Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh, nor do I claim rights to any of the affiliated characters.

Warnings/Notes: A huge thank you to everyone supporting this story, you guys amaze me.


Chapter Nine: Identity


Three months into captivity they had no stronger inclination of his motive. From the day the spirit of the ring became a permanent fissure in their routine, there was only one thing they could say with certainty: something in Pegasus Crawford had changed.

When the scenery through the dining room windows became muted gray in the morning and a hopeless veil of darkness by dinner, he began to talk more. Sometimes he wove life lessons into innocent comments, picking at character flaws in varying degrees of intrusion. For a time, Seto managed to fool him with false memories he nurtured in the night, perfecting every notion of realism. As the others began to catch on, even that reprieve caved in around them. He did not need to explore their memories for the deepest secrets of their beings; he merely needed to examine the cards he had taken the first day of their ordeal.

When he had pacified them with superficial chatter about the weather, or an approaching holiday of gluttony called Thanksgiving, an uncomfortable character study inevitably followed. But as days put distance between their encounter with the apparition, kindness took root in him. He joked about Tea's picky eating, told Tristan and Bakura life was too short to spend fighting after an argument left them silent and conflicted. It was a slow descent into the mundane dynamic of a family, but they could feel it creeping up on them like humidity before a rainstorm.

As their walls began to bend, Pegasus's defense wavered in turn. He left them alone, unguarded, for a period he assured them would be brief, "I know you'll miss me dearly." He cooed, black cellphone clasped in his right hand, "But I'll be back in a New York minute." He seemed to enjoy taunting all but Seto with expressions they couldn't comprehend. It barely mattered as he turned on his heel and swept out of the eerily familiar stone room. Half of the group was left clinging to hope that the ring would appear to help break them free, the other half sat in turmoil, praying to be spared that atrocity.

"Why do I get the feeling he's off on business, and that it isn't paperwork or conference calls?" Joey slumped into a chair and tilted his head over the back, focusing hard on the ceiling.

"I know what you mean." Yugi replied, taking a seat beside him, "But I don't feel as nervous about it as I should." He admitted, somewhat concerned by the easing anxiety in his stomach.

"What he's doing doesn't matter until we're faced with it." Kaiba reminded them as he and Mokuba took their usual places around the table. "We need to deal with why we're here first, and the rest will come soon enough. He can't keep it a secret forever." The doubt surrounding him was more apparent than he had expected, but he continued anyway, "We need to know exactly what happened the night Pegasus took you back to his room, Bakura." In truth, Ryou had done nothing but dwell on the evening. He had fallen into Pegasus's arms after the struggle with the ring, and as time progressed, the events that followed became clearer and clearer.

"I've been trying to get my head around it for weeks. I'll tell you everything I remember, but to be honest I was so afraid at the time I couldn't think straight, I don't know how much happened and how much I invented."

As much as he disliked the answer, Kaiba could not ignore the image of his stepfather wielding a strap that sung through the air on its way to meet his flesh, it had been many years, but he remembered vulnerability. A shiver settled under his skin, and as he hardened his gaze to address Bakura, he felt a faint inclination of empathy.

"Just tell us everything." He decided, "Eventually it'll lead somewhere."

Ryou nodded in agreement, "To be brief, he did a lot of talking. Walking back the hall he told me what you've already heard. It would be okay, he would be right there and I wouldn't have to worry anymore. He said he could fix this, and he kept telling me not to cry. It's hard to explain to someone who's never experienced it, but I couldn't sleep, I needed to be awake and moving. He sat me down on a bed anyway, told me this wasn't my fault. He thought I was running from nightmares, that maybe holding me tight enough would keep them at bay, but I really just needed to be in control. That's how it's always been, staying awake, trying to be aware of the spirit suddenly stirring, thinking that if I can just push it down, and push it down, it won't eat me up inside."

Across from him, Yugi battled with thoughts of the spirit that used to share his body. He knew that struggle acutely during the first few days of Duelist Kingdom, and remembered every horrible detail of surrender. Some part of this intruder, of maybe some part of him, had clawed its way to the front of his mind. Until he was pushed out entirely. Until he was nothing.

"So you refused to sleep." Seto confirmed, "Did he push further?"

The other boy shook his head, "That's the strange part." His eyes drifted to the table in front of them for a moment, trying to piece together the details, "I told him I wanted to control the spirit but didn't know how. Until now I barely fought with it, or recalled it coming and going at all. I'm not proud of this, but I told him if he wanted the ring so badly he should take it and be done." He wiped a hand over his face, sitting up straighter and finally facing the group again, "He told me, word for word, that it didn't work that way. The item would be his, but whatever resided there had latched itself onto me and was feeding off my energy. He would help me fight for my freedom if I asked, but the best way to fend it off was to give it what it wanted. It's not your battle, he said, don't fight it. I still don't understand."

