Sometimes people will talk about real life getting in the way of things. I'm sure I've done it any number of times, considering how long it's been since I've managed to update anything.

The truth is, real life has kicked my ass in a number of ways over the past few years. Oh, sure, I had ideas on how things would go as I transitioned from being in my late 20s to my early 30s, but I wasn't prepared for this.

However, let it never be said that I am not stubborn.

I will not be conquered.

If the Kaibas have taught me anything over the years I've written this story, it's that.

And for that, I will always be thankful.


1.


Seto heard it first, by virtue of the fact that he was conscious. It was well past three in the morning, and the elder Kaiba had already resolved to push past fatigue and wait until "next time" to go to bed. It was long established that Seto always woke up at 4 AM, regardless of how little sleep he'd actually gotten. It was such an ingrained habit that he couldn't have broken it if he'd wanted to.

And he didn't honestly want to.

Seto ignored the sound, loud as it was. It wasn't specifically a conscious decision on his part. Despite his complete and utter inability to fall unconscious, he was not what anyone would have mistaken for awake. His every action, from checking his phone to tinkering with his Duel Disk to checking his phone to tweaking the volume on his computer to checking his freaking phone again okay it was time to put the stupid thing in a drawer this was getting ridiculous—

"Niisamaaaaa . . ."

Had Seto been in any fit state, he would have heard his brother's footsteps long before the boy announced himself. "Yes, Mokuba?" he asked. Quiet, measured. Careful. Always best to let Mokuba believe he didn't need sleep, or else he simply woke up more smoothly than any human being had a right to, rather than allow his words to slur.

"There's a noise outsiiiiiiiiiiide . . ."

Mokuba came slumping into view, leaning against the doorframe of his brother's study and looking every bit like an animated feather duster. He blinked owlishly, grumbled to himself, then turned away when the sound came again. Mokuba pointed—at what, Seto couldn't hazard a guess— and pouted.

"See? Told you so."

"I didn't say I didn't believe you."

"You said it with your face."

"I think you'll find that everything I say necessitates the use of my face."

"I'll necessitate you. What is it? What's that noise?"

"I haven't the faintest."

"You're s'posed to know everything."

Seto winked. "Truly, a momentous occasion. Chisel this day into the annals of history, for we have finally uncovered a heretofore unseen truth that sits beyond my lofty purview."

Mokuba blinked at his brother. "I'm not awake enough for about sixty percent of those words, so I'm just gonna figure you insulted me."

"Astute of you, little brother. Well done."

Mokuba stuck out his tongue. "I'm gonna go see what it is."

Seto watched the young Kaiba stumble back into the hallway and made a few decisive keystrokes as he turned his attention back to his work. Atop his frankly unhealthy number of Excel spreadsheets—only half of which were for Kaiba-Corp in any capacity whatsoever—he watched his brother make a laborious trek through the house.

Every square inch of the Kaiba Estate was covered by Seto's private, personalized, hand-wrought security system; it had taken two years to build. The only spaces not covered by cameras were the restrooms, Mokuba's bedroom, and Mokuba's outside studio. Seto's general paranoia and need for control did not extend to forcing his little brother to live in a house where he couldn't have privacy. As much as the darker subset of his imagination insisted that Mokuba was going to run into trouble one of these days specifically because their home security had blind spots, Seto refused to submit.

Nonetheless, he watched.

He supposed he worried that Mokuba might hurt himself.

There was no need to worry about the boy's safety on account of outside interference; Seto could see Roland making his early-morning rounds on several of the outside feeds. It was the idea of Mokuba hurting himself because he was half-asleep that worried Seto.

. . . Wasn't it?

Seto heaved a sigh, shook his head, and made a few more decisive keystrokes.

"November the 12th," he said, once sure that he was recording. "3:26 AM. Still convinced that the interloper will stage a breakout and extract revenge on me personally." Seto wondered if it counted as superstition that he refused to say Matthew Kerns's name out loud. "May be avoiding sleep specifically to ensure that I won't have that damned dream again." He paused. "Dreams."

He wasn't sure why he'd finally decided to take Akiko's advice and start recording his various musings. Though, to be fair, what she'd actually said was that he should keep a diary. But this was a diary. Wasn't it?

