(Disclaimer) Headcanon: Yusei was actually a weak baby. He had trouble growing when he was younger, so Martha always made him drink milk like crazy and now he just drinks it out of habit. It's probably the only thing he drinks other than coffee.

Forewarning: Some trippiness is about to ensue.

My toes wriggle in the water. It's cool around my ankles, and lays warmer beneath. Looking into it is like staring at the sky; other than mine, it is the only reflection around. In the far, far distance it seems the two blue bodies kiss and end, although I'm not so certain that's true. They could run on boundlessly.

Since there is nothing to do otherwise, I walk. And kick. Skip, then spin.

There is a rumbling noise, dislocated and echoing from every edge. The water starts to dissolve and sinks underneath my feet...into the sky?

I look up. What had been cluttered with clouds is now hills upon hills of sand. A pair of eyes lay in a dune directly overhead. They blink, as golden as mine. Those eyes rise up and become a head. Inky feathers, a beak.

The owl continues waiting. Waiting...waiting...and...it parts its beak.

The rumbling begins again. And, as if the ball of Earth had been tossed and rolled, I tip over. Sliding out of the sky, trying to latch on to some current in the air or a puff of a cloud.

Anything to keep from falling...

falling...

swallowed.

The bedroom door swings open. "Oh. You're awake."

I flip the moleskine closed and turn my attention on Akiza. "Yeah, I just woke up."

"You were right about that stuff." She sits on the bed and points out the window. The city lights blink and flicker in the black of night. "You've been out all day."

"What did I call it before? A coma or something?"

"A minor coma, which we've discovered is a very accurate name," she laughs.

I lay my head on the headboard and groan, "That's about all I remember, other than calling Martha 'artichokie'. God, please tell me I didn't say anything embarrassing before I passed out."

"Well, I don't know about embarrassing, but you threatened to beat up Crow and followed that by calling out Jack on advising you to become a Nyquil addict."

"Wow. Me on Nyquil is a me I like." Maybe I should start keeping a bottle of that liquid confidence on me at all times. I sigh and scratch the crown of my head. "How are the nuggets doing?"

"Nuggets?"

"Rua and Ruka," I laugh. "I don't know why I said nuggets. I guess I didn't sleep all the medicine off."

"I like nuggets. It's cute."

"That settles it then. They are now and forever more The Nugget Twins." I smile. "Our little nugget twins."

Akiza grins and says, "They're doing good. They came in here a few times to check up on you, but they're asleep now."

I nod. "They deserve rest, lots of it. What about their injuries?"

"The deep ones still need time, but they're gone otherwise."

"Really?" She nods. I had wrapped some of those wounds myself and know for a fact that even the lightest of scratches the twins acquired would take the rest of the week to close. Then it dawns on me. "Let me guess, you all have accelerated healing because of you Signer marks?"

Akiza frowns, thinking. "I think so, but it can be iffy."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not...promised. Just because I get a papercut doesn't guarantee it will heal instantly. The only other time I can think of this happening is when Yusei dueled Kiryu during the Dark Signers war. He...was impaled."

My posture corrects itself with fright. "What! Oh my god, is he okay?"

"Fortunately, yes. Martha and Dr. Schmidt got to him fast enough to get him through surgery. But with such a severe injury, surgery alone shouldn't have healed it as rapidly as it did."

A stab wound of that kind had to be serious business, just like plummeting from fifty feet up to solid concrete would have been. Especially for someone so young, what with their bones not completely formed... Ugh, stop stop stop.

"S-so you think it only happens in cases of life-or-death?"

"Something like that. It's as if the Crimson Dragon doesn't want to intervene, but it needs us to stay alive in order to fulfill our destinies as Signers."

"Or it cares about you all," I offer. "Crimson Dragon is for sure a crazy almighty god. But, technically, isn't that a spirit, too? And, as we both know, spirits have feelings just like people do. So I'm sure it isn't about destinies and fates all the time. If you're really bonded together, it has to care about you."

She smiles one of those pristine, perfect smiles. With an unsure start, she replies, "I'm sure Zephyrus cares about you, too."

Just like Crimson Dragon had arrived in the nick of time to come to Rua's aid, Zephyrus had come to mine at the factory. He saved my hide, but at the permanent price of two lives. After all that has occurred, I can't say I believe coincidences to be real. So whatever it was that got to those men that night had to have been Zephyrus' doing.

I want to be grateful, and I know somewhere deep down I am. But before I can sift through my emotions to reach it, I will be petrified. To kill without remorse and guilt, what does that say about Zephyrus?

