Tonight, as I edit this and prepare it for posting, it's about 10 PM on a Saturday. I'm in a room about a fourth of the size of the one I used to claim as my own, listening to the new Linkin Park album. I'm flat broke until the 1st of the month.

But before I sat down, I made dinner in my own kitchen, with groceries I paid for myself, sat down in my own living room, and watched a movie on my own TV. I haven't fully acclimated to this lifestyle, and I would have liked to have started on it about…oh, seven years ago. But, life throws issues at you. In my case, those issues included physical disability, general emotional complications, and three children.

This really doesn't have anything to do with the chapter I'm posting for you all tonight; it's just to say that my life is fundamentally different from what it's ever been. I'm starting to evolve as a person, I suppose you'd say.

I like to think that this story is also evolving because of it.

Let's see, shall we?


1.


Two weeks passed in rather amiable routine, as Akiko grew accustomed to her new schedule. She woke at 6 AM, as usual, and started her shift at the Children's Home at 8. She headed to the Kaiba Estate at noon, and performed various odd-jobs until Mokuba came home. Her "shift" at the estate ended at 5.

It wasn't difficult taking up the position of a maid; cleaning the Kaiba Estate was as rigid, structured, and simple as cleaning the orphanage. Clinton Lanyon would give her an assignment or two when she walked through the door, and that was the end of it; she was not supervised. But it was no sham. Though he seemed nice enough, Clinton's standards were high, and he was not shy about letting her know that Mister Kaiba's were even higher.

"Don't get me wrong," he said. "Mister Ackerman's told us why you're here. And truth be told, thank God you are. So if something I've given you to do conflicts with your primary position, drop it immediately. You're here for Mokuba. But keep in mind that if you do questionable work, Mokuba will notice, and he'll wonder why Mister Kaiba isn't taking action."

"I understand," Akiko assured him. "I've handled cases…similar to this one. Stealth missions. I'll pull my weight, Mister Lanyon. But…since you've mentioned it, and I have you right here, would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Mister Kaiba and Mister Ackerman are obviously concerned, and I think I already see why. Obviously, you've noticed signs, too. Could you tell me what you've seen? How has his behavior changed since…the incident?"

Clinton chuckled. "Incident," he repeated. He grimaced. "Well, he's jumpy. Not like, 'oh, that loud noise startled me' jumpy. I mean 'feral dog in a bite trap' jumpy. If someone startles him, comes up behind him, touches him, makes some loud noise, anything like that, he'll get this look in his eyes where you…where you honestly think he's fully capable of ripping your throat out with his teeth."

The borderline horror on Akiko's face brought a nervous half-smirk to Clinton's face, and she thought he must be the sort of person who would giggle madly during a funeral; not out of disrespect, but pure discomfort.

"He's a sweet kid," Clinton said, "but he's had a hard life. Not to hear him tell it, but…he's seen things no one should ever see. Especially a kid. You know their history, don't you?"

Akiko frowned. "I know parts of it."

"His mother died a handful of hours after he was born; his father three years later. Godparents took them both in, but not for long. The going version is that they 'took care' of the boys until their inheritance—which wasn't much to look at—dried up. Then they got tossed to the state. The building where you work was not the one they lived in."

"That much, I know," Akiko said. "Mister Kaiba had it built a couple of years ago."

"Mm. Well, Danny-Boy and Special K—" here Akiko laughed "—did their best, but Mister Kaiba wasn't satisfied. Mokuba…well, he was four, going on five, by the time they left. So he didn't really have an opinion. Far as he was concerned, if his brother was with him, he could've taken a field trip to hell."

"Gozaburo Kaiba wasn't any better, was he?" Akiko guessed.

"No. Way I hear it, he was a slave-driver. Not because his standards were so high; the current Mister Kaiba, if anything, is stricter than his predecessor. But Gozaburo's idea of discipline…the steps he took to punish insubordination…well. Let's just say they weren't strictly legal."

"He abused them?"

"More like, he had other people abuse them for him. But I was talking about Mokuba. He was…pretty much ignored by everyone on staff, back in Gozaburo's time. The only people who took any interest in him were Mister Kaiba, and Diamun. Gozaburo's…majordomo, I guess you'd say. And that tug-of-war was one hell of a psychological square-dance."

