The 20th chapter. Feels kind of momentous, doesn't it? It does to me. And part of me thinks that there should be something big, and exciting, and explosive to mark the occasion.

But I realized something.

Just because something's quiet doesn't mean it won't echo.

These three scenes will echo in my memory for a long, long time.

Here's hoping they resonate with you, too.

Let us begin.

1.

Seto wakes up before the sun has finished rising on the morning after Halloween; and for a moment, he doesn't remember where he is. He's lying on the floor of the Mutous' living room, half-in and half-out of a sleeping bag, in front of the television. The screen still displays, in florescent clarity, the save menu for Super Mario RPG.

Yugi, still with a controller in his lap, is flopped on one side of the couch behind Seto. Téa, by contrast, is sleeping like a civilized human being, still fully in her sleeping bag, on her back, hair fanned out on the pillow tucked beneath her head. Mokuba is curled up in a little ball against his brother's side. They're all sleeping peacefully.

Seto yawns as he sits up, and realizes that he can hear something in another room. People are talking. Seto stumbles to his feet, stretches, and smiles down at Mokuba. He leans down and ruffles the younger boy's hair, rests the back of a hand against his cheek for a moment, then turns back toward the kitchen. With a jolt, he turns back and turns off the television and Yugi's Super Nintendo.

Then he heads back toward the kitchen.

Pegasus Crawford sits in one of the chairs, dressed in slacks and an undershirt, and he's wearing his black robe from the night before like a bathrobe. His hair isn't nearly as neat and straight as it usually is, and he looks tired beyond all human recognition.

He has the Mutous' phone in his lap, with the handset cradled against one shoulder. Whomever is on the other line, they seem to be irritating him. He's waiting in pensive silence, his lips pursed. He speaks, finally, in a sharp whisper: "As I was trying to say before you interrupted me, I've done the research. I've spoken to six different social workers in four different settings. Until the adoption is finalized, they aren't allowed out of the county. Fiona. Do you honestly think I'm lying to make you angry? I'm not being flippant. This is a government mandate."

Pegasus lets out an annoyed groan. "Perhaps I should rephrase myself. I am going to find a new home in Domino proper. Whether or not you join me at that new home is, of course, your decision. I'd not force you into a contract. But this is going to happen. So arguing about that won't fix or change anything."

Seto leans against the doorframe. He wonders how long Pegasus has been on the phone, and whether or not he's slept.

"My job is not to live up to my father's expectations of fiscal responsibility," Pegasus is saying now. "My job is not to squirrel away enough capital to win an award, or whatever it is you're trying to convince me to do. My job is to provide two children with a home. I will not do that while simultaneously breaking the law and forcing them to abandon their city. I will not have these boys choosing between me and the friends they've only just managed to make. They've been forced into too many compromises already. It's high time someone accommodated them."

Pegasus closes his visible eye—Seto unwittingly believes that he is closing both—and clenches his teeth. His jaw is set, and he looks ready to flip the table over and throw the telephone through the wall. "If that's honestly what you think your job is, then you're fired. If I see you in my home by the time I come back, then I will assume that you have reconsidered your position on my staff. Do you work for me? Or do you work for my father? The last time I checked, he doesn't pay your salary."

He hangs up the phone and stands up to return the device to its place on the counter behind him. "Good morning, Seto," he says. "I do apologize for that . . . display. I believe I have mentioned before that certain people in my employ have . . . questioned my decision to pursue parenthood at my age."

"Where do you live?" Seto asks.

"San Francisco, currently. That is . . . what I was just discussing."

"You . . . come from that far . . . just to . . . see us?"

"Domino City is an important place," Pegasus says cryptically. "It's inspired me in so many different ways. I can't count them all. When I decided to follow through with my plans, I could think of no better place to come than here. And just look at what I have to show for that." He smiles, finally looking directly at his companion. "I met the two of you."

Seto scratches the back of his left leg with his right foot as he stares at the floor.

Pegasus twitches before Seto hears anything, but it's a near thing. It starts with an inarticulate mumble, then a soft little whimper. Then Mokuba is crying, and Seto has vaulted back into the living room. He moves so quickly, in fact, that he doesn't see the heartbroken look that crosses Pegasus's face for a flash of a moment.

"You've been tending to him so religiously that your muscles act before your brain can catch up." The young man with the golden eye adjusts his robe. "It's so innate that you don't—you don't even . . ." The rest of the sentence is cut off in an exhalation of breath that almost sounds like a sob.

Pegasus remembers someone else who loved so deeply that it was instinct.

And Pegasus remembers what happened to that person, and feels a sudden, seizing terror so absolute that his legs shake and he almost loses his feet, and he has to rush into the living room after Seto just to see him again, because that's the only way Pegasus knows that Seto is still real.

2.

Seto Yagami no longer recalls Pegasus Crawford's existence.

"It's okay, Mokie. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm right here." He holds the crying toddler close to himself, stroking back his mass of black hair. "You're safe. Niisama's here. Niisama's got you." He starts to hum wordlessly, almost tunelessly. "There you go. There you go . . . shhh . . . shhh-sh-sh-sh-sh . . . that's my boy."

Yugi flinches, but remains asleep. Téa doesn't even move.

Pegasus sits down on one side of the couch, opposite Yugi. "This happens a lot . . . doesn't it, Seto?" The boy flinches; he's literally forgotten that someone else is even in the house. He probably doesn't even know his friends are here. "He's so bubbly so much of the time. It can be hard to recall that he has just as much cause to cry as you do."