What does that say about me—about my mark and what it means to be a Star Child?

If I pursue my bond with Zephyrus, who will I become?

"Maria," Akiza calls me back. "What are you thinking about?"

"I just... I don't understand. This is so hard," I murmur, drawing my legs up. "If I'm his mark bearer, why is this so hard for me? Can't he just arise from thin air like the Crimson Dragon? Is there something wrong with me? Is it our bond—is it too weak?"

Akiza presses a hand to my shoulder, sympathizing, "I'm so sorry, Maria. I wish we knew how to help you. I wish we knew anything about you and your mark."

I shake my head. "You've all done more than enough. It's frustrating on both of our parts, I know, but I think the whole point is that I'm supposed to do this alone."

"You shouldn't have to, though. Not when you have us."

"I'm not worried that you guys won't be there for me—that's probably the only thing I'm sure of at this point. But there has to be a reason there's five of you to my one. The purpose of your birthmarks was to unite you all. So maybe my purpose is, like, some spiritual self-discovery thing?"

"Still, there must be something..." She lowers her eyes, which fall on the moleskine. "You were writing in that when I came in."

"Oh," I chuckle, patting the cover. "Carly gave it to me so I can write down my dreams and the like, since I either don't remember them or don't understand them."

Akiza appraises it for a short while, another thoughtful purse of her countenance. "That's your way to finding out what you're meant to do—what it means to be a Star Child."

"But I can't control them. They just happen without cause or any sort of trigger."

"Visions aren't meant to be controlled. They're meant to be interpreted. Whether they come as dreams or out of body experiences, visions are meant to be messages that help you understand the world around you. Or, in this case, yourself."

"I had this dream when I first came here. I had it again not long ago, too." I fidget moleskine between my palms. "And I think... I'm not sure, but I think it was a forewarning about what would happen in the forest. But if that's true, then how could I have had that vision of the tribe? It's not possible to be both precognitive and retrocognitive, is it?"

Akiza pulls a hand to her chin, mills the idea through consideration. "I mean, it's possible? I've never heard of or met someone capable of both, but that's not to say you couldn't be the exception."

I nod and we sit in hushed agreement until she adds, "Then again..."

"What?"

"Maybe you're neither."

My brow crumples together. "You're losing me."

"What I mean to say is that you're getting hit from a number of different angles all at once. There's still so much we don't know about Star Children," she explains. "It might be too early to decide where your limits are."

"Hmm. I never thought of it that way."

"And you had this dream again?" I nod. "When?"

"The night you got your Riding license."

"Which was after the forest incident."

Akiza pauses, hiding her hesitance with no luck. So I urge, "Now you have to tell me what you're thinking."

"It's just that if a dream is reoccurring, it usually means that what it's predicting hasn't happened yet. I think you're right about it being a premonition, but it has to be about something else."

I hate to admit she's right. I would say that the detail had escaped my mind, but it was more like it had hidden itself inside my skull, just out of my brain's reach. Just this once, I wanted to catch my footing and move forward. So I took those steps without heeding the dead end ahead.

I smile at her, regardless of my dampening mood, but it soon doesn't seem appropriate of the situation. I unfold myself and lean over with open arms. "You're such a good friend, Aki. Thank you."

Her cheeks are dotted rosy-red when I pull away. "I-I'm going to get going now."

"You're not going to stay the night? Isn't it late?"

"I would, but all my school stuff is back at home. And it's only nine. Plus, I don't live far away so..."

"Okay. I'll walk you out then."

By the flat's entrance, Akiza notifies me that if I'm hungry there's dinner in the oven still. Her fingers press the button that calls for the lift to open and she pauses to go.

"You called me Aki," she says over her shoulder.

"I did? Sorry, should I not have?"

"No, it's fine. I like Aki better, actually," she grins. "I just noticed that it's the first time you've called me that."

"Oh. I never realized."

At last she walks into the elevator's box and presses one of its keys on the panel. With a timid wave, she bids goodnight.

"In case you didn't know," Aki mentions as the doors close, "you're a good friend, too."

I wait by the door after the lift lowers, eyes directed toward the floor. Thinking, trying not to think, wishing that tomorrow will bear better things than yesterday. I enter the kitchen, only to put the remains of supper in the fridge and flick off the lights.

I check on the twins, who I find along with Annie in their parents' bed. A thought of entering comes and passes. Anything beyond the bedroom door seemed to me like sacred ground, that of which I was unworthy to walk.

