Trying to come back to a normal chapter after spending so long on the last arc was a strange thing. I have been meaning to … not rush to the end, exactly? But keep to a stronger schedule, at the very least. So the fact that I have been flagrantly unable to focus on anything for the past … ever … well. Anyway.

Let's just get into it.

Enjoy your stay, and remember to take the little soaps and shampoo bottles. We just throw them out otherwise.


1.


"A phone call for you, sir. A Mister Leonidas Brinkley."

Seto blinked. "Leonidas . . . ?"

"Sir?"

"Put it through," Seto said, feeling somewhat mystified. He tapped through a few commands on his keyboard with one hand, before eventually shaking his head again and leaning back in his chair. Whatever this conversation would end up entailing, some part of him told the rest of him that it would require his full attention. He had a feeling he knew what this would be about.

Eventually, he stood up and strode out to the center of his office.

The voice of Connor's father came through a moment later: "Mister Kaiba?"

Seto frowned. "I thought your name was Leonard."

"It is. I panicked. I thought maybe it would be better if I sounded more impressive."

Seto snorted, then cleared his throat. "And your solution was to impersonate a king. Excellent. Well, then. What can I do for you, sire?"

Leonard chuckled. Then coughed. "I just . . . wanted to talk to you a moment about . . . well, about the incident."

Seto didn't have to ask for clarification. He glanced out the window on his west wall and contemplated the horizon line. He ran through an infinitude of possible responses to such a declaration, before finally settling on: "I'm listening."

Not his most diplomatic moment.

Leonard didn't seem to mind. "It's just that . . . well, I'm not sure how to say this diplomatically, so I apologize ahead of time if this is rude. But . . . well, Mokuba was rather forthcoming, if you take my meaning, about the things you and he have been through over the years."

Seto stiffened, but didn't respond. He didn't trust himself to respond, so he waited.

"And, again, forgive me. But . . . well, it definitely seems as though you have much more experience. With, um . . . trauma, that is. As a parent."

Seto's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Connor."

"Yes. Could you . . . do you think . . . that we could . . . talk about this? We could really use your help."

Seto drew in a deep breath. Steadied himself. "Of course."

"Thank you, Mister Kaiba. Thank you so much. You know . . . Connor really looks up to you. You and Mokuba both. You've been . . . you've been really good for him. But he . . . he needs help, and we're not sure if we're going to be able to . . . to provide it this time."

Seto found himself smiling, but his expression stiffened quickly.

"I'll do whatever I have to," Seto said, rather more grimly than he had intended. After a moment of contemplation, he added: "We take care of our own."

There was an extended pause.

". . . You definitely do. Thank you again, Mister Kaiba."

"There's no need to thank me. But . . . you're welcome."


2.


Leonard Augustus Brinkley had spent half of his life all done and buttoned-up. His entire professional wardrobe consisted of sport coats and ties. There were days when he felt like every sitcom dad cliché, and the main reason he absolutely refused to have anything to do with golf was because it felt like his last holdout. The day he put on a visor and hit the links was the day he would watch his spirit wither and die.

It struck him, as he met Seto Kaiba in daylight for the first time, that despite years and years of experience, Leonard would never wear a suit as easily and naturally as this man did. On Leonard, a three-piece was often nothing so much as a prison uniform. He often felt confined.

On Seto, it looked like battle armor.

The look on his face matched the stone-cut severity of the rest of him. But as he took a seat in the Brinkleys' front room and nodded to both Leonard and Enid in turn, he manufactured something lighter. It was like watching a performer switch masks.

"Thank you for coming," Enid said.

Seto nodded. "Of course."

"I don't suppose we have to go into much detail about why we asked for your help," Leonard said, taking hold of his wife's hand. "Honestly, I have a sneaking suspicion that we don't have to go into any detail at all, because I've had a theory for a while that you can read all the details about a situation that you could ever need just by looking at someone's eyes." He gestured vaguely. "Like there's a little miniature stenographer in your head just transcribing everyone's thoughts."

