I did myself a disservice when I originally started working out this story. By which I mean, I sold the premise short. See, I originally thought that it would be interesting if Pegasus adopted Seto and Mokuba. And of course, this holds true.
But as you may have noticed by now, I'm kind of taking my sweet damn time with the whole operation. And trust me when I say that it's going to be a while yet before the official adoption goes through. I'm not going to bother holding out for suspense's sake.
The adoption WILL go through.
This story, though, feels like one of those exercises in "It's about the journey, not the destination." I could have easily gotten it into my head that the important part of giving my favorite fictional brothers a happy childhood came directly from having a different adoptive father, and rushed ahead to that part. Get through the red tape so the interesting stuff can start.
Suffice it to say, I'm glad I held off. I'm glad I stopped myself.
I hope that you are, too.
1.
It occurs to Pegasus rather suddenly that he has never—in all the time he's spent over the past handful of months frequenting this house of the lost and forgotten—seen Mokuba Yagami without his brother standing at his side. The image is incomplete. It's familiar, but only in that way that one's reflection in a funhouse mirror is familiar.
It's still wrong. Still . . . warped.
Seto, for all his vulnerabilities, is strong. It's almost romantic how well he can stand on his own, even though it's more than a little unsettling just how often he's been forced to do it.
But it's devastating just how tiny Mokuba looks right now, as he sniffles and bites on his finger and stares despondently at the floor. Pegasus steps into Dan Elliot's office, barely able to keep his feet as he takes in something new; something heavy, that hits him like a razor-sharp arrow, straight through something even deeper than his heart.
Pegasus remembers something he told the elder Yagami, on the first day they met. But when he remembers it, it isn't in his own voice and inflection, but Yuki Yagami's. She says, somewhere deep inside his memory:
I have always considered children to be people.
Has he done this? Has he held true to this simple belief, or did he use it to sneak into Seto's guarded but horrifically fragile heart? Has Pegasus thought of Mokuba Yagami as his own person, as someone with equal if not more need for love and attention and guidance than his brave, stoic sibling?
Or has he simply been an accessory? An afterthought?
Pegasus takes a knee, adjusting the satchel slung over his right shoulder, before he bothers to acknowledge Dan Elliot or Kristine Hathaway. When Mokuba finally glances over at the door, he rushes over and practically vaults into Pegasus's arms, crying out wordlessly, tugging at the man's jacket, trying desperately to convey something awful, for which he simply doesn't know the words.
It's equal parts ironic, pathetic, and outright laughable that Pegasus finds himself modeling his behavior after one of the children he has claimed as his own, as he strokes Mokuba's messy black hair and whispers to him—just like Seto might: "Now, now, it's all right. Everything will be all right." He stands, taking Mokuba with him, struck by how light he is, and finally makes eye contact with the other adults in the room. "There we are. Don't you worry."
Dan smiles. "Sorry about this," he says. "He's been completely inconsolable. It's nothing serious, but—"
"—We don't think he's ever seen Seto like this before," Kristine puts in, almost as though she and her compatriot are reading each other's thoughts. Pegasus grunts with something suspiciously like laughter.
They aren't reading each other's thoughts, per se, but they are sharing them.
"He's worried," Dan says.
"Mokuba's apparently of the opinion that medicine is supposed to cure him now," Kristine puts in. "So the fact that Seto's still in bed—"
"—And not noticeably improving just yet," Dan cuts in again.
Pegasus decides to step into this dance. ". . . Has him convinced that Niisama won't ever get better."
"Right," both Dan and Kristine say at the same time.
Pegasus draws in a steadying breath, adjusts how Mokuba is sitting against his side, how the satchel sits against the other, and leans down to plant a light kiss atop the shuddering child's head. Mokuba is still tugging listlessly at Pegasus's jacket. "You're scared for Niisama, aren't you?"
Mokuba nods miserably.
"Well. Here's what we're going to do." Pegasus settles down to the floor again, sets Mokuba down in front of him, and looks directly into the smaller Yagami's grey-violet eyes for the first time. Even downcast, wide and wet and frightened . . .