Returning to the guest bedroom was my only choice. Yet, I don't want to face the words scribbled on the moleskine's pages. It would do no good since I have absolutely no idea what knowledge I'm supposed to acquire from getting eaten by a massive owl.

I snatch my tote from the floor and head for the bathroom. After screwing with the nozzles for a decent temperature, I let the tub fill. Find a towel in the hall closet, then strip from my clothes. The water sloshes over my skin as I sit down, my troubles unraveling from warmth.

I hear it at that moment, the lulling hum of Zephyrus' mark. It coats the walls in the sound and mutes every trickling drop of water in the bathroom.

I can only sigh. My destiny must have decided that this bout of peace had run its course long enough, and it's back into the riddles of myself for now.

My body sinks below the water, only my head above. I close my eyes.

When they reopen, I'm still submerged in water. But I lift up and see that I'm nowhere close to being in the twins' bathtub. Instead I lie in a running river. The surroundings are similar to the last time my mind drifted, only lusher. The grass is thicker, the treeline fuller. I can even see the heat streaming in the air, blurring what lays beyond. The woodsy forest I encountered held nothing in comparison to the wild intensity of this jungle.

Marching approaches, putting me on full alert. On my left, dozens of people trek along a path. I rise from the water and climb over stones to the bank, following alongside them. Small groups of men carry canoe-like boats over their heads. Most of the women hold flowers, if not babies. The children that are old enough to walk hang their heads and cling to their mother's skirts.

All of them sing in that foreign language I remember from the last time. I may not know the meaning of their words, but the atmosphere itself speaks volumes. Forlorn. Doleful. I'm positive those canoe are for more than fishing.

We continue along, the path winding downward and later becoming broad steps. The land flattens out and the river we'd lost sight of returns, merging with the vast sea. The people stop and spread out, the men setting the canoe alongside the water. I look for any of the people I saw in my last vision, but they're unrecognizable without faces.

Meaning I should find the child. But was it a boy or a girl? How old now?

I use the time they spend finishing the song to find the only one with a face. I make the mistake of glancing in one of the boats. No one has to walk through my body for the nausea to arrive. A man lies in it, scratched and bloodied and without an arm.

The women hand out the flowers—marigolds, I realize. Some had already been planted with the bodies.

Still searching for the child, I spy a woman hand a baby off to a man. By just a glimpse, I catch tiny lashes and full lips. I run to his side and look around him. The baby from my last vision sleeps in a bundle of cloth tied around the father's torso and shoulder.

If not the child nor the father, then... I stare at their boat. The mother reposes inside it, marigolds between her clasped hands.

I have to turn away. Catch my bearings. Remember that my mother is already long gone, not lying dead in the water.

I face the crowd again, keeping my gaze high. Tree leaves are thrown atop the bodies and the canoes are lit with torches. The sun begins its descent on the horizon, and when it sits half-above and half-below, boats are pushed into open water. The remaining marigolds are thrown to wade after them.

Relief overcomes me when the scene fades.

The mother had to have died in childbirth. Unlike the unknown man I glanced at, she looked unscathed.

"Maria?"

But while she was giving birth, the mother didn't seem unhealthy. Sweaty and exhausted, of course, but not at all on the brink of death. So it must have been after. Soon after.

"Oi, Maria!"

If that was true, then it could have been due to illness. It's natural to be weak after birth, so maybe her immune system couldn't hold up. And then there's the factor of her environment and its lack of cleanliness—

A hand clamps onto each of mine, separating my mind from reverie. The twins drag me through the crosswalk and to the other block just before the digital counter hits zero. The twins scrutinize me and I laugh the space out off.

"Sorry, you two," I say. "I just wasn't thinking."

The siblings share an uncertain look. Ruka waves to lower to their level and, once I do so, brings her hand to my forehead.

"You don't have a fever. Are you sure you're okay?" she asks.

"Mm-hmm. It was just a minor head cold." I turn to her older brother. "And the Nyquil worked wonders on it."

He brightens on the spot. "Ha! So it was a good thing I mixed it up!"

"And anyway, shouldn't I be asking you both that question?" I rise from the ground and go to put my hands on my hips, but stop when I notice that the twins' hands are still attached to mine.

"As if you haven't asked us a billion times since we woke up," comments Rua with a toss of his eyes. "We're perfectly fine, in case you were going to ask again."

I wasn't—well, I had thought about it and decided against it. I return the boy's expression and we continue walking toward the Duel Academy.