Seto quirked an eyebrow, then smirked. "You're not far off."

Enid squeezed the hand holding hers. "He's been pretty . . . confined lately. Quiet. I mean, we're somewhat used to that, of course."

"Connor's always been pretty quiet. Reserved, you might say."

"But right now, given . . . what happened, we can't help but be concerned."

"He's been so much more outgoing lately. So to see him slip back into his old habits . . ."

"We're just worried."

Seto took this in, silent and contemplative. His eyes moved quickly, like he was calculating something. If half of what Leonard had heard about this man was true, he surely was. People didn't call Seto Kaiba a genius to get in his good graces.

If ever there were a man who epitomized the phrase "Flattery will get you nowhere," it was this one.

". . . He blames himself," Seto eventually said. "Matthew is his cousin. He is the reason Mokuba was exposed to Matthew in the first place. Every incident between Matthew and Mokuba occurred because he wasn't strong enough or brave enough to put a stop to it. And that all culminated in landing one of Mokuba's friends in the Emergency Room."

Enid's face looked as scandalized as Leonard's felt.

"But . . ." Enid started, then stopped.

"Mokuba is strong, brave, sharp. He takes charge. He's never caught off guard." Seto's voice had a certain timbre of pride, and he didn't seem particularly conscious of it. Nonetheless, his eyes gleamed. "To Connor, Mokuba represents everything he wishes he could be. And if only he were, everything that happened would have been prevented."

"He thinks he failed," Enid murmured.

Seto nodded. "Precisely."

"If anyone failed in this entire mess," Leonard muttered to himself, "we did. We're the adults. We're supposed to be the ones to handle this." He looked Seto in the eye. "They're supposed to worry about exams and what game they'll have to play in PE and whether or not Susan Crutchfield will invite them to her birthday party next weekend."

"If she doesn't," Seto replied dryly, "she's surely an idiot. You don't snub a Kaiba."

Leonard snickered. "Point taken."

Enid smiled, but it looked hollow. "So what do we do?"

Seto frowned, rubbed at his chin, and eventually nodded to himself. "We do what we can." He squared his shoulders. "Mokuba has been having . . . a bit of a time himself with this. He puts on a brave face, because that's what he's learned from me. But I know better. Knowing, however, doesn't solve the problem." He stood up. "So, I propose a deal."

Enid and Leonard shared a look before, eventually, rising from their own seats.

"If the two of you will agree to speak with Mokuba," Seto said, "and let him know that this whole affair also wasn't his fault . . . then I will speak to Connor and do the same." He raised an eyebrow. "And, if it comes down to it, I'll introduce you to Akiko Yoshimi. She's a trained social worker on my house staff." He winked.

Leonard chuckled in spite of himself. ". . . Of course you have a therapist on call."

"One can never be too prepared."

Enid smiled. "Thank you, Seto."

Seto held out a hand, and only grunted quietly when met with a hug instead of a handshake.

Twice.

"You're welcome," he said, looking more than a little embarrassed.


3.


Connor Brinkley looked like a kicked puppy, and Seto's first instinct—which he obeyed—was to sit down. He didn't want the poor boy to have to look up at him. Normally, Seto wouldn't have been caught dead sitting on someone's lawn, but this was a special circumstance. Connor hadn't wanted anyone in his bedroom.

Seto didn't bother to ask why.

"Um . . ." Connor shuffled and eventually sat on his porch. "I . . . I don't . . . well. Hi." He waved, blushing lightly. "You wanted to t-talk to me?"

Seto grunted. He reached out and plucked a blade of grass between two fingers. "Mokuba hasn't said anything," he said, choosing his words very carefully, "and I suspect that he won't. He's reaching that age, and I'm sure you've found yourself in the same boat, where privacy takes precedent over comfort." He smirked. "Then again, perhaps comfort isn't what I offer anymore."

Connor stared at Seto like he was some kind of wild animal he'd never seen before. "Huh?"

