This is one of the longest single things I've written in a while. It's not the longest chapter I've ever written, but I'm rather pleased with it.
I don't know if this is the conclusion I anticipated when I started this story, but … y'know, I think it works.
1.
Just having the Kaibas there increased foot traffic in the Domino Children's Home. Some visitors were there for autographs, some to ask for details on Kaiba-Corp's next projects, but a majority of the people who came to see them were there to help; and during the orphanage's annual toy drive, this meant that plenty of people showed up with any number of trophies. From soccer balls to doll houses to game consoles, the donations had seen a definite uptick in both quantity and quality since Seto had taken over.
Mokuba spent the morning helping the residents to set up their new prizes, and eventually got roped into an impromptu kickball tournament both to test out the ball and several pairs of new sneakers.
Meanwhile, Seto greeted visitors and handled the business of receipts, which eventually turned into a signing event as more and more people asked him to sign their game cases and Duel Disks and some of their favorite cards. This he did with no hesitation or complaint, as it was just part of the tradition by now. Kristine and Daniel, freed from some of their administrative tasks, kept the place moving and ensuring that nobody was left waiting for long.
It was a fine-tuned machine.
"You know, Niisama," Mokuba said at one point that morning, "the Brinkleys are religious. They might be going to church tonight. Y'know. 'Cuz of Christmas."
"I'll find some way to survive," Seto muttered. "Just because I'm a bitter Atheist doesn't mean I'll actually catch fire if I set foot in a church."
"Are you sure? Have you tried? That feels like something we should have tried by now."
"Admittedly, I haven't set up a legitimate test of the theory. I'd need a control group at the very least. I wonder if I could get hold of some volunteers." Seto rubbed at his chin. He handed over a receipt to an elderly man who'd brought in a dozen basketballs. "Thank you for coming," Seto offered in a warm, sincere, but entirely manufactured voice as he shook the man's hand. "Your generosity is a credit to the season."
The man walked away with a soft little smile on his face.
"I always forget you have a customer service voice," Mokuba said.
"It's a useful skill." Seto rolled his shoulders. "Everyone should learn one."
"Even me?"
"You don't need it. You already exude customer service energy."
"Is that a compliment? I can't tell."
Seto chuckled to himself, and didn't answer.
The rest of the morning was spent with the children, playing their new games and listening to their new stories. The Kaibas spent a half-hour with Kristine and Daniel, going over upcoming events; and, in Mokuba's case, interrogating them about Pegasus Crawford.
"He really does seem to be here in good faith," said Kristine. "He hasn't caused any trouble. The men he brings with him, bodyguards perhaps? They could do with an attitude adjustment, I think. But give the devil his due, Mister Crawford has been . . . perfectly pleasant."
"I've actually talked to him about his guards," Daniel put in. "I must cede to his credit, he gave them a rather stern lecture last time about how to act around children. 'It doesn't matter if you actually like them or not,' he said. 'What matters is that they think you do. If they smile at you, smile back. If they wave, wave back. If they speak, speak back. It's basic decorum. I didn't figure on having to teach you the bare minimum when it comes to manners. I'm hardly qualified.'"
"Those were his exact words . . . ?" Seto asked.
"Yup." Daniel nodded emphatically. "I thought it was pretty good, so I wrote it down. Didn't want to forget it. Honestly, a lot of our fosters could do with that lesson sometimes. These kids aren't stupid. They can see through most masks. You have to at least be willing to put in some honest effort at decency if you want any of them to take you seriously."
Seto smirked. "True."
"You saw through a lot," Daniel said, pointing at Seto. "No patience for fakery, was our young Seto-kun. I think that's why that speech stuck with me. It sounded like something you would have said."
"I suppose I've no recourse but to call that a compliment," Seto said with a shrug. "What do you think, Mokuba? Is there cause for concern?"
". . . I guess not," Mokuba grumbled. He seemed thoroughly miserable to have found that there wasn't good reason to kick the president of Industrial Illusions into the sun. Seto supposed he couldn't blame him.
Kristine smiled broadly. "I think I know how you feel, little one."
Mokuba grunted and kicked at the ground. "Stupid jerk, bein' all nice. I reserve the right to loathe you!"
Kristine turned her gaze, full of fondness and warmth, on Seto. "He really is yours."