"I just want to make sure you're well enough to be heading off to school in such a hurry. One day is hardly enough time to recuperate from your duel with Lucciano."

"Maybe not for normal people who don't have Crimson Dragon's powers at their fingertips. But for those of us who do, even a full twenty-four hours is too much," he boasts.

Now it's my turn to share a wry glance with Ruka, who teases, "So now you're the twin with the Signer mark on their arm?"

"Of course not! I'm just...what's that word again? Where you benefit from other people's success?"

"Exploitation?" comes Ruka's dry tone.

"Yeah, that's it! I'm exploiting you!"

"Rua, that's not a g—"

His sister cuts me off with a shake of her pigtails, mouthing, "Just let him have it."

I agree and say nothing else, instead opting to swing our joined hands back and forth. I felt like a giant with how small their palms are, how pudgy their fingers are. I smile to myself and banish the thoughts of my recent vision to later hours. Relishing a moment like this was something that shouldn't be put on hold.

We come across the great grounds of the Academy and Rua instantly runs free of my grasp, shouting back to us that he's going to chat with Tenpei by the entrance gate.

"He wasn't kidding about bouncing back. Maybe he does have a Signer mark after all," I remark, chuckling. I glance at the younger twin, who's a strange kind of quiet. "Ruka?"

She tries to smile the concern away, but it doesn't reach her eyes and she knows it. "You don't think he's here, do you? Lucciano?"

I crouch down to meet her gaze. "After all that trouble of pretending to be a student just to get to you two, I wouldn't bet on it. And if he's got the slightest idea of what's good for him, he better not."

Ruka accepts it by a nod. I know that reassurances alone do little, but I still try. "We'll protect you. And if he does show his face again, we'll sick Jack on him."

She laughs, letting a real smile trickle through. "He does remind me of a guard dog, now that you mention it."

"Doesn't he?" I laugh and rise. "Anyway, I should get going. Annie's probably ripping your flat to shreds as we speak."

"Are you going to come by the guys' apartment later?"

"If I don't work too late, I'll try."

Ruka's satisfied with that. We part both hands and ways after.

—

Once the bag's contents are dumped into Annie's bowl, I sit back against the cupboards and watch her dig in. My mind scurries back to last night's vision. It was the polar opposite of the one prior. One had given to a new life, the other had stolen one away. Was the father the only family the child had? Would he be good to it?

This would just be another piece of the puzzle until I get another vision, if I ever do.

"Oh. Maria," Martha says when she enters the kitchen. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I only got back a couple minutes ago, so you haven't missed much." I scratch behind Annie's ear. "Just figured I'd give Annie something to eat before I head out again."

"Don't you think you should slow down a bit? Have you even eaten anything?" It wasn't really a question that required answer; she was already prepping the stove and a skillet for cooking.

"Toast. I had toast."

Martha turns around with a disbelieving twinge to her face. "Toast is for the weak and lazy."

"Never have a heard a better description of myself," I respond, pulling out a chair.

"Judging by the sarcasm, I'm guessing you're all recovered?"

I nod. "Fresh as a daisy."

"And everyone else?"

I could never understand how she could make a casual sentence seem so weighed down. A simple "Good," would never do the trick, because not only does Martha want to hear more than a pleasantry, she wants to know the truth.

"Surviving."

"Well," she sighs, "that's all we can ask for."

It's not until Martha asks me what I want on my pancakes that I speak again. "Blueberries?"

She pulls a plastic tin from the fridge and sprinkles them in. "So where is this mystery place you're in such a hurry to run off to?"

"There is no mystery, just the library. I have some stuff I want to look up on the computer, so I figured I'd go before I have to leave for the cafe."

As Martha scoops the flapjacks on to my plate, she asks, "Why are you going all the way to the library to use a computer?"

I pause, both savoring the delicacy gracing my tastebuds and questioning the question. "I feel like you're implying something."

"Maria, we have a computer here."

"Since when?"

"Seven?" Martha stares off in thought. "Or maybe six years ago? I don't really remember."

"Can I use it?" I rise from my seat. Martha crosses her arms and glances at the half-eaten plate of pancakes. "After breakfast?"

After scarfing down the remaining food (which wasn't much trouble since Martha's cooking is heavensent) we roam toward the back of the house. Martha jiggles the handle on a door, and opens it with a little difficulty. In the dim glow of sunlight from a near window, the descent into the basement manifests.

"Watch your step. These things are pretty old," she recommends. She starts down the stairs until she notices I'm still at the top. "Maria?"