"What…happened to Diamun?" Akiko dared to ask.

Clinton's eyes turned glassy. "Nobody knows, because nobody's dumb enough to ask. If that old demon's still alive, he's not in this country."

"Did he…hurt Mokuba?"

Clinton barked a painful sort of laugh. "No. First time Mister Kaiba saw a mark on the kid's hand, probably got it from a switch because he wasn't paying attention during lessons. The whole damn house staff got a lecture. Mister Kaiba was fourteen at the time, this was eight months or so before he took over, and he called everyone together. Gozaburo excluded, of course. He looked at everybody, dead-quiet for a good five minutes. I was still wet behind the ears at this point, mind, so I was pretty freaking terrified. So he says, I'll never forget it, he said:

"'It has recently come to my attention that some of you deem yourselves fit to discipline my brother. Some of you hold to the ancient delusion that age breeds authority, and that Mokuba must listen to your commands based solely on the virtue of what year you were born. At the least, this is the only conclusion to which I can come that would explain your collective stupidity. I am here today to shatter that illusion. Mokuba Kaiba is mine to discipline. If his conduct is unbecoming to this estate, it will be brought to my attention, and mine only. Not a single one of you has permission to touch, raise your voice, punish, or otherwise assume authority of any kind over him. Failure to recognize this will result in immediate termination, no questions asked, no excuses tolerated.'

"Then, some smart-ass, he pops off with, 'Termination of our positions, or termination of our lives?' Mister Kaiba stares at him for a while, then just turns around and walks out. Nobody ever tried to punish Mokuba again after that. Nobody wanted to test the wrath of a Kaiba, and nobody was stupid enough to bank on Gozaburo's protection. Not even Diamun."

Akiko was frowning. "Mister Kaiba seems to have a rather violent temper."

"He did, when he was that age. He's cooled off since then. For the most part, anyway. It's still a bad idea to cross him. But anyway, the whole point is, Mokuba hasn't had the most well-adjusted time of things. The only authority figure he trusts implicitly, and follows without question, is Mister Kaiba. And most of the time, that's more than enough for him. He trusts his brother's word, and in his brother's protection. You could give him a team of hand-picked active-duty Marines as bodyguards, he'd still want his Niisama."

This caused the slightest of smiles to cross Akiko's face. "Niisama. Wonder where he picked that up." The frown came back; she was all business again. "I've seen him before. Talk shows and commercials and such. He's usually confident. Self-assured. Happy."

"Mm-hm. Sure is. It's no act, either. Sergeant Sunshine, some of us call him that. But, ah…not so much lately. Which is why Mister Kaiba brought you on, I'm guessing. I think the kid's just taken one too many hits to the chin, and now he needs some help getting back up. You can do that, right?"

"I can."

Clinton grinned. "Confident. Cocky, one might say. You'll fit right in around here. But, I've got a few things I have to finish up, so I'm gonna head out. You know what to do, newbie."

Akiko nodded, thinking that this mansion was the most mystifying mix of heartwarming and terrifying she had ever experienced. Unless, of course, she counted her own childhood home. Her countenance darkened.

Clinton was walking away, but he turned back to look at her. "By the way. First day, you called him 'Seto-sama.' Nice touch. Traditional. Run with that. Leave the 'Mister Kaibas' to boring old has-beens like me."

He winked.


2.


"Is this real?"

Roland Ackerman was like, and yet unlike, Clinton Lanyon in too many ways to properly articulate. Where Clinton was casual and upbeat, Roland was somber. Where Clinton was approachable, Roland was reserved. Yet she found that they both seemed to respond to the same…type of conversation. They were blunt, direct, alpha types. Yet their deference to Seto Kaiba was another trait they shared; perhaps because he was a stiff breeze short of a drill sergeant, the man inspired intense, loyal obedience in people who would otherwise have been at each other's throats.

Roland's lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk. "Obviously not. It's an April Fool's prank, Miss Yoshimi. Young Master Mokuba has a wide selection of novelty Monopoly sets in his closet if you'd like to cash it now."

The man's sense of humor was disarming, especially since his face never changed expression.