He supposed it wasn't, considering how many of these recordings he'd already deleted.

He'd kept the important ones.

That was enough.

"Kerns. Von Schroeder. Crawford. Ishtar. The Big Five." Seto growled low in his throat. Mokuba had put on his slippers—the Blue-Eyes ones, from Renie's fan store—and had begun to explore the backyard. Seto watched his brother for a while. He could feel his heartrate slow. "They insist on coming back to me. I would be so lucky as to have perfect recall. I expect I'd have trouble remembering half of their faces by now, otherwise. I'm weak. I'm slipping. I got blindsided by an idiot kid with a chip on his shoulder. The next time someone competent sets their sights on him . . ."

No. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it in good faith.

What had Akiko said? No negative affirmations.

". . . I'll handle it. I'm the best suited to handle it. I'm a fucking superhero." He chuckled to himself. How often did Mokuba say that? "Take care where you tread, for here there be dragons."

Seto stopped the recording, feeling suitably dramatic and satisfied. Mokuba had stopped. He was kneeling near the garage, where Seto kept various piles of scrap metal, timber, and other odds and ends for personal projects.

He watched as Mokuba dug into a pocket, and moments later Seto's phone rang.

"Report, soldier," Seto said.

"It's a cat!" Mokuba declared. Seto blinked. "A little kitty-cat, all alone and lonely. Hey, there. Hi. What are you doing out here? Awww. C'mere, little fella. It's not safe here. I see you've got your defenses all worked out. Nice barricade. But it won't do any good when the Fire Nation attacks."

Seto opened his mouth, then closed it.

He smiled.

"This will be interesting."


2.


The kitten was, perhaps, a month old. Slate-grey with glassy green eyes. Small, compact, it had a certain dignity despite a general roughness and various bits of debris sticking to its coat, which Mokuba picked at as he cradled the little thing in the crook of one arm.

Then again, perhaps dignity was giving the little thing a touch too much credit.

It mewed incessantly, a light but insistent alarm, as though it were trying its very hardest to reprimand them. "A thousand pardons, Messers Kaiba," it might be saying, "but your hospitality is not up to snuff, and I am quite cross."

"His coat's so glossy," Mokuba said, smiling up at Seto. "What kind is he?"

Seto hummed low in his throat. "Russian Blue," he eventually said. "Intelligent. Athletic. Skittish at first. Loyal, given time and attention." Mokuba didn't look as surprised as he might have, given Seto had never shown or professed any particular interest in or affinity for cat breeds; rather, the elder Kaiba had made his career out of knowing a little bit of everything.

"Russian Blue," Mokuba repeated. He plucked a bit of cobweb from the kitten's ear. The kitten, irrespective of Mokuba's gentle treatment, began to bite at his fingers; not hard, but not particularly gently either. Mokuba looked at Seto and quirked an eyebrow. "He's purring. I think he's playing."

Seto smirked. "I already know what you're going to ask. Do you already know what I'm going to ask?"

"I'll take care of him, Niisama. I'll make all the promises."

Seto rolled his eyes. "Well, all right, then. Let's get you both inside. We have some shopping to do in the morning." He ignored, quite pointedly, Mokuba's excited giggling as he followed his brother back into the house. As Roland fell into step beside him, Seto said: "They're hypoallergenic, but make a point of going over the house staff's medical records for allergies. Just to be thorough."

"Of course, Master Kaiba."

"I'd put thought to getting him a dog, for protection. This isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Things rarely turn out the way we anticipate, Master Kaiba." Roland glanced over his shoulder. "It would seem, judging by the ease with which this little one can be coaxed to, ah, attack. Perhaps we could simply throw him at an attacker and let him do the work."

Seto laughed.

"You're not throwing my cat at people," Mokuba said, and neither man had to look to know he was pouting. "He's gonna be an inside cat. They live longer. He'll be a spy. I'm gonna teach him all the secret passages."

"There are no secret passages, Young Master."

"You would think that."

Roland raised an eyebrow, then looked at Seto. "Sir. Do I need to request updated blueprints?"

"How old are the ones you have?"

Roland sighed. "Right, then. I'll look into it."


3.


