Chapter Two: Showing Hands
Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh, nor do I claim rights to any of the affiliated characters. Any brands you may recognize in this chapter do not belong to me, they are the full legal property of their respective owners, who are in no way sponsoring me as an author, or this story, which remains entirely non-profit.
Warnings/Notes: Rated for mild profanity, reference to violence and bodily injury, and mind games in general. There is specific mention of vomiting in his chapter, if that is offensive or triggering for you, skip or skim the majority of writing after the third line break (not including the one before the actual story starts.) Be advised that the rating may change as the story progresses.
The devil moved a lock of matted hair across his cheek, out of his line of vision. On impulse Mokuba squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to breathe. Pegasus smelled faintly of musk and strawberries, his body unusually warm against younger's, which had been deprived of any real heat for days. In the frenzy of being torn from Seto he had barely noticed the ache rising in his bones.
"Let me go." He whispered as his captor pressed him firmly into a Victorian armchair. The child shuddered at his touch, not daring to open his eyes even as he heard muffled footsteps draw the elder a few paces away. Looking into Crawford's eyes was like seeing into his own deepest, most secret thoughts, things he had buried long ago beneath fairytales and funerals.
Pegasus hummed absently as he approached again, "Give me your hands." He instructed sternly, and despite the anxiety mounting in his gut, Mokuba opened one eye first and then the other. The creator's tall frame towered in front of him, unmoving, waiting expectantly for him to wriggle his hands out from under his thighs and present them to be bound.
Cobalt eyes flashed from the rope in his captor's hand to the door he knew set just beyond Pegasus, and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, he threw himself up from the chair, overturning it in his haste, and rammed into the man. "Get away from me!" He cried, rearing back and stumbling passed the chair before taking a chance at outrunning his captor from the left, where the millennium eye had taken over any real vision.
"Ah, ah, ah." Mokuba had expected Pegasus to lunge for him, knee pinning him to the ground on his stomach while hands bent his arms behind his back. But the suited man stood, unfazed, in the center of the room.
Fear had propelled him this far but his hands were failing him now. They fumbled with the doorknob as Pegasus laughed from behind. Out of his peripheral vision, Mokuba watched the man's right hand rise to about ear level, but he was too panicked to worry about what he might be doing. He thrust the door open with trembling fingers and pushed off with one foot into the corridor, where two guards adorned in black suits and sunglasses grabbed him roughly by each arm.
He flailed in their hold, spastic, disoriented by fear and defeat. "Get off me!" He screeched as Pegasus gripped the back of his neck firmly and tossed him back into the chair.
"You really shouldn't have done that." The younger guard had already brought the definitive coarseness of rope against Mokuba's skin when the older, less nimble one began to unravel his length.
"Please!" He begged, "Please help me, please don't do this." They pulled the rope taut against his skin, leaving it red and irritated as he jerked against the arms of the chair in protest.
"Take his shoes off, and his socks." Pegasus instructed, pulling up an executive leather desk chair for himself and crossing his legs complacently, "Now tie his feet together at the ankles." He sipped a glass of wine that sat on the oak table in the room and casually pushed himself forward. With two fingers he motioned the guards to lift Mokuba to the opposite side of him and tuck him in close.
The boy continued to sob loudly, unable to gather any shred of peace. "Shh." Pegasus crooned lowly, taking another taste of wine before propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together, "Listen very closely." He advised, waiting for the boy to meet his eyes, "This is important." Brown met blue, two orbs cutting like the rope that bound his limbs, and Pegasus smiled just a little too sweetly. "Wonderful." Mokuba swallowed thickly, breaths heaving in his chest as he tried to ward off sobs.
He gestured to the guard on either side of Mokuba briefly, "I want the two of you to pay a visit to Mr. Seto Kaiba and give him this," He withdrew a small vial of liquid from his pocket, "from Mokuba."
As the nearly empty room carried Mokuba's screams in endless circles, the two men turned and were gone.