Tristan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "That spirit took over when Yugi was dueling Pegasus and tried to make off with Mokuba's body. It's looking for a shell so it can do whatever it wants with no resistance."

"Then why does it keep coming back to Bakura?" Tea asked worriedly.

"No idea." Tristan shrugged.

"It doesn't matter." Seto reminded them again, clearly agitated, "This means Pegasus only wants the items to keep them out of our reach. He told someone to send the ring off and keep an eye on it, probably so it won't find its way back to Bakura. If he's kept the two of you here for those things, he wouldn't let them go so easily. We're back to a strictly delusional lunatic. Did he keep up the "Daddy" routine?"

Ryou nodded, "With conviction, some part of me wanted to believe he challenged the spirit to protect me, that he'd keep protecting me."

"He wants to be a father, but why to us?" Mokuba reiterated slowly. "Maybe he's another Gozaburo and wants an heir to his company? He picked you because you know what you're doing, big bro."

Kaiba tussled Mokuba's hair at the compliment, but promptly shook his head, "Business and unnecessary complications don't mix. To begin with a company needs one heir, not seven. Anyway, he's fought tooth and nail for Kaiba Corp, he's not about to take the fun and humiliation out of stealing it by handing me Industrial Illusions."

"Maybe someone else wanted us to disappear." Joey suggested, "You and Yugi are the two top duelists in the world, and being runner-up in Duelist Kingdom, I could pose a threat too."

"Why would Pegasus do someone else's dirty work?" Tristan inquired, skeptical.

"Probably has something to do with him being a creep." Joey replied flatly.

"There's too much press coverage surrounding the tournament for him to think he could pull that off." Tristan put in, "Unless he was supposed to beat Yugi and it didn't work out. Was the final duel televised?"

"In the shadow realm?" Joey quipped, "Of course it wasn't televised."

"Shut up!" Kaiba snapped, "We don't have time to listen to you two bicker like a married couple, he drug this out too long for something like that. Maybe Pegasus isn't as calculating as I give him credit for, the incentive could be purely emotional."

"I doubt it." Ryou piped up, defeated, "The woman in the paintings didn't reject him. He's got photographs of their wedding in his bedroom." Yugi and Tea looked to one another in shock; they'd been too panicked during their time in Pegasus's suite to do more than wish they were somewhere else. Bakura had been collected enough to investigate, even after all that'd happened.

"You should've started with that." Kaiba chided, satisfaction passing over his eyes for a moment, "He has that woman in every room but we've never actually seen her."

"You don't think she's…" Yugi trailed off as if the final word were choking him.

"Dead?" Kaiba finished grimly. "Unfortunately for us, it's a distinct possibility."

"I don't get it, how does kidnapping us make him feel better?" Mokuba asked, turning his wide eyed gaze to Seto.

"She could've died in childbirth." He said, hands flicking nervously on the table.

"He doesn't have kids." Mokuba observed. "We'd know by now even if he'd been hiding them."

"Then complications during a pregnancy, miscarriage, a child born still. Even if he didn't lose his wife and child at the same time, it would make sense if – "

"Just stop." Tea interrupted, hands moving to mask the tears on her cheeks, "I can't do this. This isn't helping anything."

"We can at least reason with him." Joey reminded, squeezing her shoulder in comfort.

"What are we supposed to say?" She groaned, sniffling, "I'm sorry about your wife but she wouldn't want this? Keeping us here won't bring back your real family?"

"Something like that." Kaiba replied, eyes narrowing to hers.

She shrugged herself fiercely away from Joey's touch, "Well I'm not heartless enough to throw the man's dead wife and baby in his face – "

"He's been playing a game with our relatives, dead or alive, since we got here. Wake up!"

"I'm not gonna sit here and agree that stooping to his level is the answer! If we do this we're no better than him – "

"Tea." Yugi cut in calmly, holding a hand up to draw her attention, "I know you're upset, but talking to Pegasus isn't the same as attacking him. Therapists make a career out of talking people down in a crisis…what is this really about?" She blinked at him, more tears pooling behind her eyes and spilling down her face. Her hands had flown wildly about the space, crashing into the table and bruising two of her knuckles. She had been hysterical, and it could only get worse.

"I can't do this anymore." She sobbed, clenching both fists to stop herself from breaking down entirely, "I spend every spare moment in a room alone. I can't talk to you outside a few whispers between cartoons. That man has been the only person I've talked to for the better part of a month. I thought I could fake attachment long enough to get out, but I'm losing my grip on everything. Pegasus hasn't been cruel to me; I don't want to hurt him."

The room sat in stunned silence. None of them had considered how maddening it would be to spend their idle hours alone, having the comfort of a roommate; they forgot she had been left by herself. Maybe Pegasus had planned it that way, so this exact thing would happen and she would go running to him for companionship and comfort. Whether he had or he hadn't, she was not going to last much longer in solitude.