Pegasus draws in a sudden breath.
It isn't enough to say that Mokuba's eyes are like his mother's.
They are his mother's.
Pegasus forces himself to recover. "We're going t-to help him," he says, cursing the hesitancy in his voice. How is it he can rip souls asunder, doom his old friends to lives infinitely worse than death, with absolute impunity? Yet he's shaken up by a three-year-old?
As delusional as Pegasus Crawford has been about . . . certain aspects of his behavior lately, he is able to recognize the rather cruel irony here.
". . . Help Nii'tama?" Mokuba repeats. He bites down on his finger again; his middle finger, specifically. It seems to be this boy's answer to sucking on his thumb. "For really?"
Pegasus tries not to laugh. "For really. So I don't want you to worry, okay? No more worry." He puts both hands on Mokuba's shoulders. "You and me. We'll make sure he gets what he needs. And he'll be better very soon. Okay? Can you help me?"
Mokuba nods. ". . . 'Kay."
"That's the ticket." Pegasus pats Mokuba's head. He stands up again. "If I may ask . . . how is he?" He glances down. "You'll forgive me, I trust, but the information I received over the phone was . . . somewhat difficult to decipher."
"It's just a cold," Dan says. "Nothing serious. But it looks like it might take a couple days to knock this one out. We've moved his roommates to another space for now. So far, Ellie's the only one who insists on keeping an eye on him. The others have kept well clear."
Pegasus smirks. "Seems Miss McAllister might just be a touch more . . . attached than she'd like to think." He turns to leave. "Ah . . . by the way. Would it be at all possible for me to make use of your kitchen today?"
". . . I suppose we could allow that. Why?"
"Simply something of a tradition," Pegasus says. "My mother has always insisted that, while soup is the only true cure for the soul when one is sick, canned soup is poison and will only elongate the recovery process."
"So you want to make Seto some homemade, then."
"Seems only proper, doesn't it? After all . . . even if I don't become these boys' legal guardian," here Pegasus reaches down and pats Mokuba's head again, "have I not already enlisted myself in the role?"
Dan and Kristine give each other sidelong looks.
Kristine says, "Your dedication is . . . admirable, Mister Crawford. By which I mean, if more prospective parents treated the adoption process like you, I'm pretty sure we would shut down for lack of clients, since there'd no longer be any orphans in the city."
"Sure you don't want to take on a few more?" Dan quips.
Pegasus takes hold of Mokuba's hand—so tiny—and smirks over his shoulder.
"My hands are a bit full at the moment."
Kristine frowns. "Part of me worried that they'd end up a lost case. That they'd stay here until . . . well. Just . . . thank you."
Pegasus chuckles. He thinks of Abele Gabrielli and Gregor Kelvin when he says:
"Simply my way of . . . giving back to my community."
2.
Ellie is sitting outside the room that Seto and Mokuba share with David Whittaker and Glen Hersh, plucking out random notes on the guitar propped against her knee, with an odd look on her face. It's like she's trying to meditate, but hasn't quite figured out the trick behind it, so she's just kind of staring off into nowhere with manufactured understanding plastered all over herself. Like pretentious armor.
It makes her look mildly ill, herself.
Ellie notices Pegasus approaching, smirks, and stands up. She grips the neck of her instrument and holds it like a walking stick, fingers dancing across the fretboard. "Yo," she offers, with a little salute. "Should'a figured you'd be showin' up."
"Good afternoon, Miss McAllister," Pegasus replies with a smirk of his own. "How goes practice?"
"Nyeh," Ellie says dismissively. "Let's say I'm not gonna be playin' Radio City or whatever any time soon." She waits a beat. ". . . You're gonna be takin' 'em at some point, right?" She gestures to Mokuba, who's standing behind Pegasus's leg like he expects his brother's sickness to gain sentience and come barreling out of the room like a wild bull. "I mean, no use pretending, is there?"
She sounds dejected.
"That is the plan," Pegasus says. "Red tape and all, but . . . yes. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that upsets you more than you thought it would. Or should."