Akiko stared down at the paper in her hands, still unable to reconcile the symbols printed on it. Most cultures would have called it a paycheck, but then, most cultures paid reasonable wages for a part-time position that often amounted to dusting bookshelves.

Like, something in the triple digits.

"I…I can't accept this," Akiko said. "I'm an errand girl. I vacuum the hallways and wash dishes. I organize paperwork. On the off-chance that I actually talk to Mokuba, I make Pokémon jokes. This…this is too much. I can't—"

"Miss Yoshimi, Master Kaiba doesn't pay based on how busy his employees are. He pays based on how productive they are. The two are most certainly not interchangable. If you worked seventy hours a week at this estate, but the results did not match what Master Kaiba wanted, you would not be here. On the other side of the coin, if you manage to achieve what Master Kaiba wishes of you in three hours a week…well. There you have it. You work well, you follow instructions, and Young Master Mokuba smiles when he sees you. Things are progressing exactly as Master Kaiba hoped they would."

Akiko couldn't help but blush. "I…don't know what to say."

A long moment passed in awkward silence; then they turned toward the front door as it opened, and Mokuba came into the parlor. His backpack was half-off, and his over-shirt was only half-buttoned. He glanced up, saw the pair of adults in the room, and raised a curious eyebrow. "Hi," he offered.

"Good afternoon," Roland replied with a bow of his head.

Mokuba saw what Akiko was holding, and he grinned. "Payday?" he asked, with a little giggle.

"Uh…"

Mokuba's grin reached his ears, and the giggle evolved into a laugh. He pulled his pack the rest of the way off. "I'm going to the dining room." He grimaced. "Stupid math."

Finally, something she could understand. Akiko leapt at the chance to regain her equilibrium: "I'll make up a little something for us to snack on, and you can regale me with how useless fractions are." She smiled, and winked. "I might even get through to you this time."

Mokuba laughed again. "'Kay." And he was off.

When Akiko glanced back at Roland, he was giving her a knowing look.

"Results, Miss Yoshimi," he said. "He pays for results."


3.


Mokuba wasn't sure what caused the…change in him. The return to his old self. Was it the woman who insisted that he call her Kiko, because her full name made her feel old? Was it the fact that Seto seemed more at ease these days, more open and more amicable than usual?

He knew what was going on. Seto hadn't hired Yoshimi Akiko to play intern, though she took to the role without complaint, and would have fooled pretty much any other kid; Seto had hired her to keep an eye on…things. Seto was worried, and he'd gone about fixing the situation with his usual tact.

Well…usual wasn't the right word.

But Mokuba knew his brother's handiwork when he saw it. He'd taken a look at a digital copy of Akiko's résumé on Kaiba-Corp's servers one day, a document Seto had made no effort whatsoever to hide. She was a social worker under Big Kristine; there was no shortage of traumatized kids at the Children's Home. Of course he would look for a solution there.

Part of Mokuba wanted to be offended, but he couldn't muster enough pessimism. Akiko was smart, patient, and probably the nicest person Seto had ever hired. And he would have been a boldfaced liar if he pled ignorance to the fact that she was stunningly pretty.

Someone else might have cried foul, gone up to Seto and said, "I'm not a baby anymore. I don't need an adult breathing down my neck all the time. What am I, four?" But Mokuba wasn't that sort of someone. Instead, he took a trip to Kaiba-Corp one day after school, waited for Roland to go into his brother's office—they were in on this together; they always were—and sauntered in himself.

"Hey."

Seto, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "Hey, kid."

"I just wanted to let you know you don't need to wait for the other shoe to drop. I'm not gonna terrorize my new babysitter. I like her." He waited a beat and added, "I'm sorry for making you worry."

Pointedly ignoring the stunned guilt on Roland's face, Mokuba turned around and left for the break-room.

Halfway to the elevator, he heard his brother start to laugh.


4.


Whether it was Akiko, Seto, both or neither, something made Mokuba step in the next time he happened across a group of older kids harassing Connor Brinkley.

Outside this time, in the courtyard at lunch. Connor was one of those kids who brought an actual lunchbox to school, and although it didn't have a cartoon character on it, it still made him seem even younger than he obviously was. For his part, Mokuba had started using plastic freezer bags. Seto claimed it was tacky, but Mokuba did it anyway. Rebellion for the sake of personal expression? Maybe.