"It's in the basement?" Martha nods. I wave a dismissive hand. "Nevermind."

"Are you scared of basements?"

Only the unknown aspect of them. "Martha, have you ever seen a horror movie? You never go in the basement."

"Do you want me to check the closets for monsters?" she asks, baby-voiced.

"Or serial killers with giant knives."

Martha keeps on without me. "Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing in here."

"That's what the first girl in every horror movie thinks until she has a knife in her kidney," I mumble.

An eerie silence follows Martha's disappearance into the room, so with a quiver to my posture and a wavering tone, I call out, "Martha?"

Annie answers, abruptly beside me on the floor. I grab at my chest to catch my fleeting heart and gasp.

"Maria?" Martha returns to the bottom of the staircase, her dreads shining mocha in the light. "Did the monsters get you or somethin'?"

I watch Annie dip her head in the open doorway, that familiar curiosity taking over. She looks back at me like she's asking for permission to enter. Or, rather, daring me.

"Not quite," I reply. "But almost."

With a sigh, I head down. Annie tags along as expected, racing ahead and nearly tripping me up. Boxes small and big stack themselves in the far right corner. There isn't much else other than that—some books piled together, a ratty couch shoved against a wall. And the computer, which in every aspect, looks like the average computer. I don't know what I was expecting, really. Maybe some monstrous ten screen super-contraption that villains use to plot world domination?

"It's all yours," says Martha, gesturing at the illuminated screen. "I'll call you up for lunch later—tunafish sandwiches and chips alright with you?"

"Sounds good."

She exits back the way we came, leaving Annie and I to the low hum of the computer's engine. I log in and immediately go to the browser. The cursor hovers over the search box, waiting to be filled with my woes.

A hefty breath glues to my throat. I stare at the screen, not pondering what to type but moreso the possibilities of what answers lay beyond. The unknown, how daunting it can be.

Annie paws at my leg, so I hoist her into my lap. Oddly enough, her presence causes the trepidation to subside, so I keep stroking her spine until that breath finally squeezes out. Then I type:

mazes in dreams

According to Google, there are almost 400,000 results to choose from; I'll just click on the first one and see what happens. The first paragraph mentions something about feeling manipulated—a relation to a labrat in a maze hunting for cheese. On some degree I can relate. My fate has been predetermined by Zephyrus' mark and there is nothing I can do to control or stop that.

I keep reading.

"Alternatively, dreaming of a maze symbolizes frustration and a lack of direction in one's life. You may be in an overwhelming situation without a clear idea of how you got there or how to get out again. If you feel fear in connection to being in a maze, then either the situation or the people controlling the situation are a danger."

I was panicked. Always panicking while in the maze. That maze is now my life—my "overwhelmingly frustrating" life. And until I'm able to navigate my Star Child maze, this dream would haunt me again.

On to the next one: marigolds in dreams

Suggestion one: contentment with frugality

Suggestion two: contentment with frugality

Suggestion three: trouble and jealousy

Suggestion four: true love and successful marriage

I don't even bother with a fifth. Instead, I switch in dreams to symbolism.

"Known also as the 'Herb of the Sun', Marigolds are symbolic of passion and creativity..."

I skim over the love charms and weddings. Some stuff about Christians naming the flower after the queen. India apparently offers them to a couple of their gods and Mexico uses them like crazy in the Day of the Dead celebration.

Maybe that's their purpose to the people in my visions. Flowers to honor the dead.

I had dreamed of marigolds before then. In the first blackout. Before now I hadn't quite remembered, but I'll trust my gut to say that marigolds were what led me down the right path. Back to reality.

I click on another for curiosity's sake and only find a couple interesting tidbits like, "Although they are often used in bouquets, marigolds actually represent grief and cruelty," and "...some cultures believe marigolds can be used to induce prophetic dreams and visions."

A forceful groan emits from the machine, startling a shriek out of me. Then the screen goes blue, random numbers and words crawling across it.

"WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?" I shout back at it. "WHAT DID I DO TO YOU?"

I stomp up the stairs and toward the kitchen, calling for Martha.

"What is it?" she asks when I find her in the laundry room.

Fiddling my hands together, I answer, "I think I broke the computer."

Martha puts down the t-shirt she's folding. "You broke it?"

"I don't know what happened. It just started growling at me and this blue screen of death appeared all of a sudden."

She chuckles, an entertained tilt to her lips. "I'll fix it. Just stay away from it in the meantime."

