Disclaimer: One more time for the legal disclaimer impaired: I do not own Yu Gi Oh! or any of it's related characters, places, merchandise, whatever. I'm not likely to acquire them, either, though if the current owners were to put them under my Christmas tree come December, I would hardly complain. I do own Carlson, Joan, and anyone else you don't recognize. Use them without my permission and I will steal your soul.

Seto stared at the apartment complex in front of him. He frowned, cramming his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. He didn't know how he'd allowed Carlson to convince him to do this.

"Ready, sir?" The sound of the goon's voice behind him caused him to turn around. He glared, still annoyed with the man.

"No."

Carlson grinned good-naturedly. "Oh, come on, sir, you promised."

Seto sighed. "Carlson, if you were anyone else, I'd have your job for making me do this. And I still don't know how you managed to drag me out here in the first place."

The man's grin widened. "It's number C13, sir." He pointed in the general direction of the building. "Go on."

"Aren't you coming?" Though he didn't let any of it show on his face or in his voice, Seto wasn't exactly enthusiastic about facing this alone. He remembered the dreams he'd been having, hauntings from the past, and suppressed a shudder.

The part that frightened him was that a small corner of his brain believed the stranger. He could think of no other reason for why he was being plagued with these nightmares – two of them, now, and he doubted that they would be the last.

No, that same, annoying part of him corrected. They aren't nightmares. Or do you deny that you feel happy when you have them? Relaxed? At peace with yourself, in a way that you've never felt before… at least not since your mother 'died.'

His frown deepened. I'll deny it all I want and there's nothing you can do about it. With that, he firmly turned his attention back to Carlson.

The goon was speaking again. "I'm stayin' with the limo, sir. You need to do this yourself."

Seto considered ordering him to come with him, but decided against it. He had meant what he'd said earlier: if any other person had tried to do what Carlson had, they would have been fired before they could say "Kaiba Corporation." But the goon was one of the few people that the teenager trusted. That, he supposed, was how he'd allowed himself to be persuaded into coming out here.

"Very well. I shan't be long." I hope…

He set out in the indicated direction, looking about him as he did so. The complex was made of small, one story brick buildings scattered throughout the area. He glanced at their identification numbers as he passed, looking for the one Carlson had mentioned.

B4… B5… He quickened his pace, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. C10… C11… C12…

There it was. Number C13. It was no different than the others: small, brick, and unremarkable. Seto stared at it for a moment, then stepped up onto the front step, reached out his hand, and knocked.

There was no answer. He waited impatiently, resisting the urge to fidget. According to Carlson, she had promised to be here. So where was she?

He knocked again, wondering why he didn't just declare her to be not home and leave. Still no answer. He growled. Struck by a sudden impulse, he reached out and grabbed the knob. It was probably locked, after all, and once he was satisfied that it was, he could depart and return to the things that really mattered: Mokuba and Kaiba Corporation. He twisted…

And the door swung open.

He stared at it, surprised. Perhaps she's home after all… But then why didn't she come when I knocked?

…Should I go inside?

Deciding that the worst that could happen was that she could become angry and force him to leave, which in his opinion wasn't anything to cry over, he stepped through the door.

The interior was dim. No lights were on, and the only source of light was a small window set in the wall next to the door. Apparently, she was indeed not home. Blinking, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in illumination. When he could properly see, he looked about him.

As he had already noted when looking at the building from the outside, it was small. The room in which he now stood appeared to be a combination kitchen and living room. There was a hallway leading out of the living room half; he could see a door, probably to a bedroom, at the far end. The bathroom was probably also down that hallway, and perhaps a closet. Other than that, there was nothing. It was a far cry from the comfort he had grown used to over the years.

After softly closing the door, he walked into the center of the room, noting the sparse furniture. A television and couch sat in the living room; a table, refrigerator, microwave, and several drawers and cabinets were in the kitchen. He could, of course, not see what was in the bedroom, but from the look of things here he doubted if it would be very luxurious.

Either she doesn't have a lot of money – which just further supports my suspicions, as an impecunious person is likely to want to leech off of Kaiba Corp. – or she isn't planning on staying here very long. He frowned. Either way, I don't like it. But… I suppose there's only one way to find out.

There was something lying on the kitchen table. Or rather, several somethings. He could see them from where he stood. They appeared to be nothing more than a pile of insignificant pieces of paper. Deciding that he might learn something useful by taking a look, Seto swept into the kitchen.

Cold blue eyes traveled over the numerous documents. Most appeared to be bills, as unimportant to him as he had thought upon first seeing them, but then he saw something interesting. He reached out and slid the document out from under its companions, holding it up so that he might be able to see it better in the dim light.

It was a birth certificate. Furthermore, it was his birth certificate. His eyes scanned it, stunned. It was his, all right. How had a stranger managed to get a copy of his birth certificate?

Because she's not a stranger, that same, nagging voiced insisted. You know it. Why don't you accept it?

He shook his head. There had to be another explanation. Further research would verify that. All he needed to do was find the evidence that would prove it and he could finally be at peace.

Glancing once more at the unruly pile of papers scattered across the table, he determined that there was nothing else of use to him. Perhaps the bedroom would yield more useful information…

He strode out of the kitchen, heading down the hallway he had noted earlier. He passed two doors on the way; a quick peek inside revealed that his previous guess had been correct: a closet, mostly empty, and a bathroom.

He reached the door, not hesitating before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him was no more awe-inspiring than the rest of the apartment had been. A single bed, neatly made, a bedside table, a dresser, and desk. There appeared to be nothing of use to his purposes here, but he stepped inside anyway. There was nothing lying on the bed, nothing on the dresser or desk. On the table…

Photographs. With luck, exactly what he needed.