Seto rolled his eyes. "I do believe business is concluded for now. By your leave, Madam Director, we have a . . . prior engagement."
"Oh?"
"My friend's family invited us to their house!" Mokuba announced. "We're gonna see how long Niisama can socialize like a person before something ruptures in his brain!"
"As you can see, his faith in me is indomitable. Just like always."
Kristine's smile widened. "Good for you. It's good to have somewhere to go on a day like this."
She paused for a moment, then added:
"You deserve that. Both of you."
2.
Mokuba was surprised at how . . . reserved his brother had opted to dress for the occasion. A simple three-piece suit, all in black, with mirror-polished shoes. His tie was crimson. He pinned a tiny sprig of holly to his lapel in deference to the holiday. Mokuba chose to wear his best jeans, and a muted blue sweater over his t-shirt.
"I cleaned my shoes 'cuz they were dirty," Mokuba said, before his brother could comment on just how blisteringly white his sneakers were, "not to show off. Don't look at me like that."
Seto remained silent on the matter.
They arrived at the Brinkleys' about fifteen minutes after the clock struck noon, Seto with a platter of baklava and Mokuba with a variety of his brother's cookies. The best of the lot, naturally. Seto was very particular about his presentation, and only the best specimens were chosen for this event.
Any stray pieces of broken baklava or misshapen cookies were left at home, to wallow in shame until they were quite contentedly devoured by either Mokuba or the house staff. Seto had already tested enough of his own baking to fill his dessert quota for the next three years.
Enid Brinkley answered the door, resplendent in a gleefully cheesy Christmas sweater, and practically squealed when she saw them. "Thank you so much for coming! And with such a splendid offering!"
"I have come," said Seto, deadpan and blank-faced, "to inflict diabetes upon your family."
"Too late for some of us, I'm afraid," Enid said, smiling a bit sadly.
"Ah." Seto gestured to a pile of cookies on Mokuba's platter, which had been wrapped in their own bit of plastic. "These here are sugar-free."
"Really, now?" Enid looked impressed. "Well done, good sir. Well done." She ushered them inside. "Come in, come in! Just go ahead and set those down any-old-where. Thank you again! Connor! Honey, the Kaibas are here!" And she was gone, bustling about the house as her newest guests set their platters on the living room table.
The house was already filled with people, milling about the living room and kitchen, and absolutely none of them were familiar. Thus, Seto simply greeted people when greeted, and Mokuba followed his brother's example. Once the general pleasantries were dealt with, the elder Kaiba picked a spot against the wall, underneath an ornate analogue clock, and stood there, as casual and easy as if he intended to stay there for the next six months. Mokuba sat down on the couch, with a designated polite distance between himself and a middle-aged man wearing an Oakland Raiders sweater.
A moment later, Connor came rushing into the room, eyes sparkling, and practically vaulted over the couch to tackle Mokuba. "Mokuba! Hi!" Mokuba's face split in a grin as he returned his friend's embrace. "Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas," Mokuba replied, patting Connor's back.
Connor settled himself and turned to wave emphatically at Seto. "Merry Christmas, Coach!"
Seto smiled and inclined his head. "Merry Christmas, Connor."
"Coach?" The man in the Raiders sweater looked over. "You playing sports now, Connor?"
"Not quite." Connor gestured. "This is my uncle Jeremy." He flashed a grin. "I'm in my school's dueling club! The Riverside Wyverns!"
Uncle Jeremy looked confused and a little frightened. ". . . Dueling club?"
Seto reached into his jacket and retrieved a dueling deck. "Cards," he said, "not pistols."
Comprehension dawned on Uncle Jeremy's face. "Ooooh! Dueling! Okay. That makes more sense. I ought to have expected that." He chuckled to himself. "I don't come here to Domino often, but I see enough. You gonna be on the pro circuit? Are we gonna see you on TV with all them fancy holograms?"
Connor shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe?"
"Definitely," Mokuba cut in. "We have a strong team, and the higher brackets on every league are televised. Watch out next year. We'll be famous."
"You're already famous," Connor said, elbowing Mokuba's arm.
"Yeah, but not as a wyvern."