Mokuba refused to name his new companion at first. He would, when necessary, use a variety of different nicknames instead, most of which he'd picked up from Seto. Imp was one of his favorites, although Goblin also came up rather often. He also liked Stormcloud quite a bit. But none of these seemed to satisfy him enough to make final.

"It's important to take this kind of stuff seriously," he would say, if pressed. "Sure, you can get a litter box and catnip and toys and look through a whole bunch of reviews for wet and dry food or whatever, but that's all basically universal. Y'know, unless you've got one with diet problems or whatever. You can find a good vet, you can get them their shots, all that stuff is important to do as soon as you can. But a name . . . you have to choose a name carefully. That's the one that needs to take time. It's unique. It's personal. It lasts forever."

The newest member of the Kaiba family thus remained nameless for several weeks.

"Is this, like, an emotional support thing?" Joey Wheeler asked Seto one afternoon, as they both unwrapped Magic & Wizards booster packs in the Mutous' living room.

Joey's recovery was going smoothly, but he was still in hardly any kind of shape to return to life as he knew it. Most days he would wake up, make the laborious way to breakfast, rest, head out to the shop's main floor to take up vigil behind the cash register for a couple of hours, rest again, have dinner, then make the laborious way to bed.

Living with the Mutous had been an agreed-upon solution to a multitude of problems, and so far it seemed to be going well.

"Not in so many words," said Seto. "Mokuba found him and wanted to keep him. He isn't micro-chipped, he had no collar. I called our nearest neighbors. None of them even own cats, much less one that gave birth recently."

"Would'a pegged you for a pure-bred kinda type. Y'know. Best money can buy."

"There are too many animals already without homes."

Joey smirked. "Yeah. Guess you got somethin' there. So what, y'all gonna get the little dude all dolled up and whatever?"

"And whatever," Seto replied with a slight up-tick of his lips.

"Y'ain't worried about the kid losin' interest?"

"Not particularly. Even if he does, a cat is easy enough to look after. I'm hardly in a position to worry about vet visits." Joey laughed, which caused him to wince.

"Fuck!" Joey drew in a slow, easy breath. "You'd think an idiot like me, on the streets for, what, forty percent of my 'formative years,' would've dealt with a gut full o' lead before." He shook his head. "Nope. Tell you what, rich boy, this shit ain't a vacation."

"I've done enough research on the subject to have an idea," Seto said. "While my own luck has won out so far . . . I am under no impression that I'll stay blameless forever. One of these days, I figure someone will get a lucky shot."

"You're just a bucket full o' sunshine, ain'tcha?"

"More of a cauldron," Seto said, stone-faced. "I'm so bubbly, after all."

Joey bit at his lip as he strained against his own body. It shook with suppressed mirth, even so. "You . . . are an asshole."

"Aren't I, though." Seto paused. "You'll be on the mend for a year, at least."

"Yeah. Doc said somethin' like that." Joey grumbled. "Kinda surprised nobody's come after me with a bill yet. Or at least hounded me for insurance. Or whatever. I dunno." He quirked an eyebrow at Seto. "Don't s'pose you'd know why that is."

"Saint Claire's doesn't bill its patients," Seto said. "It runs on donations."

Joey blinked. "A place that big? How much does it cost to run?"

"$2.6 million or so."

"What? A year? A month?"

"A day."

Joey dropped his latest pack as his eyes fell out of their sockets. "'Scuse me?"

Seto smirked. "It's a popular hospital," he said. "For reasons I'm sure I don't have to explain."

"And it's all donations? All the doctors and the nurses and the janitors and all."

"Every cent."

Joey's eyes narrowed. ". . . How many of those cents come from you?"

"A truly unconscionable amount."

"What, can't count that high?"

"Not in this lifetime."

Joey seemed to take that answer in stride and glared at his lost pack. Said pack was now mocking him from the floor. Seto reached down, retrieved it, and set it back on the table. "You surprise me sometimes, y'know that?"

"I seem to surprise a lot of people."

"Man. If somebody'd told me, like, five years ago that I'd be sittin' here in Yugi's living room, swappin' cards with Seto goddamn Kaiba, talkin' about charity hospitals? I'd say they were bug-nuts."