I'm persuaded with that at first, but come back a second later with, "Before I go to work?"

"What on the computer is so important that it can't wait 'til after you come home?"

"It's not porn, if that's what you're thinking."

"You said it, not me."

"Pretty please, Martha? I'll be on laundry duty for a week?"

"Two weeks."

"If that's what it takes to get the stupid machine working as soon as possible," I sigh, "then you've got a deal."

"I wouldn't have bet you anything, honestly. I was going to do it. But since you offered..." Martha pushes the basket into my arms and escapes into the hall.

I glare at the door, mouth wide open, then glance at the floor. Only seven more baskets to go after this.

—

I manage to finish laundry just before lunch. Somehow.

Anyway, back in the kitchen, Martha hands me food. Before I can go join the kids in the dining room, she gives me another plate.

"Can you take that one to the basement?"

"Why?" My eyebrows pull together and my eyes bulge in false astonishment. "You aren't feeding the monsters are you? Because if so, I will have absolutely no part in it. No, ma'am!"

Her only response is to toss her eyes to the side. "It's for Yusei."

"Yusei? He's here? In the basement?" Martha nods slowly, confusion adorning her features. "Why?"

"You asked me to fix the computer."

"I meant you—you, personally."

"I'm qualified to perform surgery on people, not machines." Martha merely shrugs. "And who better to fix it than the person who built it?"

"He built it—you know what? I'm not even surprised. Can't someone else take this to him, though?"

"I asked you." She turns around for a second to continue food preparations, yet looks over her shoulder. I nearly miss the crafty smirk spanning her lips. "Why don't you want to go down there, hmm? You don't like Yusei?"

"Everyone likes Yusei," I scoff.

"And that's why you don't like him?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you do like him?"

"He's fine, I guess. It's just...we don't talk much. Especially when it's just the two of us. It's uncomfortable."

"All the more reason to have lunch together." Martha whips me around and walks me out the room. "Everyone bonds over food."

With no other way out, I slink to the basement and use my foot to slide open the door. Annie decided to tag along somewhere in the journey back, to no surprise. She probably smelled him from lightyears away.

Even though the stairs creak terribly as I step down, Yusei doesn't seem to take note. He's entirely immersed in his work, hunched over the computer's innards and focused on the dissection of its parts.

I can't help the feeling of interrupting a disclosed moment. So I do what I'm best at—stand around like a wooden puppet until someone jiggles a string. He notices eventually and stalls his toiling hands.

"I brought, um...nourishment—food! Food is what I meant to say, but I-I forgot the word."

"Thanks," is all he says, rising from the floor and over to me.

Yusei rests on the couch and, now with my hand free, I point to the other side. "You wouldn't mind if...?"

"Go right ahead."

I sit as far away as I can. Annie lays between us, acting as a feline border. I notice the light pouring down on the floor beneath us and turn my head. The curtains to a window I hadn't seen before are pushed aside to allow rays of the sun to scatter through grassy bunches.

My gaze follows the window's lining to the edge. It lowers to Yusei.

For that, I hate myself. He could do nothing, just sit and eat and be in oblivious ease. Yet I'd still look at him and think that in this light, his skin glows like honey. His hair an unconventional, geometric piece of art. How his broad shoulders round into unexpectedly sinewed forearms, which lead to large palms with dexterous fingers.

Yusei could do absolutely nothing and even after all my convincing, I'd still be weak for him. It was just another thing I didn't have any control over. But it isn't something I can blame on a duel spirit or my fate. No, I am the only one at fault for this.

His watch snags on mine. "Are you feeling okay?"

My mechanical response comes as a nod yes. However, that doesn't do the job for him. Like Ruka had on our way to school, Yusei reaches across and presses his palm to my forehead. I don't bother to jolt away. Instead, I keep convincing—using the "pull him in" mantra as a guise for why I want to feel his skin on mine.

"You don't feel hot," Yusei concludes, taking the hand back.

"I'm not sick anymore."

"Tired then?"

"I slept all of yesterday." I chuckle. "So I don't think it's that."

"Well, if it's anything I can help you with, let me know. But if you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

I drop my head to stare at my lap. "I think... I think I'm confused."

Yusei's silent for a moment, probably thinking of likely causes. But I know he'd never guess it. "Because of your mark?"

Told you.

I realize that though the mantra seems a success, I'm pulling way too fast. Way too deep. He can't know. I can't tell him. I want to—only because I know he's listening. If I unclogged my heart for him, Yusei would hear every syllable for what they are.

