I do not own these characters. Kazuki Takahashi does.
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Benefactor
Atem was gone.
It was the opposite of how things should be. Once someone or something was named, Téa expected it to stick around for a while. Naming made someone or something permanent. Once Atem had his name, he left.
It wasn't right.
She still loved Yugi. If anything, they spent more time together. They only talked about Atem in those quiet moments true friends have, after the conversation has entered a comfortable lull. They held hands a lot, now. Yugi's hand was small and soft in hers. It felt nice, it felt right, but the very rightness of it made Téa's eyes prickle, along with sunsets, the color violet, or hearing a voice that was deep and rich and warm.
They were walking by the pier one day when Yugi stopped and looked up at her.
"Téa," he said, "It's okay."
"What's okay?"
"That you don't feel the same way about me."
Téa hated herself in that moment.
"Téa," Yugi said, reaching for her face.
Téa started to cry.
"Oh, Téa," Yugi said. His eyes were large and shining. "This is enough for me. This is more than enough."
"Yugi," Téa sobbed softly.
"I've always pictured just being near you, like this. Knowing everything about you, protecting you," he stroked her hair. It was getting longer, almost between her shoulders. She had made the decision to grow it out after seeing Teana's hair. It was probably a way to keep Atem close. She knew this. "Seeing you smile, Téa, brings me so much joy. It always has. Hearing you laugh. Being your friend is the greatest honor."
"Oh, God, Yugi," Téa hugged him then. He hugged her back.
"Of course, if you wanted to get married, we could. In fact, we could get married right now. My mom will be a witness. You know she loves you."
"I love her too," Téa smiled at Yugi. She wanted to give him that. "I guess we could get married now. I'm not going to Anna Pavlova."
Yugi looked at her in surprise and dismay. "But Téa, you've already been accepted!"
"Yeah, but I didn't get the scholarship. Can't go without money, Yugi."
"Oh, Téa—"
"It's okay!" Téa couldn't talk about this right now. Some days, she was sure she was going to fall apart. First Atem, now her dream had gone. "There's always next year!"
She had to keep smiling. Yugi wanted that smile. It was the least she could give him. Right now, it was the most she could give him.
Yugi, as always, understood. Tristan and Joey would have ranted and railed at The Anna Pavlova Academy of Dance, at how stingy it was, and didn't those people know talent when they saw it, but Yugi knew when to just take her hand and lead her down the pier.
A week later, a month before the summer sessions at the Academy started, Téa's cell phone rang. The phone number wasn't one she recognized, but the area code was for where Anna Pavlova was located.
Téa didn't understand. She had already been rejected for the scholarship. Why were they contacting her? Was it a phone call of condolence? A request for a donation?
She decided it might be satisfying to hang up on them if it was anything like that. She knew if she didn't answer, it would go to her voice mail, and that somehow seemed more depressing than hearing it first hand. She thought about her mother. Her mother had been heartbroken when Téa didn't get the scholarship. If she wasn't at work, she would tell Téa that she shouldn't be so pessimistic, and that this could be the phone call that told her that they changed their minds and decided to give her the scholarship, anyway.
Fat chance.
She pushed the "answer" button on her phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi! Téa?"
This was strange. Sheila Ruth Carver was the woman who interviewed Téa and gave her a tour of the Academy when she visited. Why was she calling?
"Yes?"
"This is Sheila, from the Anna Pavlova Academy of Dance. Téa, I know you were disappointed about the scholarship."
Here we go, Téa thought. "It's okay, Ms. Carver. I'm sure that there's only so many…"
"But you don't need one."
"What?"
"Ms. Téa Gardner, we are pleased to inform you that your tuition has been paid. "
"What?"
"Your tuition has been paid, in full. We received the check today. I just want to tell you, Téa, how genuinely happy I am. Your video audition and demonstration were excellent, and you were delightful to get to know during the tour."
"Thank you." Téa had to sit on the floor. "Who paid it?"
"Someone who wanted to remain anonymous, but I assure you, it's legitimate. The check cleared."
Oh, Jesus.
"Thank you, Ms. Carver. Thank you very much."
"Can we expect to see you, Téa? "
Téa didn't know what to say. She honestly didn't know what to do. She had to answer as soon as possible. This was her dream. She couldn't bear to snatch it away from herself.
But she knew who had paid that tuition. She just didn't know why.
"I need to discuss this with my parents first, Ms. Carver. It'll be a shock to them. A happy shock, of course, but, you know."
"Of course! Can you call me back by tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yes. Maybe even before then, actually."
"Okay, I'm looking forward to hearing from you. Talk to you soon!"
"Goodbye."
Téa hung up and let her head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. In the months since the airship and the virtual world, since going into ancient Egypt, Kaiba hadn't touched her, hadn't spoken to her, hadn't even looked at her. He had gone back to being his old self—in control and cold.
She knew he had been in pain. He had seemed in love with Kisara, the girl who became the Blue Eyes. She didn't blame him. She was so beautiful, every other girl would seem horrifically ordinary in comparison. They had been so in love, too, Set and Kisara.
She was hurting though, too, and it was partly because of him. He had frightened her, cornered her, exposed her, and made her bleed. She didn't know what she wanted from him. Sometimes, she thought she wanted an apology. Minutes later, she was happy he was staying away. Later that same day, she wanted to tear him to pieces, or tear herself into pieces, because if he had seen her as the type of person he could treat like that, maybe she was worthless. After all, Seto Kaiba wasn't the only one. There was the gym teacher. There was Bandit Keith.
Sometimes, she would cry—in the shower, in her bed.
The worst part was that she couldn't tell anyone about this. She couldn't even articulate why she felt this way, why she felt this need to carry it all to her grave, but she did.
After she didn't get her scholarship, she had felt so empty. It didn't matter that she had been accepted. Something had seen fit to keep her from her dream, just as fate had seen fit to keep her from Atem—and from loving Yugi the way he deserved to be loved. This was the same fate that kept tossing her into the path— and hands—of those men.
Now, Seto Kaiba had paid her way into The Anna Pavlova Academy of Dance.
Was it because he wanted something from her? Was he sorry? Those were the only two reasons she could think of.
She mulled the two reasons over. If he wanted something from her, he would have made it perfectly clear that it was he who was paying her way. She would have found out from the man himself, not from Sheila Carver. That reason didn't sit right in her mind. It poked at odd angles and didn't fit.
This being his apology felt a little better. It made more sense, not that that was saying much. Now she just had to decide what to do with it. It occurred to her that if she refused to go to Anna Pavlova, he might never know, and probably wouldn't care. He probably saw his conscience as being clear; he had written the check and washed his hands of it.
If that were true, he had to have been thinking of her. Otherwise, he never would have written the check.
Téa grasped her hair in her fists. She wished she had never met Seto Kaiba. She wished he had never been born, and she wasn't rocking back and forth on her kitchen floor, torn between aborting her own dream and becoming a prostitute for it.
Anna Pavlova was an hour's train ride away. Maybe this was her way out. She might go insane in Domino, with the loss of Atem, with the guilt over Yugi. If she went to the Academy, would she be able to dance without seeing Seto Kaiba, or worse, feeling his phantom hands on her, and hearing his ghostly moans? Would she feel like she was contaminating the art she loved? What would be worse: feeling like a prostitute, or feeling the longing and regret not going would give her?
She didn't know the answer, but she did know that dance was healing. She had been able to dance herself out of a bad mood, from fear and pain and anger, more times than she could count. Dance had been her anchor and her solace these past months.
Not going would feel worse.
She picked up the phone and called Sheila Carver back.