"You've been with Mr. Crawford a few years, right Makoto?" He braved a glance at his graying companion.
"Yeah." He replied gruffly, "And?"
The younger twirled a loose thread in his pocket around his finger, building his nerve, "How much does he pay you for this?"
The elder stopped a few paces ahead of his partner, pressing the vial into the other's hand and forcibly closing his fingers around it. "Not enough."
"Hush Mokuba." Until now Pegasus had never called the boy by his name, his intent in doing so was obvious a few moments later, "The more you cooperate the easier you'll make it on your brother."
Across from him Mokuba sucked in a breath and held it, the only defense he could muster against tears swelling inside. "Okay." He mumbled, pursing his lips once the word had left them, as if relaxing might signal the floodgates to open with no way to shut them again.
"I want to play a little game. Now don't get too excited, for you it'll be boring at best, but that's a necessary evil I'm afraid. I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them." He locked eyes with the other, who met his gaze in fleeting glances.
"Okay…"
"Oh and Mokuba," he paused to swirl the wine around the glass a few times before taking a drink.
"Yes?"
"If you lie, I'll know." The CEO's millennium eye glinted under the direct light fixture overhead. Mokuba nodded in understanding, his fingers flicking nervously against the arm of the chair as he prepared himself to be brave, for Seto.
"What is your name?"
"Mokuba Kaiba."
"How old are you?"
He almost sighed in annoyance, but managed to quell his growing anger, "Eleven."
"Do you make wishes on your birthday candles?"
The younger flushed, looking away sheepishly, "I'm too old for that." He countered.
"That's not what I asked you."
He paused a moment more, his stomach knotting tighter at the man's clipped, even tone, "yes," he admitted.
"Ah, wonderful," his transition from serious to silly was unnerving, Mokuba began to realize even before he continued that something was very wrong with Pegasus Crawford, something very unstable "At least one of you knows the heart of a child." He sipped the wine again, letting it settle on his lips for a moment before opening his mouth to accept the liquid. "Tell me sweetheart –" Mokuba shuddered involuntarily at the pet name, "How much do you hate me?"
They had locked eyes again, Pegasus's gaze fierce and unwavering against Mokuba's timid attempt to focus his attention on a small piece of peeling wallpaper in the corner. He jumped as Pegasus's sudden bout of laughter disturbed the stillness, but did not speak. Being the child of a Kaiba he knew when to bite his tongue, when to wait for the other person to finish even thoughts rather than words. And Pegasus's mind was turning, he could see it in his eyes – eye.
"Not ready to answer?" He gave a comical sort of 'hm' at the thought, "No matter, we'll save the best for last." The malice had slithered in and settled across the table again. Mokuba braced himself for the bruising words of a monster, "What is your birth name, Mokuba?"
The child blinked, "I'm not sure what you mean."
"What was your last name at birth, certainly not Kaiba?"
Mokuba sat slack jawed, as if he'd been struck, "I…I don't know."
Pegasus seemed unconvinced for a moment, his brows knitting together in focus, lips pulling together in a tight line across his face, "Really?" He feigned half-interest and pity, "Such a shame." He tutted quietly, wagging a finger at the child before folding his hands in front of him at a more comfortable angle.
Mokuba swallowed his anger, though he wished to know his mother and father outside of pictures; he would not give Pegasus the satisfaction of seeing him break. Instead he relaxed his body into the chair as if it was the most natural position in the world, and smiled.
"Seto tells me about them." Then, to be safe, he added, "sometimes."
Pegasus's confidence did not falter but he seemed genuinely miffed at Mokuba's newly acquired resolve, "Being that you don't know your real name," it was a biting, scathing comment, "I don't suppose you can tell me why he stuck with Kaiba Corp?"
Mokuba's smile only broadened as he relayed his brother's lines verbatim, "Recognition is good for business, even if markets have changed expansively, trust in a name is unspoken law among consumers."
