was something terribly wrong, and when Solomon didn't know what to do, either, Yami called the psychologist, and told him that Yugi was awake—his eyes were open—and he was fine, but he wasn't responding, he wasn't even moving, what should they do? Kei instructed him not to panic, that as long as the boy wasn't hurt in any way, he would soon come around and start to respond. He said that Yugi was most likely cognizant, but had chosen to shut himself in for whatever reason, and as long as he knew his father was nearby, he would be all right. Perhaps he'd remembered something that shocked him and he needed some time to sort it out, Kei suggested, but it's best not to hope.

He had to be helped in everything. There was nothing he would willfully do on his own, so Yami had to help him dress, and then there really wasn't much to be done. Yami worried terribly for him when he was like that. After the first time it happened, he developed a sort of routine to provide for his son as normal a day as possible. He spoke to Yugi constantly, in a calm voice, as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. He went to some effort to make eye contact, and encourage his boy to play, and eat lunch, and do the things he loved.

It wasn't always so bad. Some days Yugi was just very quiet, and he did get up on his own, and dress, and eat, but he stayed very quiet, and simple things like reading the back of a cereal box were difficult. Reading proved especially difficult, because words would suddenly appear upside down, and backwards, to him and he didn't understand them at all. Sometimes the difficulty came to him in his speech, and he couldn't seem to remember how to turn the thoughts in his head into sentences, and it was very hard for him to talk. It frustrated him, and he would cry about these little things, and Yami would hold him closely and tell him that everything would be okay.

But some days were just difficult, and Solomon would find them on the floor of the living room, or Yugi's bedroom, as if the boy had just collapsed, as if he had decided it was too difficult today, and had given up entirely. Yami begrudgingly allowed this resignation, but he stayed with his son, rubbed his back while he lay catatonic on the floor, ran his fingers through the boy's hair, whispered comforts, and idly traced the scar above Yugi's right temple.

( )

"Yugi, honey, what are you thinking about? Whatever it is, I am here with you. Whatever you are afraid of. We will face it together.

...Yugi?

...You do not have to be afraid, if that's it. You do not have to be afraid of what's inside of you. Is that it? Honey, do you remember? Are you just sad? I know you hear me. I know you are so much smarter than you lead me to believe. Why, then, have you locked away your words so tightly? What is this you keep from me? If you would only tell me, maybe I could help you. I will still love you, whatever you have to say. You don't have to worry about that.

...Yugi?

Honey.

No...you do not have to tell me. That was wrong of me. You can keep it to yourself, for however long you need. I understand. Just know that I am here for you until then—until you are ready to talk to me. I will not leave you."

( )

A fresh chill hung close to the Earth, but the wind was warm and the sun high, and the sky was breaking blue and brilliant between feathery rifts of cirrus clouds. It was a glorious day for a picnic, and so the group of friends had assembled in the park, at a shaded bench tucked into a row of trees overlooking a particular open field of green—a stretch of gently rolling valley that seemed to audibly call children with their dogs and games of freeze tag and soccer. The afternoon moved in all its silent determination to some fixed point of early evening when the cicadas sang high in the trees and the wind blew warm and carried Serenity's kite up, up, up until Tristan had to help her hold it still.

"Someone ought to go make sure he minds his manners," Joey grumbled where he sat with the others.

"That's a good idea," Tea laughed, standing from her seat at the picnic table. "I'll go."

"You don't think I can keep him off my own little sister," Joey asked, trying to sound wounded.

"No, I just think Tristan would listen to reason much better than some empty threat to his manhood," she shot back amusedly over her shoulder before walking out onto the field in the direction of her friends. Yami watched her leave.

The sun made its way toward the western horizon, shadows stretching slowly across the length of the field. The discovery of worms and other stranger bugs in the dirt floor beneath the trees, the jogging couples and their jogging Dalmatians along the paved trails, the enticing scent of barbeque and the sizzling of charcoal grills. Searching for familiar shapes in the wide expanse of clouds. The puddle-wonderful world of children and pretense and sport, but there was one activity to which Yugi was inexplicably drawn, and Yami watched his charge with mildly territorial curiosity.