"You're having trouble, aren't you?"

Connor flinched. ". . . O-Oh." He looked away, toyed with his shirt. "I mean . . . I guess. Yeah."

"You don't have to tell me anything," Seto said. He felt a similar kind of . . . rush, a burst of adrenaline, as to the sort that he'd always felt jolt through his heart whenever he entered the dueling arena. This, too, was a battle. One he had promised to win.

Seto grunted again, shaking his head and reprimanding himself.

Stop that. You're supposed to be past that.

"But all the same, given that I've taken it upon myself to help my brother even when he doesn't ask, or want, me to do it . . . here I am." He glanced over. "You wish you'd been braver." Connor flinched again. "You wish you'd been faster. Stronger. You wish you'd said something. Done something. Someone got hurt, someone almost died, because you froze. Because you were too weak. Too scared. Too worthless." Seto paused, another calculated decision, as tears sprung unconsciously to Connor Brinkley's eyes.

". . . Y-Yeah."

Seto nodded. "I know that voice. I know those arguments. I hear them every day of my life."

Connor frowned. "Really?"

Seto nodded gravely. "I'm not going to impart upon you some perfect wisdom that will make everything better." He grimaced. "Much as I wish I could, it's not that simple. It's never that simple." He turned, and looked Connor in the eye. "But I can tell you this. That voice, telling you everything you did wrong? Telling you how you could have done better, how this all could have been avoided, how everything would have worked out if not for you? It's not the voice of reason. It's not a voice you should listen to. Trust me on that, okay? Please. Don't listen to it."

". . . Do you listen to that voice?"

Seto found a chuckle. "Yes. Yes, I do. But that doesn't mean I should. And it doesn't mean you should."

Connor offered a quaint little smile. "I do stuff I shouldn't. Even when I know I should. I guess I always figured, y'know, part of being an adult was . . . not doing that anymore."

Seto shook his head. "More experience gives you more knowledge, and more knowledge helps you maintain better discipline, and that discipline helps you to keep yourself on the right path. But it doesn't always work." He looked up at the sky, and saw a face he'd thought he'd buried. "Sometimes I think I know that better than anyone."

A moment passed in silence.

". . . Mokuba says you're a superhero."

Seto chuckled. "Yes. I'm sure he does."

"You don't agree with him, huh?"

"Not in the slightest."

Connor frowned studiously. "So maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. You're not as great as he says you are, but you're not as bad as you say you are."

Seto blinked, then quirked an eyebrow at the boy. ". . . Well put," he said eventually.

"So maybe . . . maybe the same is true for me." He looked hopeful. "I'm not as brave as Mom and Dad say I am. But I'm also not as much of a coward as I say I am."

Seto finally stood up, brushed off his slacks, and stepped over to Connor. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "In this case," he said slowly, "I'm more inclined to believe your parents. You didn't run. You didn't crumble. You stood by my brother's side, and you survived."

"The only reason I didn't run is 'cuz I was too scared to move."

Seto chuckled. "I'm sure. But I'll let you in on a secret, Young Master Brinkley: anyone who stares down the barrel of a gun and tells you they aren't scared? They're lying."

Connor bit at his lip, and blinked a few times. Eventually, he nodded. ". . . Y-Yeah. Okay."

Seto squeezed Connor's shoulder and took a step back. "You stood strong. You didn't break. You're a smart boy, Connor. You know you're not being fair to yourself when you call yourself a coward. Consider this permission to listen to that part of yourself. Let yourself down easy. And this is coming from me. I've made a hobby out of hating people. It's practically a sport."

Connor put on a smile that was much closer to a Kaiba's smirk than Seto would have ever expected from him, and it was at this moment that Seto knew his work for the day was done.

"I don't believe you. You don't hate anybody. You love too much, is the problem."

Seto blinked, then scowled, then shrugged.

"See? I told you. Smart."

He turned, and started away. He wasn't going to offer anything else of substance here. His work, such as it stood, was done for the day. He lifted up an arm.

