I have been planning out how to introduce Pegasus's parents into this whole thing for quite a while. Now that I'm finally here, I'm not sure what to say. Except, perhaps, that they've surprised me.
Given that we never actually meet either of Pegasus's parents in canon, it would have been an easy decision for me to just remove them from the narrative entirely. And I thought about it. But eventually, I decided that just didn't feel right.
I want to explore all those little avenues that canon never went into.
So I hope you enjoy dinner with the Crawfords, y'all.
Behave yourselves.
1.
Having spent so much of his recent life on camera, Pegasus has grown quite accustomed to the knowledge that he projects himself as much more confident than he feels. He's watched recordings of his own speeches before, both in board rooms and at conventions. He's seen the cocksure little smile, the twinkling eye, and listened to the silvered tongue of a man he barely recognizes because all he can remember from the event in question is straining not to trip over his own shoes. He can only hope that this phenomenon is intact tonight, as Croquet strides across the front parlor to answer the door.
"They're here," Pegasus murmurs to himself, breathing just a little too deliberately. So far, the only thing keeping him even a vague facsimile of calm is the fact that his boys are off to one side of the room, sharing a small couch. Seto stands first, running a nervous hand over his hair as he holds the other out for his brother to take. Mokuba hops down, only nervous because Seto is nervous, grasps the offered hand and swings it around.
They're both freshly scrubbed, their hair cut and styled by a professional for the first time in their lives, clad in their new outfits. They look transformed, and yet it almost seems to Pegasus like he's seeing them for the first time. The malaise of neglect has finally been sloughed off. This night, they finally look . . . proper. Pegasus takes a slight step back to reprimand himself, thinking about what Ellie might think of such a sentiment.
"What're you implying, rich boy?" she might say. "They only look like real people after you swoop in with your magic money and toss charity dust at them? They look good, but don't get all messianic about some clothes."
Seto flashes Pegasus a nervous smile, and Pegasus nods. He tosses a thumbs-up and then forces himself to stand straighter. Rolls his shoulders. Steps forward into the center of the room as Croquet throws open the doors. He must, even for his parents—especially for his parents—play the proper host. This night may not have any bearing on the adoption. Pegasus is his own man, and can make his own decisions. But this night will either earn Seto and Mokuba the extended family they've never had, or . . .
Pegasus decides he would rather not think of the alternative.
Croquet opens the door and bows with a flourish, a picture in professionalism. "A pleasure to see you both again, Master, Mistress," he offers as he steps to the side.
Toiréasa Crawford glides into the room dressed in a simple but elegant blue dress; her dark blonde hair is pulled back into an elaborate braid, and her quiet brown eyes are sparkling. She doesn't look a day past thirty. She enters into the parlor, and sweeps her son into an embrace as easy and natural as a bird's song at daybreak. "Look at you," she murmurs. "My boy. My darling boy." She steps back, and puts her hands on Pegasus's shoulders. Her smile is infectious, and Pegasus feels his nerves ebb away.
"It's good to see you, Maime," Pegasus whispers.
"Why, it's like you never left." She leans up and kisses his cheek. "But this house." She turns and looks about the room, taking in the décor. She seems primarily interested in Pegasus's choices in artwork. "You'll have to give me a tour, love."
She winks.
Pegasus grins. "It would be my pleasure."
By strictest contrast, Perseus Crawford is angular, and his steps are heavy. He's dressed like he just came here from work. The only inclination that he may have dressed up for this meal is the fact that his tie—simple, straight, unadorned—perfectly matches his wife's dress. Not a single stitch is out of place, nor hair nor muscle. The man is as mechanically precise as he has ever been.
Both Perseus and Toiréasa are well into their forties. However, while Toiréasa looks ten years younger than she is, Perseus looks ten years older. His face is tough, sharp, cragged with years upon years of stress and anger. His straight, meticulously-combed black hair is streaked with grey.