Bakura was presently involved in some strange and captivating dance, a mixture of Tai Chi and colorguard. He was moving with so much grace and fluidity out there in the sunset, and Yugi couldn't seem to tear himself away. He was deeply entranced by the effortless display, all the various moves and spins his friend executed in second nature, without so much thought as a mathematician carrying out the synthetic division of trinomials. An instant, flawless thought process, a rapid-firing of hands sweeping air and wide, carving movements of the flagpole and the silk.

blá nótt yfir himininn

blá nótt yfir mér

Bakura had been the one to bring a stereo, and its music carried lazily across the field in words Yami didn't understand, some kind of crooning foreign lullaby set to bold piano strokes and the harmonic accord of strings. It was to this sound the boy was moving, choreographing his peculiar dance as the song continued, sweeping the pole largely in the air above his head, the banner of the flag unfurling with his movements, all the while a sly and prided smile on his lips.

breiði mjúku sængina

loka augunum

Bakura was dancing with a flag, every muscle of him tuned in on one distinct angelic channel, glorying in the sunlight and the silent awe of Yugi nearby, whispering unintelligible lyrics, the strong and gentle lines of him poised and perfect, his hair falling about his shoulders in wondrous disarray. His silk never once sailed around the pole, his hands were planted firmly but flexibly on the grip, his knuckles parallel to the sky, his weight distributed evenly and lightly on his feet as he flew.

Yugi was in love.

Yami could see it from a distance, and he was troubled. He knew Yugi to give himself over so completely to an idea, that once he'd made up his mind about something (or someone) he would follow it to whatever end. There was an odd stab of not entirely parental jealousy coursing through Yami—a perhaps selfish instinct to take Yugi by the hand and lead him away from Bakura's flag dancing, away from the park, away from his innocent infatuation with Serenity, away from everything that held any claim on the boy's heart. The realization of this made Yami sick, but he couldn't let go of it. He needed Yugi all to himself, he didn't want to share with anyone, and watching helplessly from across the field at this potential diversion, this obstacle, this predator of Bakura hunting Yugi, teaching him those carving motions now with a makeshift pole, tucking perfect white hair behind his ear, smiling with those British dimples, it was too much for Yami to bear.

"Whoa, if looks could kill..." Yami glanced darkly in Joey's direction, not taking care to reply as the blonde seated himself on the bench. "Who crossed you and how," he asked bluntly after a moment in which Yami hadn't responded, "so I can make it a point to avoid doing the same?"

Yami shifted his weight where he sat but didn't reply, folding his arms across his chest instead. Joey noticed, after coming to the conclusion an answer was not going to be volunteered to him any time soon, that Yami's attention was focused intently on some distant point, and he leaned in to look in the same direction, in hopes of also glimpsing the source of his friend's disagreeable mood. Bakura was showing Yugi how to catch a toss by the middle of the pole. "Ah," Joey mused, withdrawing to his own space, "jealousy."

"It's not jealousy," Yami defended bitterly.

"Then what is it, 'cause it sure as hell isn't friendly."

Yami hesitated. "It's concern," he explained softly.

"About?"

He said nothing.

Joey sighed, his frustration apparent. "Look, do you want to talk about something, or am I wasting my time?"

"Forgive me, Joey," Yami said. "I am...worried...by it. Yugi's obvious high regard for Bakura puts me ill at ease."

Joey's brow creased. "Why would that bother you? Yugi likes everybody."

The words were being carefully shifted around for his reply. "Let's say...it's not the way Yugi looks at Bakura...it's the way Bakura looks back." Yugi was laughing triumphantly out there on the field—he'd caught his first toss.

"What are you talking about? It's Bakura," Joey retorted. "He's not like that."

"How do you know," Yami asked quickly, turning to meet his eyes. "Has he told you?"

Joey thought seriously about it. "Well...no. It's not a common topic of discussion, you know, but I just don't think..." He shook his head. "Listen, whatever Bakura is or is not, he wouldn't take advantage of his friends. He's smarter than that. Just trust him, okay?"

More laughter out there in the sunset and the grass. Yami faltered, torn between reason and his fiercely protective nature. "Serenity," he said rather absently.

"What," Joey snapped, still frustrated and a little put off by this random mention of his sister's name.

"Serenity with her kite," Yami clarified, the poignancy of the example dawning on him suddenly. "And Tristan helped her reign it in. They were alone on the field, and even though Tristan is your friend and you've known him for years, you still felt a protective tug to go separate him from your sister."

"No," Joey objected at once. "You're right, I should be able to trust my friend to behave himself when he's with my sister, that's what you're saying, and I understand, but Tristan has time and time again shown himself to be a hopeless womanizer. He's proven it in his character, you see what I'm saying? So I know it's not a terribly good idea to leave him alone with Serenity, because—the poor guy—if left on his own, he's eventually gonna say something, or do something, that he'll regret, and I don't want to give him that chance. But you have no reason to be suspicious of Bakura. He's always been a good friend, and I think he should have earned your trust by now."

Yami's eyes turned again on the boys in the field, this time with slightly less contempt than before. "I don't know, Joey," he said at last.

"If you can't take my word for it, ask Bakura about it yourself," Joey suggested. "Maybe if he knows you're concerned, he'll back off. I'm sure he never meant for it to seem like he was moving in on Yugi. But if you don't believe me, go talk to him."