Pegasus actually clapped, his demeanor gradually revealing his interest, "That was impressive; you're quite the parrot."
Mokuba bit back a scowl, "I try."
Pegasus almost choked on his own laughter, "Quite the parrot." He repeated, because the irony of Mokuba trying to match Seto's wit was too much, even for him.
"I am not." For a moment Mokuba had to force himself to remember it was not Seto across the table, playing up responsibilities like they were not meant for children.
"Well, prove me wrong." Pegasus tossed his hands out nonchalantly, "Why do people trust the familiar?"
"Because it gives them a sense of sameness with those who've followed the company in years past, it gives them more confidence as a buyer to support a company others have already invested in successfully."
The answer is strikingly businesslike for an eleven year old, he can't help but think, but he is also taken by the philosophical aspect that shows too much introspective to be a product of the elder Kaiba's influence.
"You dislike being compared to your beloved brother?" The question was almost as teasing as the preposterous suggestion it led to.
"I dislike only being seen as a child. I'm the vice president of a multi-million dollar corporation."
Pegasus chuckled, "Don't act so proud, kiddo." He taunted satirically, and for as long a moment as the other would allow, Mokuba avoided his eyes.
"You do realize that one day you'll be more than vice president. Sooner than you think, all of Kaiba Corp will be yours to do with whatever you please."
"If I ever get out of this hellhole." The younger reminded him, a pang of fear immediately filling his stomach in the face of his own audacity.
"Language." Pegasus scolded sternly, taking a long bamboo rod from the floor at his feet and swishing it against the child's bare feet.
"Ah." He cried, curling his toes in protest and wiggling to cope with the sting.
"Now don't throw a tantrum," the CEO paused to bend the rod in his hands, letting to go with a resounding 'thck' against Mokuba's still exposed skin, "I asked you a question."
He whined at the welts forming on the arches of his feet, feeling the full effect of the pain the more he reflexively tensed to ease it, "Of course I realize that…" He was not sure what Pegasus expected him to say.
"How do you feel about it?" He dropped the weapon and leaned into Mokuba, too close for comfort.
"It's a wonderful future." He decided in the moment, "I'll be financially stable, have great connections, I can't see how it would ever be a bad thing."
Pegasus smiled genuinely, reaching out to stroke Mokuba's cheek, running a thumb along his jawline absently, for all his harsh words and technicalities, the answer had shown him exactly what he wanted. Mokuba Kaiba was still a child with innocent, naïve thoughts of the future. Financially stable and socially rewarding, yes, but running a business came with expectations at every turn, sleepless nights of productivity and counter-productivity, isolation, sacrifice. He stood to full height, not daring to relay the reality of business in an ever advancing world.
He moved the large wood table back a few feet, with little effort, Mokuba noticed, and walked around it to crouch directly in front of his captive. The child trembled against his hands as they worked at the knotted rope, eventually freeing him from tight confinement to the armchair. Hesitating for a moment, Pegasus looked into his eyes, hand guiding his head upward, holding his gaze. Their breaths mingled, even after all this time, Mokuba's smelled faintly of chocolate.
"I want to go back with Seto." Please lingered in the child's eyes even though his voice had refused to encompass it.
Pegasus remained mostly still. He only moved his free hand to catch Mokuba's chaffing wrists, rubbing them soothingly while forcibly maintaining eye contact. He was relieved to realize that, deep down, Mokuba was still just as much a child as he had first assessed. He reflected briefly on the sharpness of tongue he had no doubt acquired from Seto, and nearly shook his head as he dismissed it from his mind. That trait was still fresh, he could fix it. His thumb stroked the child's cheek again, knowingly. He was so happy he could fix it.
"You're gonna kill him!" Tristan roared as Yugi offered words of encouragement over the other's voice.
"Take deep breaths." He kept pressing, wringing his hands against the bars.