"Hey. Mister Kaiba?"

Seto stopped.

". . . Thanks."


4.


Seto very obstinately stared at the screen in front of him, and pretended not to notice his brother giving him a very suspicious look from the doorway. Mokuba had long since stopped attempting to be diplomatic when he decided that he needed to talk about something, and Seto was often torn between being exasperated and proud because of it; mostly proud.

"Connor's mom and dad talked to me after school today," the young Kaiba said, stepping into the room. "Connor talked to me at lunch." He had a thunderous scowl on his face; or, at least, as thunderous as he could manage. Which, Seto mused quietly, was getting more and more impressive. "All about how they'd been thinking about stuff, and how they wanted to make sure I knew it wasn't my fault."

Seto considered being flippant. He considered pretending that he didn't know what Mokuba was driving at. He decided against this tack, and instead leaned back in his chair and studied his brother as the boy marched about the room.

"I do hope you aren't going to pretend like you don't know why I did what I did." Seto quirked an eyebrow. "I very seriously considered letting you two hash this out on your own. It seemed like a valuable life lesson. Potentially. But when I start getting phone calls at work, the option of letting things lie has a tendency to slide off the table."

Mokuba looked confused, and newly suspicious.

"Who?"

"His father, specifically." Seto waved a dismissive hand. "I offered up advice. Nothing more. I didn't try to guilt-trip anyone. I didn't yell at anyone. I just . . . talked. More than I normally would have, but . . . well, this is a special circumstance, now, isn't it?"

". . . I guess." Mokuba shrugged. He shuffled his feet around. "Do you . . . do you think he'll be okay?"

Seto drew in a breath, let it out. "He'll be fine, kid. He's strong. Stronger than he thinks he is. And besides. He has us to look after him, doesn't he?"

"If it were up to you, you'd adopt him right now, wouldn't you?"

"I've thought about it."

Mokuba grunted as he flopped onto a spare chair on the other side of Seto's office. This seemed to be as close to approval as he was going to offer. "Joey was complaining about how sore his everything is. I guess he's staying with Yugi right now. Makes it easier to get to work, I guess?"

Seto quirked an eyebrow. "He took a bullet to the gut. What is that old taskmaster having him do right now?"

Mokuba shrugged. "As little as possible. But you know Joey. He's stubborn, and worried about hospital bills." The boy chuckled. "He hasn't said anything. But Yugi's sure that's what he's thinking about."

Seto groaned, and lowered his head into one hand. "That . . . idiot."

Mokuba snorted. "Good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you about this."

"No, no. You don't. I have to talk to him, apparently. I won't have him jeopardizing his recovery. Not on my watch, and not on my dime. Jackass." Seto stood up. He pointed at his brother. "Keep your phone on tomorrow. I don't care about your school's policies. I want to hear anything you learn about his condition. I won't be able to get over there until 6. If anyone gives you grief, tell them you're on the clock."

Mokuba nodded. "Aye-aye, Niisama."

Seto glanced at his screen. "Speaking of clocks, it's almost midnight. Get to bed."

"Not 'til you do," Mokuba said flatly.

"Oh-ho. We're playing this game again, are we?" Seto's eyes narrowed.

Mokuba met his brother's glare with false innocence. "You get up earlier than I do. You're only going to get 4 hours of sleep at best. A Kaiba only accepts the best. If I'm too tired for my math quiz tomorrow morning, it'll be all your fault."

Seto rolled his eyes. "Go. Brush your teeth."

"Are you gonna brush your teeth?"

"Are you going to keep badgering me if I don't?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just passionate about dental hygiene."

"Uh-huh. That explains the cotton candy floss."

"You do know it's not actually made from cotton candy."

"You're still here? Go."

Mokuba stuck out his tongue, but rose from his seat and made to leave.

Seto rolled his eyes again.

"Hey, Niisama?" the boy called a moment later from the hallway.

"Hm."

"Thanks. I love you."

Seto smirked. ". . . Love you, too, kiddo."