He looks, as he always has, like a hard-boiled detective.
Or a crime boss.
Pegasus puts on a smile reminiscent of his mother's as he locks his gaze with his father's. "Athair," he offers, as warmly as he can manage.
Much to Pegasus's surprise, the old man smiles. His approach is swift and sure, and the hand he lays on Pegasus's shoulder is firm. It's all calculated, of this Pegasus is sure, though for the life of him, he can't figure out what the calculation might be. He does his best to school his surprise and keep it from his face; he can only hope that he is successful.
Perseus Crawford squeezes Pegasus's shoulder.
"It's good to see you again, my son."
2.
Before Pegasus can permit losing himself in a sudden reverie of a reunion that's starting off far better than he ever might have dreamed, he extricates himself from his parents to gesture grandly at the remaining members of this particular party.
"If I may," he says, "I would introduce you." He glances at Seto and nods. "Come here, dear ones. Come along now." Seto marches over, and Mokuba shuffles behind. They both look so small, in this moment, but Seto keeps his shoulders square and his eyes straight ahead. Pegasus steps back and sits on his heels, placing a hand on each boy's shoulder. "Seto, Mokuba, these are my parents. My mother, Toiréasa. And my father, Perseus. Maime, Athair, this is Seto and Mokuba."
There it is.
If not for his . . . arcane training, Pegasus might not have caught it. But he does. That faintest flash of irritation on Perseus's face. It's gone in a moment, barely there at all, but Pegasus knows. He can feel it, like a needle pressing into the eye that can still feel pain, and he can only hope that Seto isn't quite as schooled in reading people as Pegasus tends to think he is. Seto doesn't have his guardian's years and years of experience with this man; he doesn't know that Perseus has built his entire career in absolute defiance of a poker face. Seto doesn't realize that him having schooled his reaction so well is a borderline miracle.
If he spies that flash of anger, he will assume the worst.
There is a moment where Pegasus feels as though he is balancing on a knife.
And then Toiréasa settles down into a kneel and graces both boys with a beaming grin. "It's wonderful to meet you boys," she says, without the faintest hint of irony. She holds out a hand. Seto tentatively takes it, and shakes it gently. Mokuba, after a moment's deliberation, repeats the gesture.
"It's nice to meet you, Ma'am," Seto says in a soft little voice.
"Tank you for coming!" Mokuba pipes up, grinning.
Toiréasa blinks, then laughs. "You're quite welcome."
Perseus takes the slightest step back—to better position himself, of course; not to distance himself from his son's latest mistake—and bows with a flourish. "Likewise," he says in his rumbling baritone. "A pleasure."
Seto looks confused for a moment, then bows in turn. "Sir," he says.
Mokuba quickly mimics his brother.
Pegasus studies his father's reaction. Is he pleased? It's almost impossible to tell in the best of circumstances. He hasn't the faintest clue, even now. If not for the fact that twenty years is a short amount of time, something Pegasus has only just recently come to realize, he might have given up on the puzzle entirely. As it is, he supposes he'll have to assume the best and move from there.
Assuming the worst will only set his nerves on fire and ensure that he'll make a mistake. Probably a critical one.
"Shall we sit?" Pegasus asks; his nerves have settled. The decision is made. And after all, he knows he has one ally in this excursion, and at least a mildly pacified enemy. This is all just part of the dance now, no matter what the frightened child in him wants to claim; these two are just a new pair of clients. This is just another deal he has to close. He gestures down the hall in the general direction of the dining room.
Croquet steps forward to take Perseus's coat, leaving Pegasus with his mother's.
Seto attempts to look natural as he shrugs out of his new sport coat, looking only mildly disappointed. He likes the way it broadens his shoulders and makes him look distinguished. But of course, propriety dictates. He steps over, almost gingerly, starts toward the coat rack himself, then turns and hands the offending article to Croquet.
He looks apologetic.