Kaiba was beyond hearing him. He lurched forward into a rusting metal bucket, nearly spilling the putrid contents at the watchmen's feet. His stomach twisted so violently it solicited a spasm throughout his body, his elbows, once bent to either side of the bucket to support his weight, buckled and sent him fumbling gracelessly to the floor.
It had been forty five agonizing minutes since the two guards had drug him from the solitude of a stone box room and injected the ipecac syrup they failed multiple times to give him by mouth. When they had finished, the younger guard passed each captive three bottles of water and told them to "make it last." The elder, broader man still clutched Kaiba fiercely, pressing bottle after bottle of water into the teen's fingers, which quivered with anger, ordering him to drink.
At first he seemed unaffected and both men began to worry that they had done something wrong. The elder sat stone faced while the younger paced the short length of corridor, cursing under his breath. Their boss had always been a man of few words, they preferred him that way, but it would've been nice to have some clue of what to expect. As soon as the thought had happened upon them, it began.
Kaiba did his best to hide it at first, but there were obvious signs of discomfort. His body would grow suddenly rigid before he could will it to relax. His lips would purse tight, his expression contorting to one of pain and determination. Eventually the vomiting started, a brief, anti-climactic spell that produced no more than bile from the boy's empty stomach. Makoto released the CEO, scowling at the traces of vomit clinging to his pant leg, and quickly instructed his partner to find something to contain the mess.
"You alright?" Joey asked as Kaiba wiped his mouth disgustedly.
"Peachy." He shot back with an annoyed grunt. But his face continued to pale and within a few minutes his body was wracked with tremors. He was too stubborn to the let the puking come and be done with it, too ahead of the game to give Pegasus the satisfaction of a gradual surrender.
When Kyoshi failed to produce the object the elder was looking for, he swiftly moved to aid the search, "Stay with the brat if you can't do your job." He spat as he chanced rounding the corner with Kaiba at his back.
The younger frowned, tossing the object to the ground and standing side by side with the other to obstruct the path to potential freedom. "You think it's poison?"
Makoto sucked his bottom teeth tight against the top, "No." He answered after a silence too long for comfort, "Not his style."
But more than twenty minutes later, with the vomiting fast and frequent, he began to suspect he was wrong. "Jesus." He whispered, his eyes briefly scanning Kyoshi's face, "I think it's gone too far."
Kyoshi shook his head as slightly as possibly, trying to go unnoticed to the group in front of them, who in truth were too preoccupied by worry to care either way, "I don't think it's that serious."
"There's blood in that bucket."
Kyoshi swallowed thickly, concerned but not cunning or bold enough to bother his boss. "Ask him then." Arms still crossed over his chest, he pointed one finger to their uniform shirt pocket, which held a sleek black cell phone.
"You call him." The other countered, "You filled the syringe, you shoved the needle in."
"Couldn't have if hadn't held him down."
He looked from his partner to Kaiba's quickly weakening body, fighting for his nerve, "You gonna let him die like this?"
"If that's what the boss wants." The younger replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, "I got mouths to feed."
With one final scan of the room the elder turned his back to the scene and pulled the phone from his pocket, "You were made for this job, kid." And through the haze of anxiety and trepidation, he dialed.
"What?" He demanded, gripping Mokuba's forearm firmly.
"The kid's vomiting." Blood lingered somewhere in the static of the phone line, but he couldn't bring himself to say it for fear it would anger the man.
Pegasus sensed the room-halting fear of his presence on the other line, but it did not stop his venomous remarks, "Still?" He questioned edgily.
"For almost an hour now, sir."
"You idiot." He spat, "Give him a dose of Benadryl and add peppermint oil to his water. Call me if it doesn't stop." He snapped the phone shut without waiting for a reply, turned to Mokuba, and smiled, "We're gonna have to cut this short, sweetheart."
Medication stopped Kaiba's vomiting shortly after, but Pegasus left Mokuba in a locked room of duel monsters cards for nearly two further hours, taking to his tower in uninterrupted solitude. When at last he retrieved the boy – being sure to check with his guards that Seto was asleep – he was surprised to find him peeling paint off the walls in less-than-artistic shapes.