He picked the first stack up, looking at the picture on the top. It was clearly old, though not more than a decade or so, and the small white house depicted in the image looked somehow familiar. He repressed a shudder at the eerie sense of nostalgia that swept over him. Whatever the house was, it was somewhere he had been before, and it was somewhere he had loved.

He looked at the next picture. It was the same house, but this time there was a person standing on the front porch, grinning gleefully at whoever was holding the camera. They were small, a young child, with short brown hair and blue eyes that had not yet been hardened by years of hardship.

He stared, caught by complete surprise at the image of a four- or five-year-old version of himself.

But how...? That's impossible! His stunned, faltering mental arguments were all of a sudden cut off by a sound from the front of the apartment.

The sound of a door opening, and… was that a dog barking? Seto froze, apprehensive.

There was a loud scrambling sound from down the hall, and suddenly a golden-brown something shot through the still-open door like a bat out of hell. It crashed into him, its loud howling confirming that it was the dog he had heard not moments before. Unprepared for the sudden weight slamming into him, he fell to the ground, just missing hitting his head on the corner of the table. He braised himself, expecting to feel sharp teeth biting into his flesh in reprimand for being on the canine's territory, felt hot breath on his face…

…And opened his eyes in amazement at the feeling of a soft, wet tongue traveling over his face. He quickly shut his eyes again, wincing as the dog covered his entire face with slobber. Recovering from his shock, he regained control of his limbs and placed his hands on the animal's chest, gently pushing it back.

"All right, all right, enough…" he muttered. The dog sat back on his chest, the expression on its face so resembling a grin that he couldn't help but be amused, though his calm expression never cracked.

He sat back, absently wiping his face as he did so, and observed the animal. He could now see that it was a golden retriever, faintly silver-tipped around its muzzle. Strange. Where have I seen you before, pup?

Pup…

He was struck by a sudden remembrance, back a month into the past when his life had still had some resemblance of normalcy, save for a strange dream that had haunted him the entire day…

...Another look around the room showed him a dog lying in front of the fire. The pup, a golden retriever, was yet another strangely familiar piece in this puzzle…

As he recalled the dream, his brain supplied him with another piece on information.

"Willy?" he tried. The dog yipped in approval.

"He always was your dog, Seto."

Seto jerked at the amused voice coming from the doorway. His head flew up, cold blue eyes fixing themselves on the figure that stood there.

"How?" he asked.

"How what?" Joan replied.

"'How' a lot of things. Let's start with how you got those photographs." He was aware that, as the person found intruding in this woman's home, he was the last one who should be asking questions, but he didn't particularly care. He slowly sat up, easing Willy off his chest so that he could rise to his feet. The dog complied, sittingby his sideand panting happily.

She walked over to him, stooping to pick the up from the photographs from where they had fallen when Willy had crashed into him. "These photographs?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I was talking about the other photographs. You know, the ones that aren't there? Which photographs did you think I was talking about?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "I have them because I was the one who took them."

"How?" he asked again.

"With a camera?" she replied with some sarcasm of her own.

"You know what I meant."

"And you know my answer."

He scowled. He knew what she meant, all right. "Impossible."

"Why? Why do you find it so hard to believe?"

She was shocked at the sad, haunted look in his eyes. "You're dead," he whispered. "My mother is dead. For twelve years…" Willy nudged his hand in an attempt to comfort him, reminding him of something else he had meant to ask.

"How do you explain him?" he gestured.

"Willy? What do you mean?"

"You said, 'he always was your dog.' But we didn't get Willy until after y– after my mother had died. If you are who you say you are, how is it that you would know that he always listened to me more than Dad or anyone else? Not only that, how do you even know about him? And how is he here? He was brought to the pound after we were sent to the orphanage. How did you manage to get him?"

"That's… kind of a long story."

He leaned the corner of the bed, folding his arms across his chest. "I have time."

"All right… It has to do with why–"

A sharp ringing filled the air, cutting her off. Seto frowned, correctly identifying the source as the cell phone in his pocket. With a growl and a few muttered obscenities, he jerked it out, turned it on, and snapped, "Kaiba. This had better be good."

"S-Sir. You n-n-need to come h-home, sir." The voice on the other end was filled with raw terror, whether from his tone or something else, Seto didn't want to hazard a guess.

"Why?"

"It's M-M-Master Mok-kuba, sir."

"What about him?" Seto's eyes narrowed, not liking the feeling of déjà vu that was sweeping over him. "What's wrong?"

"He's missing, sir. He's gone."

"…What do you mean, 'missing'?" Seto felt his stomach clench in fear. Not now… Not again…

"He left over three hours ago, sir." The goon's voice was steadying, falling into the familiar pattern of giving a report. "The guard at the gate let him out, said he wanted to go for a… to get some fresh air. He took his cell phone, but we tried calling after an hour, and he never picked up."

"…I see." Seto's fists clenched, the knuckles on the hand holding his cell phone turning white. "Spread out. Find him. I'll be there as soon as I can."

A/N: Okay, tell me, how many people had to look up 'impecunious' in a dictionary? Heck, I did. Was looking for a not-so-blunt way of saying dirt poor, and look what I found!

(grin) I've always liked the idea of Seto having a dog. Don't know why… but now he does! And from that springs a new plot bunny... If dog, why not a cat...? (scrambles off to write that down)

Don't worry, Moki! Seto's coming! Just hold on!

But will he be in time?

Hope you liked this chapter! As usual, let me know if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes. Review?