Uncle Jeremy was grinning fit to split, and he ruffled Connor's hair. Then he seemed to realize something, and turned a surprised eye to Seto. "Did you really design all those holograms yourself?"
Seto, no stranger to being recognized, shook his head. "I designed the initial, prototype holograms for test runs and my original Duel Disk. Those were only ever used privately. We have an art team dedicated to building new holograms for commercial release."
"Do the Riverside Wyverns have uniforms?"
Seto quirked an eyebrow. "No. But now that you mention it . . . that's a good idea."
"We should have team t-shirts!" Mokuba declared.
"Oooh," said Connor. "Could we do that?"
"Certainly," Seto said. "We'll have to figure out a design. But once that's done, it won't take long at all. I'll have to mark that down as one of our major tasks." He chuckled to himself. "I should have thought of that."
Uncle Jeremy looked rather pleased with himself, and he patted Connor on the back. Far from the confused, borderline offended reaction that Seto and Mokuba might have expected from a sports fan, he seemed almost giddy at the idea of his nephew playing cards on a team.
In fact, the Kaibas quickly realized that everyone Connor told about his new affiliation as a wyvern was not only accepting of the concept, but excited about it. He received many congratulations and atta-boys, and both brothers quickly felt . . . acclimated to the atmosphere of the place.
Seto asked Enid about it, once he got her attention.
"Oh," she said, chuckling to herself, "that's to be expected. We're a pretty close-knit band, you know, and Connor's always been so shy. This is the first time he's had somebody to invite to the holiday celebration, and I think it's just . . . well, it's exciting to see him branching out. You know? Opening up. Finding people to bond with."
"I see. Well, that's . . . excellent."
Leo, who was crossing the room with an unconscionably large bowl of tortilla chips, laughed. "Isn't it? He's been talking about Rebecca and Aisha and Huan and Lee for weeks now. I don't know what it is about you two, but you're like a lucky charm! Ever since you showed up, he's been having a much better time at school, and . . . well, that was always something we worried about."
Seto smiled privately to himself. "We take care of our own," he said.
"You certainly do!"
3.
About an hour into the visit, Seto met Connor's grandfather—Enid's father—Landon Boulter. He was a severe man, tall and slim, dressed in pinstripes, and he looked like he'd trimmed his beard with a ruler. His slate-grey hair was parted to one side and combed carefully back. He must have been in his late 60s or early 70s, and there was something about the way he carried himself that reminded Seto of Roland.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.
"You would be Seto Kaiba, I daresay?" were his first words of greeting, along with an outstretched hand. Seto shook it.
"I am. I'm less than surprised to find that you know me. I'm left on the wrong foot, though. What is your name, if I may?"
There was a certain cadence to the man's speech that Seto recognized. He was being tested. Landon Boulter seemed to be the sort of person used to strict control, something Seto understood well, and he was likely to be critical of anything new entering into his family's circle. Seto was, in Landon's estimation, new. Therefore, he must be investigated.
Interrogated.
Landon quickly offered his name. The first step, it seemed, had been completed. Seto had long since grown entirely too tired of proving himself to old men, but he found himself at a loss for what else he could do right now, other than play the game. He was in someone else's home, by their invitation. He could hardly cause a scene, nor could he leave.
And then, as immediately as if a switch had been thrown, Landon broke into a beaming grin. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kaiba."
Seto, wrong-footed again, had to compose himself before he literally stumbled back a step. He cleared his throat and bowed his head. "The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Mister Boulter."
It was just another platitude, another step in the dance, but Seto wasn't so sure about that anymore. He shook his head, trying to toss these thoughts out of his mind. Just because the man was dressed in a suit didn't make him an adversary. Just because he was three times Seto's age didn't make him an adversary.
"I've heard plenty of stories about your brother and yourself," Landon said. "It would seem that young Mokuba has made quite the impression on Connor. And with him, you as well." Landon nodded to himself, looking rather satisfied with something Seto couldn't pinpoint. "Good, good. He's had a hard time . . . getting along, you know. It's good to see him thrive."
"The most random of circumstances can lead one's life in an entirely new direction," Seto said, thinking of Yugi Mutou. "Mokuba has never had an easy time of connecting with his own peers. This journey has been good for the both of them."
Landon nodded amiably.
