Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh. Enough said.

(I'm sorry for the lack of writing these past few days, everyone. I've been extremely busy with school and the like, but I've finally found time to continue with the story. Be warned, that this chapter has a lot to do with Kaiba – but believe me, there's a reason for this. )

"Mr. Kaiba, there's a phone call for you on line one," Kaiba's secretary said, speaking into the intercom that connected the anteroom of the Kaiba Corp. London division to the company's name bearer's office.

"I am busy, Marjorie. You know this – so follow the routine procedure and take a message!" Kaiba replied snidely, irritated far more than the normal person would be at such a distraction.

"Y-yes, Mr. Kaiba; of course I will take a message."

"Damn those useless secretaries," Kaiba muttered under his breath as his fingers resumed the rapid typing on the computer keyboard.

"Um – Mr. Kaiba," Marjorie said as her voice came back over the intercom, "the caller is quite adamant in wanting to speak to you. I-I tried to t-take a message but she kept demanding t-to speak to you. I –"

"Marjorie – do you value your employment here at Kaiba Corporations?" the 23 year old CEO asked in a voice alarmingly calm and collected.

"O-of course, Mr. Kaiba," Marjorie replied in growing terror of being discharged. "Kaiba Corporations is my life!"

"Then in the future, I suggest you do what you are paid to do – follow through on my orders! When I say take a message, I fully expect you to take a damn message, understood?" Kaiba demanded as his voice rose, corresponding to his increasing annoyance."

"Yes, Mr. Kaiba; I understand fully."

"Fine," Kaiba said indifferently. Without missing a step, his tone changed and he barked out, "You may as well put whoever is on the line through now that my work has been disrupted."

"Yes, Mr. Kaiba," Marjorie said flatly.

In his office, Kaiba switched on his speaker phone, arrogantly saying, "You have five minutes." He didn't bother worrying about offending the unknown person on the other end of the line because there was no possibility that the person could be worth much of his time – Kaiba had no superiors, no people he must ingratiate himself to, in his mind, at least.

"Kaiba, darling," a mellifluous voice purred at the other end of the line, "is that any way to speak to me?"

"Camille Dupree," he answered in response, his voice losing a bit of its edge at the familiar voice of the one woman who he could honestly say, albeit with difficulty, that he respected.

"Tsk, tsk," Camille said laughingly, "Really, Kaiba, where are your manners? Aren't you going to ask me how I am?"

"Very well – how are you Camille?" he replied cordially.

"Oh very well, Kaiba, especially since I've discovered from various sources that you've been in London for two weeks now and you have yet to trouble yourself by coming to visit me."

"You know I am busy with running my company."

"Yes, I know, I know, Mr. CEO. But nevertheless you ought to come up with a new excuse; that one has quite worn itself out, do you not agree?" Camille remarked lightly. "Shake it up a bit, would you? You know – shock someone!"

"No." Kaiba replied shortly. "Now, tell me, what is it that you want?"

"Can't a friend just call up another friend for a good old chit-chat?"

"No," although his words were brusque, no annoyance was present in his tenor.

Laughing aloud, Camille smirked as she relented, "All right. You've caught me – I want you ready tonight by 7:30 to go to dinner and the ballet with me. No complaints or excuses. You owe me for that unsightly display of such rude manners just a moment ago."

"Aha," Kaiba said, reclining in his leather desk chair, a cynical grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "so you've finally decided you would like a shot with me after all these years. Well, I apologize, Camille, but I fear I will have to refuse your invitation."

"Don't fool yourself, Kaiba. There's no way in hell that this is a date – it is simply a society function which requires I bring someone along. And I will also not miss attending this particular ballet – a former student of mine will be dancing tonight and I want to see her."

"And you can not take some other sap to sit through an incessantly dull performance?"

"I'll be frank with you, Kaiba, no one looks better in formal attire than you, so you're going, understood?"

Grinning, his voice taking on a pretend wounded tone, he pressed, "Am I to be your accessory – only there to complement how you look in formal wear?"

"Absolutely." Camille retorted impishly, and then wickedly, "I also want you to meet her."

"What? Wait – who exactly are we discussing?" Kaiba asked, sitting up in his chair at what sounded suspiciously like a set up.