Whether to Croquet for perpetuating such a servile task, or to the jacket for abandoning it, is anyone's guess.
3.
Pegasus remembers, only as he sits down at the dining room table, that he has neglected to teach Seto proper table etiquette. All these bits and pieces of silverware—salad fork, place fork, place knife, soup spoon, all that superfluous nonsense Pegasus has had beaten into his head—mean nothing to him. Pegasus kicks himself as he sits down. He can't help but notice, though, that Seto takes in the whole scene with nothing but his characteristic mild interest. His eyes are sweeping the entire table, and Pegasus knows full well that he's taking in every little piece of information he can. Cataloguing it. Preparing. He knows, just as Pegasus does, that this is all part of the first impression.
He only has one chance to make this work, no matter the obstacles. Seto is doubtlessly taking this whole affair more seriously than Pegasus himself is.
The boy is a miracle; no doubt about that.
"So." Once seated, Toiréasa begins the evening's conversation by glancing over at Seto. "How did you meet my son?"
Seto blinks, surprised to be roped into the ritual so soon, but he clears his throat and offers a polite little smile. Fiona slips into the room to place their first course—a light soup—in front of them all. "Um," Seto starts, then seems to inwardly berate himself. "M-Mokie and I . . . we live at the Domino Children's Home." He glances at his brother and seems to garner courage from the younger boy's presence. He turns back to the woman who, in some time, will call him grandson. "Mister Crawford came to visit. He . . . he challenged me to a duel."
Toiréasa looks surprised for a moment. "Excuse m—oh! Oh, of course. Magic & Wizards." She chuckles privately to herself.
"Naturally," Pegasus puts in. "I'd not challenge him to pistols at twenty paces." He smirks. "I would not have it said throughout the entire city that I lost to an eleven-year-old boy." He glances at Seto. "My aim is atrocious."
Toiréasa's chuckle transmogrifies into a laugh, light and musical.
Seto smiles, a little more naturally this time. "Y-Yeah. Yes. Magic & Wizards. He won. But he let me keep the cards I used. I'm still training. I need to beat him someday."
"Seto plays modest," Pegasus says, "but he came within one duel of winning his premiere tournament. He has the makings of a master. And if I have my way, that will mean quite a lot in the years to come." He reaches out and puts a hand on Seto's shoulder. "You will usher in a new age of entertainment, my boy. Just you watch. You and Master Mutou are the talk of Domino's dueling circuit."
Seto blushes.
"Nii'tama win!" Mokuba trumpets.
Toiréasa favors the young Yagami with a doting smile.
Laughter warms the room for a while, and Pegasus dares to think this is going to work out. He's run through 32,000 different ways that it could descend into disaster over the past week or so, and none of them have started yet.
Perhaps . . .
Perseus frowns thoughtfully, seeming to form the quintessence of his wife's opposite, and then says: "What are your . . . other interests, Seto?"
An innocent question. A man merely making conversation with a child he has no choice but to know. Allowing a boy with no platform to seize one for the first time, and talk about himself. A magnanimous act, truly a mark of growth for this man who never enters casual conversation if he can avoid it, even with his own wife.
To Pegasus, who has spent two decades with this man, the question has an entirely different sound to it, and he has to bend every ounce of willpower toward not grinding his teeth.
What do you actually intend to do with your life, once you're done with your little games and toys?
Pegasus curses his father, and the heat behind the Millennium Eye—a low fire, always present, always ready—flares up. No, he thinks. Don't do this, old man. Spit on my dreams all you like, but don't dash his. Don't you dare.
Toiréasa's smile hardens, but doesn't vanish. "Percy," she says, causing Perseus to flinch, "let the poor boy talk about cards. Just because you're jealous of Pegasus's success doesn't mean other people can't celebrate it."
Pegasus draws in a steadying breath.
He glances over, fearing that his dear, darling mother is too late.
Seto—nervous, shy, hyper-sensitive to others' opinions—is smirking.