"Tch." Ellie rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I mean, hey, talk about hittin' the lottery, right? Ain't often a guy like you rolls around 'n picks one of us. Much less two. S'good. S' a good thing." She eyes Pegasus warily. "He really likes you."
Pegasus bows his head, as though he's been given sensitive information that must be held in strictest confidence.
He waits a beat.
"Do you know . . . ?" He trails off, rubs at his chin. Manufactures a tone of voice that denotes hesitance. "Perhaps not yet. Best not to count any chickens. But . . . all the same . . ." Ellie is watching him with more than passing interest. Just as irritation starts setting in, Pegasus starts to talk again. "You see, there's a bit of a problem I've been wrestling with. I've been doing all that I can to accommodate Seto and Mokuba. But . . . assuming they do come to live with me . . . well. I mean, things will be different. There's only so many vacation days I can take, after all. I may be the president of Industrial Illusions, but if I neglect my work too much, that won't be true for much longer."
Ellie's face screws up. "What're you gettin' at?"
"Well. It's just that, I want these boys to have a home. But I also don't want them to be at home, all alone, whenever I have pressing business."
"Ain't you got servants or whatever?"
"I've a house staff, yes," Pegasus admits, just sheepishly enough that Ellie doesn't start feeling defensive or offended at a flaunting of affluence, "but . . . I think it would be best if I were to hire someone specifically for the task of looking after them. On those occasions when it isn't possible for me to be home. Brief intervals taken one at a time. I'll make quite sure of that. But . . . I think the frequency will make up for that."
"Uh-huh . . . ?" Ellie looks confused, and she starts twirling her guitar impatiently.
"I think things would be much smoother if I were to find someone they knew," Pegasus says, slowly. Invitingly. "Someone with whom they're already . . . comfortable. I think it would make the transition more palatable."
He leaves the discussion here, and lets Mokuba lead him to Seto.
Ellie looks confused as they pass her, then does a double-take.
She pops her head into the room. "Are you sayin' you want me to babysit?"
Pegasus pulls a stool from one far corner of the room, up to Seto's bed. As he sits, he winks at the girl in the doorway. "I can assure you," he says, "I can make it worth your time."
". . . Wait. You're gonna . . . pay me?"
"Of course! I'd not have you work for me and not compensate you. What barbaric society do you think we live in?" A moment. "On second thought, don't answer that."
Ellie's face takes on a fierce caste. ". . . Why?" she asks sharply.
Pegasus shrugs. "How did you put it?" he asks. "He . . . really likes you."
3.
Seto wakes, in a manner of speaking, just as Ellie is working up to say something in response to this absurdity. Just what she intends to say, even she doesn't know. But she clamps her mouth shut when she hears Seto murmur something. Mokuba, who is standing in the doorway next to Ellie, is dancing around and mumbling quietly to himself. He seems to think that he isn't allowed to cross the threshold into the room.
Pegasus starts to speak, then stops himself. Reminds himself of doctor visits as a child, and how much it used to confuse him how nurses and doctors both could paint plastic smiles on their faces and pretend everything was sunshine and lollipops when he was suffering.
This is no place for manufactured cheerfulness.
Something subtle shifts onto Pegasus's face:
Honesty.
He shifts his weight. Leans forward, turns his head to face Seto. "Quite the exhausting day, I take it."
"Mmgh," Seto replies, shielding his eyes with one arm.
Pegasus clears his throat. "The thing is . . . you've a tournament in a few days. Your first. I'm sure you don't want to miss it." Seto looks over. His face goes through a handful of expressions, each more irritated than the last. "So, we have to make sure you recover in record time." Pegasus holds up a finger. "I'm going to let you in on a very special Crawford family secret."
Seto lowers his arm and blinks several times. Curiosity sets in, pushing aside fatigue for a moment.
"Toiréasa Crawford's patented vegetable soup," Pegasus says with a grin that betrays just how young he is. But even though it's the same grin he uses all the time, there's something different about it. Even Pegasus himself can feel something different. "Trust me. You'll be better in no time at all."