"Goodbye, darling – remember 7:30, tonight. Oh and be a dear and send a limo around to pick me up." With that, Camille hung up the phone, leaving Kaiba staring in amazement at the phone.


"Ten minutes until the shows starts," a stage hand said as he poked his head into her dressing room.

"All right," Tea replied dispassionately as she sat reclined in a chair while a make-up artist hurried to complete her elaborate make-up and a hairstylist continued to pull and twist her auburn locks into an ornate creation.

Focusing on her breathing, Tea leaned her head back in weariness. Six days a week. Five shows a day, each approximately three hours in length. It seemed as if she could never manage to catch her breath; it seemed like she never had a day off to just sit down and unwind. Even her one off day during the week was spent hectically for she was required, due to her elevated social status, to make regular appearances at various functions hosted by some affluent hotshot or another. Simply put, she was exhausted; her body felt like deadweight, and it was a pain to move. She still couldn't fathom how she managed to continue dancing according to this rigorous schedule, but she did. By some miracle, she did - and had been doing so for the two years that had passed since her graduation from Livingston at age eighteen.


"Hello?" the twenty year old college student said, answering his cell phone and then tucking it between his ear and shoulder, continued to work on packing up his belongings in his dorm at the Domino City University campus in order to go live back home for the summer months.

"Hey, Yugi; it's me."

"Tea! How's it going?" Yugi asked enthusiastically, immediately ceasing his packing and devoting his full attention to his friend.

"Oh you know, nothing much except dancing," Tea replied smiling at her old friend's cheerful voice. "I've got another performance to give in approximately five minutes, so I can't talk very long, obviously . . ." Tea trailed off, as if expecting Yugi to cut in and say something.

"In that case – you should be preparing," he chided gently, "you know, mentally or something."

Tea smiled faintly as she sat in front of her vanity table in her London dressing room, "But you see, Yugi, this is how I am preparing – you know, mentally," she said, forcing herself to sound teasing.

"Funny, Tea; I find it so very funny when you poke fun at my inability to speak eloquently," Yugi replied wryly, unaware of the strain in his friend's voice.

"Oh don't be such a downer; it's great fun to tease you! For one of use at least," she retorted amusedly, feeling her spirits lift the more she heard his voice – so familiar and reassuring.

Starting to stand up to do a few quick stretches before going out on stage, Tea's breath caught in her throat when she discovered how difficult a task it was for her muscles this particular evening. Easing herself back into her chair, Tea stared unwaveringly at her pale reflection in the vanity, the illuminated mirror making her appear all the more ghostly.

You may dance some night on stage and you will be in pain . . . you will not stop. You will dance through the pain . . .

Closing her eyes at the memory of Camille's words to her so long ago, Tea felt immensely saddened. Those four years ago she had been so full of hope and idealism – so convinced that if she could just dance and never stop that she would be fulfilled and complete. And yet, now here she was, dancing and never stopping at twenty years of age, and all she could wish was to go back to the old days of high school where she kept her hair short and her friends close and everyone took her for the innocent wishy-washy type of person.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Tea said apologetically, "Well, I should probably go now . . . wish me luck, okay?"

"Oh Tea, you don't need luck!" Yugi exclaimed dismayed by what suddenly sounded to him, her very dejected tone of voice.

"Tonight I will," she replied blandly, no longer attempting to put up a mirthful front.

"Tea . . ." Yugi questioned, his voice quivering slightly, for although he had just finished his sophomore year of college, he was still very much the same as he always had been in high school – weaker than most other guys, physically, at least, and characterized with what some might declare a trace of femininity. Still, this quality made him all the more sympathetic and endearing - and it caused Tea's heart to feel as if it were breaking when he hesitatingly asked, "I-is something wrong?"

"Tea! We need you!" Yugi heard someone call in the background.

Sighing, Tea reluctantly said, "I've got to go, Yugi. The ballet's about to begin, but don't worry about me. I'm fine – just a little tired. But, really, I'll be fine. Honestly, I will."

"O-okay," Yugi said, his voice holding a note of disbelief, but knowing full well that there was little he could do for her with her in London and he in Japan, he simply said, "Break a leg – I'll be thinking about you, okay?"

"Thanks, Yugi. I'm going now, okay?"

"All right – goodbye, Tea."

"Bye."