I just want to plunge out these feelings, and flush them down the drain of someone's mind. But not his. Never his.

So if he chocks the confusion up to only my mark, that's what it will be.

"I know what you can do for me," I say to him. Yusei's all ears. "I need you to fix the computer."

He smirks. "Don't need to ask me twice."

Yusei finishes up before I do and gets back to work. I try to keep myself busy with lunch and feeding bits to Annie to hold her attention. Every now and then my stare lingers on Yusei, wondering what exactly he's fixing but too nervous to ask.

It's only by mistake that I speak aloud, "I didn't think the problem was the screen."

"It's not," he replies without looking up. "The hardware's the issue."

"I thought that was in the computer."

"It is."

"Then why are you working on the monitor?"

Yusei finally turns to me. His expression molds to an arched brow and a slight smile. "Do you want to come fix it?"

"N-no! I didn't mean to sound condescending or anything! I was just..."

"You're curious," comes a chuckled reply. "I know. That's why it wasn't rhetorical—do you want to help fix it?"

"Oh." I give the machine a wary glance. "I don't think that would be such a good idea. I'm the one who broke it in the first place."

"You didn't break anything. Come take a look."

I bestow my remaining morsels on an all too gracious Annie, then sit across from Yusei on the floor.

"I'm warning you now—I'll probably make this thing explode."

"It'd take more effort than you think to make that happen." He points to the back of the monitor where a small box protrudes out of it. "This is the computer."

"Really? It's so small; you're sure nothing's missing?"

"No, nothing's missing. All the parts are there, but many of them are malfunctioning."

"It seemed fine to me—until it started growling and that evil, blue screen appeared."

Yusei nods. "It's fully capable of working, just not properly. The CPU—the brain, essentially—isn't processing as fast as it should; if pages and windows took a while to load, then the CPU is the cause of that. The same goes for this piece below it, the cooling fan. It's too slow, so the CPU can overheat, which is probably that growling sound you heard."

"So," I surmise, "it could explode."

"I think that's worst case scenario, Maria."

"I'm not hearing no, Yusei."

He gives me a dry look that I shrug off, and continues. "That blue screen you mentioned is presumably a result of overheating, but I can't know for sure once I've fixed it. Otherwise, the problem could be located in the BIOS here in the ROM. If that's the case, I'll have to access it once it's booted up."

Once he's completed the explanation, Yusei looks at me. I feel pressured into nodding.

"You have no idea what I said."

"I was listening, so I do know you said a lot of words that didn't sound like words," I compensate. Then I laugh, "Sorry, us countrysiders still live in the twentieth century. Some of us barely know what microwaves are."

The following events stink of deja-vu. It is the cupcakes happening all over again. Yusei's eyes catching my dropped guard, stare laden with earnest. I don't care to know why this time around. It would do me no good, because I already know that pulling him in is no trouble. But if these looks were joining him in his stay, my feelings would become harder to evict.

Annie, my newly appointed lord and savior, flies to the rescue. Though, not in a way I would've preferred—she knocks down a box from atop the pile and the resounding noise snaps me out of Yusei's trance.

Out comes a yell on reflex, "Annie!"

I speed toward the toppled box and kneel beside it. The mess is bigger than expected; it's mostly due to the shattered glass, but the wood on some of the frames had cracked as well. I hurriedly sweep the pieces together.

"Let me do that," Yusei says, bending down.

"No, I've got it."

"You're not the one wearing gloves." He removes my hands by a gentle tug. "Let me."

I accept the help and deviate toward the frames themselves. Pick them up and shake off stray shards. Arrange them back in the cardboard as neatly as I can.

A glimpse of frizzy hair reels me back. I unpack the last frame. I had seen this picture before—Mom had it strung up on one of the hallway walls. And I remember questioning it once, because the girl in the image looked so much like me. She had my gapped grin and the same disobedient curls. Even her clothes were as tomboyish as mine at that age.

But I had never remembered meeting a dreadlocked woman who smiled with her soul. I wondered if she was like my father, if my brain refuted the memory of her. But she was Martha, a woman I had yet to meet and a woman I will never forget.

Another picture grabs my attention before I can stare too long at this one. Departed from its case and partially hidden under the box, I slide the image out. It's another of Mom and Martha, but farther back in time than the last. Martha, though still bedreaded, was slimmer and laugh line-less. Mom—or what I assume is her—was tucked in a blanket, warm and snug in Martha's embrace.