He led the boy back to the others slowly. It may have served a more immediate purpose to do so when the elder Kaiba was in shambles, sick, heaving, and exhausted, but by now he was becoming very annoyed with the constant yelling of the children. Hushed whispers and the occasional conversational tone he could handle, even enjoy. It was usually plotting or questioning that gave him the delightful thrill of hearing them squirm, imagining their faces and their desperate body language, but for almost two days his peace had been interrupted by their damned yelling. The entertaining novelty of it wore off fast.
"You have children Makoto." He left Kyoshi to lock Mokuba's cell and met the other gaze with daunting finality.
"Yes sir."
"Very good." He extended a plastic grocery bag to the other man, "I've decided to tweak your uniforms a bit." He continued, still gripping the handles as Makoto reached for them in confusion. After a moment of them both holding on, he let go. Makoto opened the bag and peered inside, expressionless. Two black leather belts glistened, "Being a father." His employer continued, "I'll expect the changes to aid you in keeping them quiet."
Kyoshi approached the two cautiously, not wanting to intrude but wanting even less to be face to face with the kids pacing quietly in their cells. He tried to avoid eye contact with Pegasus, but as was common with celebrities of his caliber, his energy drew attention almost magnetically.
"Took you long enough." The red suited man quickly inspected his newer employee, "You've got an announcement to make. If the keepsake want food they can eat it at the table like civilized human beings, fully guarded, no tricks." He paused, silently wishing for another glass of wine, "This is an all or nothing effort, dinner will be served on my terms at five thirty tomorrow evening. We can enjoy it together like a perfect little family, or they can have nothing until they gather enough sense to comply."
Yugi, still well within earshot of their conversation, felt he might be sick. Even as Pegasus turned on his heel to quit the room, he realized that this was the first of many battles they would face, even now. He was almost relieved that neither guard made immediate moves to tell the others, he did not have the heart or strength to do so either, not in the moment.
He was reeling from the sudden epiphany even before he met Ryou's knowing eyes, even before he was aware that Bakura had also heard. If they were going to prove they wouldn't back down, as he had so eagerly agreed to hours before, they would find themselves locked in a battle of survival, for food. He punched the wall in frustration, it wasn't much of a battle considering Pegasus would not go hungry.
The next few hours were full of tension and relief. Seto eventually woke to Mokuba, who was virtually unharmed save for his missing shoes and socks, which left him barefoot in the cold. The elder quickly removed his own garments and tossed them as close as he could manage, ordering that the younger take them. At first he stubbornly refused, but upon seeing Seto's usual unwillingness to relent, gratefully accepted them as his own.
"Should we let them do that?" Kyoshi whispered.
Makoto shrugged, "Still leaves one without shoes and one with shoes too big to warm his feet. Seems like a win-win to me." The two men put on their belts and relayed Pegasus's message, not wanting to lose valuable time for the teens to think it over.
Hours of arguing and several "warning snaps" of a belt from Makoto gave way to a final realization among the group of them.
They had two options. They could refuse Pegasus's offer or surrender the battle by accepting it. Ryou argued that persistence would only do them harm, weakening them physically and mentally the longer they went without food. But Seto was not the only one discontented with the idea of submitting so easily to the first stages of ownership Pegasus mentioned earlier.
As tradition would have it, it was Yugi who spoke the sickening, deciding truth.
They could deny the first offer, and the start of the first 'battle for control,' but sooner or later they had to eat.
Eventually, no matter how much they objected, Pegasus would get what he wanted.
"Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well."
Robert Louis Stevenson
Additional Notes: Reviews are greatly appreciated. The most frustrating part of this writing process is finding varying terms to refer to men. There are seven "main-ish" characters of male anatomy. SEVEN. (not to mention the primarily male supporting characters...) "He" just isn't going to cut it for this story lol. Anyway, thank you for reading.