Turning away from the mirror, Tea wished with all her heart that she could see Yugi face to face and tell him everything she felt, her loathing of her lifestyle, her fears that all this time she'd made a mistake and her weariness . . . everything. But really, there was no sense in worrying him over a little stress and fatigue. She'd come out on top one of these days . . .

"Tea! Come on – you're needed. Now!" The stagehand called to her again and Tea, carefully concealing her emotions stood up, wincing at the effort it took. Then gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move towards the stage for her last performance of the evening.


"Remind me again how you wheedled me into this," Kaiba demanded as Camille tossed him a flippant smile.

"I didn't have to wheedle anyone," she said merrily as she took her seat in a luxury box at the theater. "You just couldn't resist being near me, Kaiba darling. Even after all these years you still hold an undying interest in me, don't you?"

"Never," Kaiba said in blatant derision.

"Oh, hush," she exclaimed, laying an ivory gloved hand on his black tuxedo sleeve, "I was only toying with you! There's no need to be annoyed. Where is your sense of humor anyway?"

"Don't you remember, Camille? I never had one," he returned ominously, his relaxed enjoyment of her vanishing instantly.

Hearing this, Camille flashed her gaze up to his and was met with narrowed eyes and a contrasting broad smile, displayed to conceal his tone to the influential members of London society seated around them. Immediately tightening her grip on his arm, she hissed up at him, "Oh don't you dare go off here! I will say it again – there is no need whatsoever to get worked up. Let it go, Kaiba. I'm dead serious."

"Let's just get this over with Camille, understand? I am discovering that your company is incessantly unbearable but still, my good manners prevent me from walking out of this performance and embarrassing you in front of everyone present," Kaiba drawled, his manner completely different than the one he had displayed over the phone.

Beginning to open her mouth to give a scathing retort, she instead averted her face as the theater darkened and the curtain rose to display the opening scene of the ballet.

Looking discreetly at Camille's profile, Kaiba felt disgusted. His knowledge that he had let her get to him again after he'd promised that he was through with her was sickening, a sure blow to his pride. He should have known better than to talk to her on the phone that morning. He should have hung up on her immediately. He should have, but he hadn't – and now he was sitting in a theater watching a stupid ballet and hating himself. Damn her.

He was watching her; Camille knew this without having to take her eyes off the stage for a second. She could feel his eyes penetrating her skin and she could sense his revulsion for, not so much her, but for what she represented to him – loss, defeat . . . failure.

He had pursued her three years ago, Camille remembered, her thoughts wandering from the ballet before her. Kaiba had been twenty and she had been twenty-two – older and wiser than she looked. She had first met him after giving the ballet performance of a lifetime where she had been stunningly beautiful and talented beyond words. Kaiba had been in the audience, watching her dance and he had been captivated by the opportunity placed before him. He had wanted her so that he could display to the world the extent of his control; he had wanted her not because he loved her but because she made for an outstanding trophy. She, in reality, was another one of his business conquests. If she were his to parade around to social functions, he would reap the benefits. His company would look better because the relationship between arguably the most powerful CEO and the world's top ballet dancer would generate publicity, putting Kaiba and Kaiba Corporations in the limelight. Pure and simple as that, she was part of his strategy to strengthen himself.

Kaiba had mistaken his realm of control, however. He had assumed that his power and money gave him the ability to do as he pleased, even in regards to other humans. He believed he controlled them to, and thus, the night of her performance he had marched into her dressing room, unannounced and unapologetic. He had stood before her, coldly demanding that she begin a relationship with him. And she, stunned, had laughed and laughed at the outrageous proposal, which she took for some prank concocted by her fellow cast members. But upon seeing his deadly serious face, she had jeered at him and mocked and ridiculed him and he had continued to remain unwaveringly before her until she ceased. Then, he had turned and walked toward the door, but pausing for a moment had said, "You'll come around, you will see. And when you do, you'll come crawling."

She hadn't gone to him, though, which, although Kaiba wouldn't dare to admit it, was one of the more embarrassing things that had happened throughout the span of his life.

Somehow, though, she and Kaiba had become something along the lines of friends. One night a couple weeks after the occurrence in her dressing room, she had run into him in a deserted coffee shop that she frequented to get away from everyone. Upon seeing him, she had believed he was stalking her, but then she had seen his shock at seeing her and she knew that it was entirely accidental. Torn between leaving, staying and ignoring him, or staying and approaching him, Camille had chosen the latter path for some reason unbeknownst to her. She had walked up to his table and had sat down, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"You needn't be so pompous – I'm here to talk."