Enid passed by and put a hand on her father's arm. "I do hope you're behaving yourself, Pop."
"Arguably," said Landon.
"You would find it much more likely," Seto put in, "to find me behaving poorly in a situation like this. However, I am managing to contain my eternal rage and awkwardness so far."
Enid grinned. "To the grateful relief of us all."
Landon's shoulders vibrated as laughter funneled through his entire body.
"By the way, Seto," Enid said, "those lemon cookies? Exquisite."
Seto winked. "Thank you kindly."
"Oh, did you bring those?" Landon looked surprised.
"I did," Seto said. "A recipe passed down from my grandmother, as I understand it."
Landon squinted at him. "The CEO of a multi-national corporation not only has time to attend a holiday party, but to bake as well? Are we absolutely certain you're human?"
"Not even a little bit," Seto said. "I'm at least half-convinced I'm an android. In any case, all major operations are currently on hold until the new year. I realized at some point that the majority of people schedule their vacations for this point in the year. Trying to keep things running became more of a headache than it was worth."
Landon laughed again, this time much more loudly and openly.
If there was a test to be had here, Seto was reasonably sure that he'd passed it.
4.
Mokuba quickly charmed his way through the entire extended Brinkley-Boulter family. Young and old, everyone became convinced that he was the most charming little devil they'd ever met, and Connor seemed both surprised and completely unsurprised by this development. Seto didn't bother to reflect on this.
If social interaction was a game, Mokuba had far outplayed Seto in almost every way possible; not the least reason being that he was only subconsciously aware that he was playing a game at all. He was entirely, consciously, earnest about making a good impression on Connor's family. If there was a part of the young Kaiba that was subtly maneuvering things such that these strangers' collective opinion of him was optimal as possible, it was well beneath the surface.
Seto was neither naïve nor stubborn enough anymore to believe otherwise.
Uncle Jeremy loved him; Aunt Gerdie loved him; Kelly and Abe loved him. Seto thought he remembered a similar phenomenon having taken place with Connor's parents. Mokuba was just . . . like that. You couldn't help but get roped into his infectious optimism.
He laughed and joined in on the jokes as everyone watched their traditional Christmas movie, The Replacements together—and told them, quite proudly, about the time he had gotten Keanu Reeves's autograph at a convention.
"Wait, really?" Connor asked, mystified.
"Yeah!" Mokuba looked more than a little proud of himself.
More than a few people turned to Seto for confirmation; Seto nodded silently. He didn't remember much about that particular convention; he'd stayed awake for 76 hours and had been one bad decision away from dunking his head into a bathtub of coffee by the time they'd gone home.
But he did remember how excited Mokuba had been about getting a movie star's autograph.
The Brinkleys and their extended family didn't have a traditional meal in a smoky dining room, the sort of thing that the Kaibas might hold for their house staff for example. Rather, they all migrated to the backyard, where Enid and Leo had set up a couple of picnic tables, and would eat there.
Enid had a record player set up outside, and had a number of albums selected for their evening meal. Leo had strung up lamps throughout the yard. Conversations continued throughout the entire event as everyone moved dishes and platters and glasses and pitchers of drinks.
Connor's other grandfather—Leo's father, Lincoln—was the mirror image of his maternal counterpart. Where Landon was graceful and quiet, Lincoln was boisterous and effervescent. He arrived later in the afternoon and spent most of his time dancing around the different rooms in the house, livening up the entire place. He looked like Santa Claus, with a fluffy white beard and a prominent belly, and he'd embraced that fact in his attire: he was decked out in a red suit with white lining. His polished and buckled boots were particularly impressive.
Lincoln was also excited to meet the Kaibas. He shook Seto's hand hard enough to muss his hair, and laughed longest and loudest at Mokuba's jokes and stories.
He was also the first to sense it when trouble arrived.
Lincoln was telling Uncle Jeremy about a college football game he'd attended one moment, a grin on his face so wide that it looked like his face was about to break in half; the next moment, his jovial aura soured immediately, and he was scowling. He turned and walked into the kitchen, where Leo was gathering up several 2-liters of soda; his stride was swift, heavy, and antithetical to his bouncy, child-like gait from before.
"We have an issue," he said.
Leo, sensing his father's shift in tone, was on guard immediately. He set the soda aside. "What is it."