He was holding his pack by the loop of fabric at the top, swinging it in a wide arc at his side, thinking that the day was going rather well. Then he saw Connor, with his bright red lunchbox and his bright red face, halfway to crying and trying to fade into the wall as a group of about four kids cornered him. Nobody said anything, because the hierarchy of the playground still held sway.

Mokuba had never been one to care about social tradition, and this time he remembered that.

"…Can't tell me, dressed all fancy like that, your mom don't give you an allowance." One boy flicked at the collar of Connor's polo shirt. "You're Grade-A suburban white boy, kiddo. Can't pull no poor act with us."

"You entered into this agreement, remember?" another boy put in, placing a not-exactly-friendly hand on Connor's shoulder. "How are we supposed to protect you from bullies without…restitution?"

Mokuba would have been lying if he'd said that a spasm of fear took hold of him at the idea of…doing what he would usually do, but he muscled it down and strode forward. Faces kept popping up in his head: Seto's, Akiko's, Joey's, Miss Lorwell's. A bunch of others.

He was a Kaiba. He was better than this.

Mokuba strode forward. "Hey, guys!" he called out. "Having a secret meeting?" He made a point to be as loud as possible. "Can I join? Do you guys have a secret handshake? Hey! Aren't we not s'posed to touch people without permission? You're so hardcore, touching younger boys like that. I don't know what those public service announcements are talking about. I think sexual harassment is awesome!"

He thrust out a hand toward the one nearest him, who looked like he might be the leader. "Mokuba Kaiba! Nice to meetcha!"

One of the others, standing near the back, whispered "…Kaiba…"

Mokuba gave a dazzling smile, like he was practicing for a photo shoot, and continued to hold out his hand. He heard someone else, someone who sounded suspiciously like Rebecca Hawkins, call out from the sidelines: "Oh, my god! That's Mokuba Kaiba!"

The reaction rippled through the entire courtyard, and pretty soon a veritable sea of eyes were watching Mokuba, Connor, and the restitution squad. Connor looked confused, but the bullies were so off-put that they looked like feral animals.

"I don't like bullies," Mokuba said, his voice suddenly low and ominous, his smile gone. "I don't like opportunists. But more than anything else…I don't like liars. So why don't you crawl under a rock, before I get angry?"

The boy to whom he directed the not-so-covert threat took a step forward, seeming to grow taller as he leveled an unreadable stare on the young Kaiba. "…What'd you say?"

Mokuba stared back, placidly. "I think I said fuck off."

"Do you knowwho I am, kid?"

"Nope. Sure don't. Which is kind of sad, since I know a lot of people in this city. You must not be very important. Now go away. Your stupid face is making me lose my appetite."

Laughter, slow and poisonous, began to radiate through the observers. The group of older boys seemed to finally notice that other people were watching, and that their deadliest enemy had begun to surface: disregard. Nobody was taken in by their act anymore. One turned a glance back at Connor, only to find that he—like nearly everyone else—was watching Mokuba, an awestruck little grin on his face.

Mokuba knew he'd won. He gave a jaunty little wave. "Bye, now."

They skulked away, defeated. They tried turning deadly glares back at the young Kaiba, who was no longer paying attention. He had turned to face Connor, who said, "…Are you…crazy?"

Mokuba shrugged. "Prob'ly. Connor, right? C'mon, let's find a table. I'm hungry."


END.


At this point, I really don't know what I originally planned for this event. I didn't know how Connor and Mokuba were actually going to meet. I spent a stupidly long time trying to work out the kinks, and it's still taken until about a week ago to finally hit on something. I think it fits with their characters. I won't deny that the bully thing is…easy. But then, small kids who are good at school get bullied. That's just…something that tends to happen.

So yeah, maybe it's cliché. I like to think that it's also believable, and relatable.

This will be the last chapter of this arc set in the past. Starting next time, we'll be fast-forwarding back into the "present" timeline. The rest of this season, so to speak, will be devoted to finishing up the Matt story.

My creative partner has been waiting a long, long time for this.

Hopefully, it will match up with her, and your, expectations.

See you then.