"Negotiate, you mean? Well, I'm sorry, but my former offer has been retracted."

"I don't want to negotiate your deal, you conceited ass!"

"Then why are you here," Kaiba asked evenly, "surely you don't feel I owe you an apology?"

"I'm here to tell you that you have some serious issues!"

Scowling, Kaiba slid out of the booth, but was stopped by Camille's hand gripping his arm. "Let go of me," he bit out angrily.

"Sit down," Camille commanded while pushing him back down into his seat, her actions similar to one of a mother disciplining her child. "Now listen to me – I don't care if you're some rich person who thinks the world trembles at his feet – you do not treat people like objects! I may just be a dancer to you, and maybe that seems like a pointless occupation to you, but that does not mean that you can treat me like you did. I'm not yours to be bought, understand?"

Staring emotionlessly at the stage, Camille recalled how she had won his respect with her speech, although he had simply nodded brusquely and left the shop without another word. Still, it was then that they'd become tentative friends – he had respected her for standing up to him, something that was incredibly rare, if it had ever occurred at all. In addition to that, some unspoken agreement seemed to have had passed between them that they would remain allied, so as long as not another word was mentioned about how they had come to meet each other, and now, as Kaiba sat beside her, angry, Camille realized that even after all these years, Kaiba hated any mention of their relationship and that she had in fact broken their contract and perhaps their friendship.

Feeling ill at ease, Camille did her best to brush this revelation aside and focus on the ballet, which was made easier by the appearance of her former student on the elaborately decorated stage.


The music from the live orchestra poured through her veins, empowering her limbs and reminding her again of how she could continue to dance even when she felt it was impossible to move. She felt like she was flying – or as close to flying as she could ever get. Everything – the music, her costume, the stage, the audience – combined to have a rather drugging effect.

Soaring, her legs strong and graceful at the same time, Tea followed without thought the choreography of the ballet, feeling her self embody the character she was playing. She was reaching the end of the play, she knew. It was this time that was her favorite part of the performance; everything had built up to this climax - this sequence of leaps of twirls and movements so charged with emotion that they brought the audience to its feet.

Her arms thrusting, her torso bending dramatically, Tea danced and danced and she continued as she heard the audience roar with applause – that applause that burned a fire in her and caused her to dance harder and more emphatically – to give those people more of what they wanted.

As she gave her last leap and struck a pose with her arms splayed upwards, heaven-bound, and her legs pointed, her whole body tense, Tea again heard the audience – the clapping, the whistles. Waiting for the curtain to be lowered, she felt herself grow weak, her body began to shake, and her heart felt as though it were pounding so heavily that it would explode or burst through her chest. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever felt before when dancing – and it wasn't a welcome one.

The roar of the crowd was becoming more distant, more unrecognizable. Lifting her eyes to them, Tea realized that her vision, like her hearing, had blurred and she felt a wave of trepidation overtake her. Still, as she felt sweat break out against her temples, she did not drop her pose, and she waited and waited, wishing that the curtain would hurry and fall. But it did not and she felt as if an eternity had passed her by. Her throat was dry and parched and she felt like she had spent weeks in a desert without water or hope for reprieve, and yet, in reality, she had only been waiting a few seconds for the curtain to drop.

She was waiting, and waiting in unbearable pain. When she had been dancing she had been able to ignore her weariness – had been able to push past it, but now – now! Oh, now when she was waiting motionless, she was all too aware of her body, of how her fingers quivered as she held them in place. She became too sensitive to how much strength it was taking to remain posed as she was.

Would they never stop applauding? Will the curtain never drop?

And yet, no reprieve came. The cheering continued. The curtain remained opened. All remained exactly it was – except Tea.

It was too much. She was too tired. She couldn't hold onto the thread of strength she had left in her body. It had slipped away and so was she.

Before the crowd, who had no idea whatsoever of what she was feeling, Tea collapsed to the stage floor and laid motionless, slipping away into a state of half-consciousness where she heard the applause give way to gasps and screams.

But finally, peace came and she heard no more.