Lincoln tilted his head in the direction of the living room. "Latecomers. Of the Gareth and Nadine variety."
Leo's face blanched. ". . . Damn it."
Lincoln nodded. "Defcon 2?" he asked.
"Probably."
"Want I should run interference, boy-o?"
"No, no, that's . . . fine. Thanks, Dad, but I think I've got this. Go warn Enid, won't you?"
"Roger."
5.
Gareth Boulter and Nadine Kerns had never been the most popular of people in their family. They had always been accepted, naturally, because they were family. And in the Boulter-Brinkley circle, that was more than enough to allow them a place at the table. Family was family. There was never, and would never be, an argument against that.
But everyone knew about the incident with Matt. Like Enid had said, this was a close-knit group. As soon as the barest inkling of trouble was known to one of them, it was known to all of them. As Leo and Enid were heading for the living room, formulating what they might say, everyone else was already on the defensive.
Connor sequestered himself in his room; Mokuba joined him.
Connor's other cousins, Abe and Kelly, took up positions outside his door.
Everyone else waited, silently and dutifully, for the signal.
Leo stood at parade rest as Enid stepped up and hugged her brother. "I'm glad you made it, Gareth," she said, and it was even possible that she meant it; there was no telling. She also hugged Nadine, although the latter only offered a perfunctory, almost mocking pat to the back.
"They're here, aren't they." Nadine's voice was full of venom.
Enid ignored it; she put on a pleasant face. "You'll have to be more specific, hon."
"Them." Nadine's eyes narrowed to slits. "You honestly think I wouldn't be able to pick their car out of the street? That thing is probably worth a million dollars!"
"Seven-hundred thousand, actually."
Seto came into the room, hands behind his back. His face was slack, unreadable, but his eyes flared like bonfires. He radiated raw, cold danger. Lincoln and Landon, both seated, straightened unconsciously as they watched him pass.
Nadine practically spat. "You!"
"Can I help you?" Seto asked. His voice was low, unassuming. Calm and steady.
"How dare you stand here and act like . . . like . . . !"
"I was invited here personally," said Seto, and offered a deferential nod to Enid. "My apologies, Missus Brinkley. I meant not to intrude."
"No, no," Enid held up her hands. "Please. Go right ahead."
"After what you did to my son, you think you have the right to . . . !"
"I?" Seto quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon me, but I'm afraid I'm unsure what you mean. I have done nothing to your son." This was a lie, strictly speaking. Seto had held a gun to Matthew Kerns's face and made him wet himself. Seto had set an elite legal team after him. But Seto had a sneaking suspicion that this wouldn't matter.
This wasn't the argument Nadine Kerns was having.
"You ruined him! Thanks to you, he'll never have a chance at life!"
"I did what I deemed necessary to protect my child, their child," he gestured to the Brinkleys, "and my friend." There was still no malice in Seto's voice; he felt nothing in response to this woman's fury. Nadine seemed to find herself at a loss for words, and Seto decided to capitalize upon it. "If I thought I could have ensured their collective safety without legal action, then I would have. However, your son made it quite clear that I had no other recourse."
"The next time you want to worry about your child's welfare," Enid said coldly, "teach him not to play with firearms that aren't his. And while you're on the subject, teach him not to run away when he shoots someone."
6.
Gareth was resignedly, resolutely, silent. He watched as Nadine sputtered her way through a response, and meanwhile the other members of the family had started to move. He quickly realized what Nadine should have, and took a semi-conscious step back as though to distance himself from her.
Landon was the first to speak: "You need to leave, Nadine."
"Wha . . . ! I . . . ! You're in on this . . . !"
"No. I am here to enjoy a holiday with family. You, evidently, have come here to argue. I would not speak for everyone, but I will speak for myself: now is neither the time nor place." He turned his severe, soldier's eyes on his son. "I would have expected better from you, Gareth."
"P-Pop . . . this . . . this isn't . . . you have to understand . . ."
"What I understand is what your sister and brother-in-law have told me. That is enough."
"So you'll believe them but not us?!" Nadine demanded.
"Yes."