Yami nodded at length, dejectedly, although most of him hadn't really been listening. The sting of envy and self-doubt burned in his eyes. Bakura was showing Yugi how to walk on the balls of his feet—not tiptoe—and bounce a little whenever he stepped, so that he could be more agile and move faster to catch a toss. The sun was setting golden, the shadows long and deep across the field.

( )

Yami couldn't sleep. He would have been tossing restlessly, had Yugi not come to his bed earlier. Some nights it was necessary. Other nights he was strong enough, or brave enough, or tired enough to go to sleep on his own, but sometimes he just needed the comforting presence of his father at night. Yami never turned him away. These moments were dear to him, but for some reason he couldn't sleep. The sun-swept image of Yugi and his latest interest dancing with poles and silk and light and laughter filled his vision where he lay in the dark. Something in him knew he would not always be Yugi's center of affection. Something in him knew he was losing control. Something in him knew he'd never had control to begin with. He was terrified. "Help," he whispered aimlessly into the night, into Yugi's hair. "Please. If anyone can hear this. If there is anyone in control. Help me. I cannot do this alone. Please."

Yugi's shape fit against his own so perfectly, his arm tightening subconsciously around the small frame, and he never wanted to leave. "It's not for me," he breathed, careful to keep his voice down as he spoke again to whatever unseen force chanced to be listening. "It's for him. I...I don't want him to hurt anymore. I don't want him to be sad. Please. If you can, take it all away from him. Let me bear it instead. I just want him to be happy. He's all I care about. He's all I have. Please, help him to be safe, and to be well. He...he keeps it all inside—everything that hurts, all those memories—he locks them away deep inside where he lets no one see. It will destroy him. It will consume him slowly if he doesn't let it out...I can't let that happen. I...

"Please. He's just so...he doesn't deserve this. He's never done a thing." Yami swallowed, his throat having suddenly constricted for some reason he didn't understand, his voice now straining past tears. "Why...why would you let this happen to him? Why would you corner me into a position from where I can do nothing—only watch? If only I knew...if I just knew who...I would throw everything away just to know. I hate being powerless. I hate...loving something I can't seem to protect. I can't...I can't do it. It's killing me—to know I didn't do anything. To know I can't do anything." His tears were wetting the pillow, so overwhelmed by the crushing fear he was somehow slowly losing Yugi, he didn't notice the movement in his arms. "Please," he was whispering urgently, "if you have the power I can't seem to summon, please help him. Protect him. Guide me. Help. I love him too much..."

Silence rushed to fill in where his words had ended, and he felt so emotionally drained by this apostrophe, that it came as an added surprise when Yugi's voice sounded groggily in the darkness beside him.

"Daddy?"

Yami sighed, inwardly chiding himself for not taking adequate precautions to keep his bitter ramblings from his son's ears. How long had the boy been awake, and how much had he heard?

"Daddy, were you praying?"

He honestly didn't know. Though it had sounded much like a prayer, Yami knew his intentions were far more selfish than he'd voiced, and any deity powerful enough to hear him would also have been able to see right through his vain and greedy heart. Even if it had been a prayer, he knew there was nothing in him that merited an answer.

"Do you believe in God?"

Yami bit his lip. Did he believe in a God who saw fit to put his Yugi through so much pain? "I don't know," he replied at last.

"Tea says He's everywhere," Yugi went on undeterred, his little voice heavy with sleep and soft between yawns, "and that He's always watching over us. She says that He's in control of everything. Doesn't that make you feel better?"

He wanted to contest it, but knew it would be best not to trouble Yugi, to let him believe whatever he wanted to believe, so long as it gave him comfort, but Yami questioned the sovereignty of a God who would so knowingly allow harm to come to such a tender creature. If there was such a God, Yami had many questions for Him.

"Go back to sleep, honey."

( )

"What is he doing?"

Yami stared out the window into the small backyard behind the house, his mind distantly registering what his eyes saw, and replied, "He's dancing."

The kid was inspired. He moved with spontaneous fluidity, as he'd been taught, in something tribal, something native that required no explanation—a dance all his own, a ritual, a sacred practice he performed with dignified solemnity. There was something very adult in him then, some contradiction of his assumed nature, something he'd never shown before, something that seemed to possess him with determination, move in his hands upturned to the sky. This was something vital, and necessary—and Yugi knew it—this expression of sensuality and movement and identity that he'd been robbed of, he had to take it all back, he had to be an animal distinct to only himself. He accomplished this in dance.

Yami understood. Finally. That this whole affair had nothing to do with some childish crush, some obsession—that it had everything to do with Yugi's sense of self, his expression, his freedom, his heartfelt worth. When he was moving out there in the sunlight and the breeze, he was proclaiming to the world, this is me, and you cannot take that away. Not a thing prideful or contemptuous in nature, but human, and individual, and real. It was a matter of life or death. Yami understood.

It was the dance that Yugi had fallen in love with.