"Tor . . . ay . . ." Ellie starts mumbling. "Twa . . . ra—oh, come on, that name can't be real!"
Pegasus laughs. "It's Irish, my dear." He glances back at Seto. "How does that sound to you? Hm?" Seto starts to say something, then starts coughing. Once the fit passes, he moans piteously and nods. Pegasus reaches over and rubs Seto's back a moment before letting the boy fall back against his pillows. "Very good. Everything I'll need to conjure up your remedy will be arriving shortly. In the meantime . . . may I ask you a personal question?"
Seto nods again. He glances at Ellie for a moment as he does, then back to Pegasus. Even though he says nothing, it's universally understood that he's endorsed her presence. From the stunned look on Ellie's face, she seems to understand the gravity of this silent gesture.
Pegasus catalogues all the information that he isn't supposed to know yet, and settles on one of the more pertinent topics. He says, "You were . . . quite close to your mother. Weren't you?"
The lightning bolt that shoots through Seto's body is almost visible.
His blue eyes go savage for a moment, all sickness forgotten, and he looks like he might just throw himself out of bed, out of the building, out of the state. Then he seems to remember a handful of things: one, he's already been warned that the question would be personal; two, he doesn't have the energy to move much at all, much less quickly, even less angrily.
Three, he isn't talking to a stranger.
". . . Yes."
It's the first word Seto has voiced, clearly, in hours. Chances are, this means he finds the question too important to remain silent for the answer. Pegasus nods, closes his eyes for a moment, then says, "You haven't been ill like this in some time, I think," to himself. "Tell me. Did she . . . have any particular traditions, for sick days like this?"
Seto mulls this over. He looks at once sad, angry, offended, touched, betrayed, and relieved. How so many emotions could flit across a face that small, all at once, is a mystery for the ages. Pegasus doesn't think he'll be able to fully unravel the enigma of Seto's thoughts and feelings even if he devotes the rest of his life to doing it.
Which, he reminds himself, he fully intends to do.
Ellie steps into the room and sits down at the edge of David Whittaker's bed. She gestures, and Mokuba comes shuffling in beside her. She ruffles the toddler's hair, a touch more roughly than his brother tends to do it. "Mama's boy, huh?" she asks. "Explains a lot." Seto's face screws up, and she laughs a little. "Don't gimme that. You know I'm right. Y'ain't awake enough to argue, anyway."
Seto closes his eyes again. He mumbles something.
"I'm sorry, my boy," Pegasus says gently. "Could you repeat that?"
"She . . . she used to read. To me."
The grin comes back. "Is that right?"
"Uh-huh."
Pegasus taps the satchel he still has slung over his shoulder with the side of one hand. "Seto, would you mind too much if I . . . kept that tradition alive? I know that you've been trying to put your past behind you. And trust me when I say I have no intention of ever trying to replace what you've lost. But . . . do you know? I've learned something over the past handful of years. Forgetting our history, even if the remembering hurts . . . seems to do more harm than good."
Seto blinks, very slowly. He looks unsure of himself. Confused.
Pegasus produces a thin, hardcover book. "What do you say?"
It takes a while, but Seto eventually nods.
Pegasus settles the book on his lap, opens it, then frowns. He glances over.
Crooks a finger.
"Come along, now, little warrior," he says. "We're going to tell your Niisama a story."
Mokuba's little face perks up. "Story?"
"That's right."
The boy makes his way over, climbs up into Pegasus's lap, and stares at the book in Pegasus's hands as though he intends to parse its secrets all on his own. Mokuba sends a bright little grin his brother's way; Seto manages a weak smile in return.
Pegasus looks at Ellie and winks. "And you can play the part of the audience, if you are so inclined."
Ellie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."
She doesn't get up to leave.
.
The name I've given Pegasus's mother is simply the Irish rendition of Teresa / Theresa. That's basically it. I think it means Summer?
And from what I can tell, it's pronounced "Tor-AY-sha."
You'll meet her soon.