"We've yet to swap any cards." Seto glanced down at the small pile of carefully-considered cards on his side of the table. He plucked one up and slid it over to Joey's side. "Here."

Joey snickered, then performed the same ritual.

Seto picked up the offered card and examined it. "'Maiden with Eyes of Blue.'" He did the faintest of double-takes. "This is . . ."

"Thought ya might like that one." Joey plucked up his new card. "'Red-Eyes Baby Dragon'? What the . . . oh, shit yeah."

Seto inclined his head with the faintest of smiles. "Likewise."


4.


Any time that was not taken up by school or Kaiba-Corp, Mokuba spent in his room with his new charge. If Seto had any lingering worries about his brother not taking the responsibility of a pet seriously, they were quickly and resoundingly banished. Mokuba doted on his new friend, taking to heart every piece of advice on kitten corralling he'd managed to scrounge up.

Watching Mokuba so absorbed in something (other than trauma) was soothing.

It made everything seem like it really would fall into place again. Like maybe life without him really was possible. Seto found himself wondering who he even was anymore. Which ghost from the past still echoed in the vastness of his memory?

"I have entirely too many of those."

"If I didn't know any better," said Akiko Yoshimi, "I would think you collect them."

She had a clipboard.

"I might, for all that." Seto grunted. "They keep cropping up. Every major event in my life seems haunted. My mother. My father. My predecessor." He paused. "The pharaoh."

Akiko tilted her head. "Pharaoh?" she repeated.

"Given how much time you spend with Mokuba, I'm sure you've met Yugi Mutou at least once by now."

"I have. So far, he's the only member of Bocchan's social circle who wasn't surprised by my job."

Seto chuckled. "That sounds like him." He drew in a breath. Steadied himself. Squared his shoulders . . . as much as he could, leaned back in his desk chair as he was. "Have you seen him in the arena? From the old tournaments. Battle City. Duelist Kingdom. KC Grand Prix."

Akiko frowned. "I have . . . ?"

"Surely you will have noticed how he seems to . . . shift. He isn't even the same person. He's a firestorm."

"It's always struck me as remarkably similar to the transformations you invoke." Akiko smiled. "No one would mistake the . . . eccentric visionary at the helm of Kaiba-Corp for the wolf in leather that comes out whenever Bocchan calls your name."

"Mm. Wolf in leather. That's a new one." Seto grunted, sat up straighter. "Yugi used to call him 'Other Me.' I won't pretend to know how much, or even what, that means. Regardless, I always called him 'the pharaoh.' We had a . . . tumultuous relationship, he and I. And it's always seemed entirely separate from whatever I have going on with the Yugi Mutou of today."

"Has anyone ever told you that you speak in riddles?"

"Probably."

Akiko scratched something onto a sheet of paper, holding her pen like a weapon. "You might just have a few trauma responses of your own, Seto-sama."

Seto sputtered with sudden laughter. "I'm nothing but trauma responses."

At this precise moment, the kitten came waddling into the room, its little tail propped up in the air as it explored. Yowling as though offering some kind of report, it wandered around for a while before sneaking under Seto's desk.

They both watched as the tiny animal climbed up Seto's leg and hopped onto his desk. This done, it promptly flopped atop a pile of sketches and reference photos. Seto had been going over notes when he and Akiko had begun their impromptu therapy session.

Akiko covered her mouth with her clipboard, but her grin could be seen reflected in her eyes.

Mokuba came in next, looking flustered. "There you are, you sneaky little sausage!"

Seto blinked. "What . . . did you call him?"

"Look at him! All sprawled out! Like a sausage!"

"Mrrbl," said the kitten.

Mokuba crossed his arms and started tapping one foot like an impatient father in a 1960's cartoon. "Don't you back-sass me. Side dishes can't talk, no matter how fuzzy they are."

Akiko leaned closer to Seto's desk. "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

Mokuba came stomping up to them, without waiting for an answer.

The kitten promptly got up, scampered across the desk, and climbed up Seto's arm. As Mokuba made indignant noises of protest, his new pet sprawled out again, in between Seto's neck and his chair, and began to purr loudly enough to reverberate through the room.

Seto, his eyes sparkling, grinned at his brother.

"Breakfast is mine."

"Rrrrrrrrow?" said Sausage.