"It's not like that," Seto says shortly. "He just forgot where he was." The boy rests one cheek against the top of his brother's head and rocks him back and forth. "He's never . . . woken up without me. He got scared."

Pegasus flinches. "Never? Not even once."

Seto's face stern and unwavering. "No."

Pegasus leans forward, dangles his hands between his knees. He puts a thoughtful look on his face for a moment, then scoots down to sit on the floor. He pats the space beside him, and Seto only hesitates for a moment before standing—with Mokuba still in his arms, like he's always been there—and moving over to sit next to the man who's chosen to be his guardian.

"You . . . are very special." Pegasus puts an arm around Seto's shoulders. Seto glances at the man, then seems to fold in upon himself, cradling his brother. "It should be a universal truth: parents care for, support, and raise their children. But you know better than most that what should be . . . is not always what is."

"Sure," Seto mumbles quietly, smiling when he sees that Mokuba has slipped back into sleep. "Life isn't fair. The world doesn't care."

Pegasus squeezes Seto's shoulder and offers a one-armed hug. "But not . . . for this little warrior," he says, pointing at Mokuba. "As far as he knows, the world is a wonderful place, bright and warm and lovely. Because you, my boy, have kept those darker, nastier truths away from him. That is, in no uncertain terms, exactly what a parent should do. You've allowed him to grow, knowing that he will always be protected. You've taught him to trust, to love, to thrive."

Seto frowns. "He's my baby brother."

"Yes, he is your brother. But you aren't his." Seto gives Pegasus a searching look. "You're his father. His protector. His teacher. All rolled up into one. There are grown men, grown women, who can't do what you have done. I know that you think of it as just part of your responsibility, and I love you for that. But it's so much more. You are so much more. You're a little miracle. That's what you are."

Seto is unable to speak for two full minutes.

Then he whispers, under his breath: ". . . Mom used to call me her little miracle."

3.

Seto leans against Pegasus Crawford, and when Pegasus adjusts his grip and holds Seto there, the silence that settles over them both feels like a blanket. Like a promise. Like something quiet, and gentle, but ironclad.

Like something permanent.

Like nothing will ever infringe upon the safety of two orphaned children again, because looming over that blanket, haunted by tragedy and driven by celestial arrogance, is one man's vow to the universe at large: if anyone ever hurts these boys again, they will not live to see their next sunrise.

". . . Mister Elliot keeps lying to me. Miss Hathaway, too."

The words come suddenly, like a thunderclap. Like pretty much anything Seto seems to say around Pegasus; it's like the man has a force-field radiating around himself that forces people to tell him the truth, no matter what their brain tells them they should say, or shouldn't.

"What about, Seto?" Pegasus prompts, and somehow Seto can feel that the man believes him.

"They tell me Mokie's fine, when I visit Yugi or stay late at school. They keep saying he—they tell me he behaves himself. But he doesn't. He cries and runs around and throws things."

"People like Kristine Hathaway and Dan Elliot don't lie without a reason," Pegasus says eventually. "What reason do you think they could have for this?"

". . . I guess . . . so I won't feel guilty. Leaving him alone."

"That would be my guess, as well."

"But . . . ! But it's my job to teach him! I have to . . . I have to . . . make sure . . . !"

Pegasus hugs the boy again. "You've taught him plenty. And if you want my personal opinion on the matter, Mokuba will have plenty of time to learn self-reliance and proper social etiquette when he doesn't live in an environment like the Domino Children's Home."

There is a pause. A break. Seto looks down at his brother and bites his lower lip. "It's important for kids to be on their best behavior," Seto says, "even when their mom and dad aren't there. How . . . how good a parent am I, really, if he's a . . . a brat when I'm not around?"

"Good enough to keep him happy, even though he's suffered. Good enough to protect him, even though he's beset on all sides by people who wouldn't think twice about kicking him into the gutter. Good enough that he feels safe with you."

"Good enough," Seto mutters bitterly.

"Yes," Pegasus whispers. "You have done all that you can. Absolutely everything that you could think to do, you have done. If the only thing that's been sacrificed to the lifestyle you have had to lead is that he acts out when his Niisama isn't around . . . I think we might count ourselves immeasurably lucky. Etiquette can be taught. Manners can be mended. But in these first few years . . . his health? His happiness? His ability to trust? To love? Those can't. You've prioritized what's necessary, and tossed aside the superfluous. Show me a parent who wouldn't do that, and I'll show you a horrific parent."

Seto hugs his brother, and stays leaning against Pegasus's side. He smiles for a moment. Then it's gone, and he says, "I guess . . . when we're adopted . . . I won't be his parent anymore, huh? You will."

"Certainly that would be expected," Pegasus murmurs, and Seto flinches. "But I would be a fool of the highest possible measure to think something like that would be easy, for either of you. Who am I? I am a novelty to him. The tall one with the shiny hair." Pegasus sighs, rubs Seto's shoulder. "If you wish to lay the mantle aside, to be his brother instead of his father for the first time in your life . . . I would never begrudge you that right. But if you would stay in the role that you have so gloriously performed up to now . . . I will not be the monster who rips that away from you."

Seto Yagami sits in silence.

Mokuba Yagami breathes softly in gentle repose.

Pegasus Crawford communes with them both.

Another sudden admission escapes Seto's lips, when he says: ". . . You told me you loved me."

"I did," Pegasus says; his voice is lower than a whisper, barely more than an afterthought. "That I did."

Seto returns to silence.

Then he returns to saying things he never thought he would say. Not out loud, anyway. Not with words. But he says them.

"I . . . I love you, too."