I flip it over to check the date. All that's scribbled is: Martha and Anastasia, home from the agency.

The sound of Yusei dumping the glass in a wastebin causes me to clutch both pictures to my chest. In an instant, the images had become something to protect, something precious to me.

I stand erect by the time he returns. Yusei eyes me with caution, and before he can ask the routine question of my well-being I announce, "I'm fine. I just have to tell Martha about this."

I run up the stairs. Dismissing my feelings for him. Forgetting Annie. Saving my research for another day. All I can think about is Mom.

And I don't tell Martha, not immediately. Past Yusei's departure and another slow shift at the cafe is when I approach her with it.

Martha sends me a glance over her shoulder. "Burgers'll be done in ten minutes. Can you start rounding up the kids and get them all washed up for me?"

I don't move, only lean my head against the doorframe as she chops up lettuce.

"Maria? Did you hear me?"

I walk closer, wordlessly, and hold the pictures out before me. "I found these in the basement."

She recognizes them as soon as she lays eyes on them. Martha puts down the knife, wipes her hands on her apron, and takes them. A faint upturn warms her expression. Martha gazes from the newest to the oldest, and she flicks the latter to its backside.

"The agency," I read off for her.

She nods, unwavering. "The adoption agency."

It was my first and only guess. And, in all honesty, I think I knew even before today. I've known all along, but decided not to bother with it. As always, I'd rather believe the assumption than ask for the truth.

Though if you had stared at those pictures as long and hard as I had, you would start to spot the differences too, as subtle as they were. It was to blame on the similarities and how glaring they were—carob-brown irises, ebony locks, full faces.

But the similarities are coincidence, not blood.

"Maria, you're just as much my granddaughter as she was my daughter, and as the kids here are my children. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Martha. You already are who you are to me. Genes can't change that." I smile, glancing down at the photographs. "Did she know? That she was adopted?"

"Always. I never kept it a secret from her." I nod, and before I can even start to contemplate a theory, Martha fans it out. "The birthparents died before she ever got the idea to search. If Anastasia ran to them, she would've only found tombstones."

"I don't know why she ran, Martha. It doesn't make sense to me, nor does it sound like a person I know...knew." I wrap my arms around her neck, whispering, "I wish she hadn't. I wish I knew you when I was younger."

"You know me now, hon. Better late than never, they say."

I shrug after releasing her. "I think you should hang those up, too."

Martha stares at the pictures a second time. "It hurt to look at these after she left. I could dust off her things and wash her sheets like it never happened. But I felt it every time I passed these by."

"Mom didn't tell me much about you, and I think that's because it hurt her, too. I may have not known the Mom you knew, but the one I did regretted running." I place a finger on the framed photo. "She had this picture in the hall. When she looked at it, she never frowned or cried or anything like that. She smiled. And I think you should do the same."

I begin to take leave afterward.

"Maria?" Martha seems conflicted and I want to trust that what she says is what she intended, yet my gut advises otherwise. "Thank you."

—

When I wake in the morning, I discover the photo of Mom and Martha standing side-by-side near the door. After shredding the newspaper clipping and replacing its spot under my pillow with the new picture, I head down for breakfast. I take an unnecessary detour toward the "Hall of Fame," as the kids nicknamed it. I find the other in the topmost right corner, and every atom inside me smiles.

I feel like I haven't given Akiza enough attention :/

So in a previous chapter I told you all this fic would follow the plot of season two (it was in Chapter 16 but I edited it a tiny bit and had to erase the original AN) and no worries, that still holds. The thing is, due to the depth I'm planning (and hoping) to put behind my plot, there will be some differences from the canon version because Maria's existence influences the canon plot. Personally, I still don't think that counts as an AU since the purpose of creating an OC is to expand what's already been written.

I also want to give a warning about violence. Now rest assured. JaG is in NO way becoming a SAW movie, but there is definitely going to be more instances where there is violence and/or gore mentioned in this fic. We're all aware that out of the Yugioh series, 5Ds had the most adult themes, which is why I love it so much and intend to keep it that way. But I know that reading/visualizing these things can possibly be triggering, so I want to warn all of you in advance because that's the last thing I want to do.

That said, how was this chapter? I'm pumped that you guys are enjoying it this far ^.^ If you have any questions, comments, or other concerns why not drop a review and tell me how you feel! (Btw, if you leave any questions in reviews, they'll most likely be answered in the upcoming chapter. But if your life depends on a quick reply, my inbox is always open.)

TTFN you hot, hot tater tots~!