"This is not a matter of differing opinion," Seto said quietly. "There is the truth. One side is right. The other is wrong." He eyed Matthew's parents with something mutely resembling disgust. "Your son sent a friend of mine to the hospital. Your son pointed a loaded revolver at his own flesh and blood. Your son fled the scene, leaving an innocent man to bleed out on the sidewalk. You don't get to feel indignant."
"He's right," said Lincoln. "It's the season of giving, and forgiveness. And you two are family. That means you're welcome here. But this attitude isn't. There are children here, Nadine. And one of them had a firearm pointed at his face no more than a month ago. Do you know what that does to a person?"
"I do," said Landon.
"I do," said Seto.
"I do," said Uncle Jeremy.
Nadine was grinding her teeth. "You've all bought into this. You seriously expect me to believe that some gutter punk is the innocent one in this?! You expect me to believe my son, my flesh and my blood, would just fire a gun for no reason?!"
Someone knocked on the door.
Enid pointedly walked past her brother, ignoring Nadine entirely, to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Yo," came a familiar voice. "I'm the gutter punk. Did I come at a bad time?"
7.
Joey Wheeler stood on the porch, holding a number of gifts under one arm and his cane in the other hand. He offered a lopsided little grin. "Hi-hi," he offered. "Bit of a problem goin' on? I could come back later."
"Nonsense." Enid put a hand on Joey's shoulder and led him inside. "Come in, come in."
Joey may or may not have exaggerated how difficult it was for him to walk as he passed by Matthew's parents. He nodded to them. "Y'all seem friendly." He set the gifts he'd brought onto the living room table and stood over next to Seto. "Hey-hey, Coach. Feliz Navidad." He grinned. "You called me your friend."
"Were you listening at the door?"
"A bit."
"Have you no shame whatsoever?"
"Not really, no."
Seto rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine, friend. Write it down. We'll add it to the list of celebratory events for midwinter." He looked around at the others in the room. Nadine looked as though she'd short-circuited. "If you would please excuse me, I think I'll check on the children."
Enid nodded. "Please do."
Joey fell into step beside Seto, and Seto unconsciously slowed his pace to accommodate him.
They heard Enid behind them: "You can convince yourselves that Matthew is blameless if it makes you feel any better. It won't do you, or him, any favors. The truth is, he made a horrible mistake, and he's lucky that this is all he got. If you can accept that, and promise not to make a scene, then you're welcome to eat with us. Dinner is almost ready. If not, then please find somewhere else to spend your evening."
By the time they reached Connor's bedroom, the sound of the front door opening, and slamming shut, seemed to mark the end of everything.
8.
"Well, that could have gone worse."
Joey had taken great pains to put together a plate that wouldn't offend his stomach as everyone gathered beneath the lamps outside and listened to a Rod Stewart Christmas album. He was currently tucking into a small mountain of mashed potatoes. He had seated himself next to Connor, who was cutting into a ham steak with surgical precision.
"Did they just show up to yell?" Connor asked.
"So it would seem," said Landon. He nodded at Seto; Seto nodded back. "Honestly, I'm surprised she didn't put up more of a fight. I imagine she would have gone on quite a bit longer if someone had started yelling back."
Lincoln was chortling. "Nothing takes the steam out of somebody faster than having nobody to match volume with." He held up his drink, a mug of root beer, in salute. "Well played!" he called at Seto. "Most impressive work, good sir!"
"My thanks, Master Claus," said Seto. Lincoln threw his head back and laughed.
Seto smiled.
"Do you think they'll be okay?" Connor asked.
"I'm sure they will, dear," Aunt Gerdie said. "They're just not sure what to do. It's a hard place to be in. It'll work out. That's what this season is about, isn't it? Hope for the future. We're all here, we have some new faces this year, and everybody's had a good time. Isn't that right?"
A soft chorus of affirmation went up around the tables.
"That's right!" Uncle Jeremy said. "And Connor's going to be famous!"
Connor blushed and tried to hide behind his glass of milk. Everyone laughed, and Enid rubbed her son's shoulder as if in solidarity. Leo ruffled his hair.
Mokuba grinned. "Absolutely he's gonna be famous," he said, with complete conviction.
"Just you wait," Seto announced. "My wyverns will touch the sky next year. The next generation of dueling is forging forward, and my students bear the torch." He held up his drink. "To the future!" he called.
"To the future!"