"Just keep yourself together. If we try to bring any of this up right now he'll get angry and it'll blow up in our faces. He has to trust us, at least a little, before we can find out if this is his only motive." As much as their hearts ached for Tea, her friends knew this was true.

"It'll get better." Yugi assured, "He'll let us do more things as a group and we'll be able to talk more. All we have to do is suggest something that makes it seem like we're playing along, a board game, a movie…being a family isn't acting for the five of us, we just have to refocus our conversations onto casual things. Until we can get through this, we just have to pretend everything's normal."

"Listen, Christmas is coming soon." Joey spoke up, "Just keep telling yourself we'll be home for the holiday. If you thought secret Santa was hard before, think what it'll be like when we're all scrambling for gifts at the last second."

The teens shared a smile, before they knew it they were collectively reminiscing as Mokuba chuckled in the background and Kaiba did his best not to scoff. As the CEO inwardly explored hundreds of possible reasons for their capture, he could not help but be angry with himself for not seeing this sooner. Beyond that, while he dissected the details of their future moves and conversations, he began to form a timeline of events, and as it stretched further and further, he wondered how many of the others would struggle to survive that long.


He cursed the keeper of the castle with every syllable of his tongue. Many hours he had lingered in darkness, seeking solace, lusting after freedom. His patience had been rewarded with light, sounds, and flesh, more than he could've hoped for. After suffering the ceaseless unknown, he had found some shred of meaning. In an instant the clever, deplorable man had robbed him of that. When the puzzle was broken, blackness crept in around him until he could not even imagine the structure of a room to contain himself. Seconds before, loyalty burned through every limb of his shapeless body, protective instincts flaring the more the child ignored his presence. He had been mere feet away, what had stopped the boy from coming? He did not know, and tried in every agonizing moment, not to care.

No matter how thoroughly he had earned his freedom, the outside world was gone again. As the slow drag of eternity stretched out, he succumbed to the existence he had known before release. A spirit of some five thousand years, strong and wise, fell into madness. He would not call this despair, because even in sloppy, uneven divides, his soul could recall the memories of Yugi Motou. Some small part of him treasured glimpses of humanity in happiness, nostalgia, and fear, because they were more than thoughts then. He could not feel them anymore than the anger he contrived from circumstance, but he could remember the faintest inkling of warmth, of an experience, that kept him from losing whoever he had become.

What's keeping you here? He heard the soft whisper before he could register her presence. Unlike him, she was a vision of flesh and sinew, a blonde woman with haunting eyes engulfed in the purple radiance of the lifeless.

Who are you? He demanded.

The woman blinked at him, quizzical and patient, at the moment that's irrelevant. She replied in a firm but dismissive tone, you've no reason to hide from me, I'm the last thing here that can hurt you.

I've nothing to hide.

Why have you come here?

I don't know. He answered honestly, hoping she might leave; I was brought forth from a puzzle by a boy named Yugi Motou, the owner of this house has taken him from me.

There was a pregnant pause as she turned her back to him. More than anything, even peace, she wanted to see her husband happy. This spirit was just a further reminder of the unimaginable extent to which Pegasus had lost his way. A family was one thing, she had felt a strange flicker of happiness at the mention of children, but she didn't truly want this. At least, she tried to convince herself she didn't.

No face or name of your own. She noted, a strange new edge to her voice, a bit like guilt, or maybe… You poor thing…this far gone and you can't rest?

I have never known rest. He admitted. Have you?

She gave a small turn of her head; I'm still waiting for someone.

Ah. A wave of understanding passed over them, and she knew he had her pinned down. Do you know Pegasus Crawford?

Yes, very well.

How can you watch this?

I could ask you the same question, I'm not the one keeping secrets. Who is Yugi Motou to you?

I don't know.

I won't pry for details, they make little difference. She conceded at last. The human body you're missing is just a vessel. Our permanent place in the universe still awaits us, and whether or not you admit it, you have a purpose here. If you want to know the blissful side of forever, you'll have to fulfill it first.

What purpose could you have here, letting children be brainwashed by the vessel you cling to? You're a self-righteous hypocrite.

You have every right to be hostile, but it won't get you anywhere. You must've done some horrible things to repress your own identity, but even saying that I gain nothing. You can strip us down to who we are and who we're loyal to, and no matter which one of us emerges the noble one, we're stuck in the same place.

I'm not here to learn the same things you are.

I never said you were. She smiled sadly in an attempt to be amicable; I just wanted to help you.

It doesn't make up for this.

She nodded solemnly in agreement, I know.

But you'll wait for him anyway, make excuses for this. You're a coward.

The man I married gave me the best of him. I am ashamed of what he's done, and loving who he is deep down makes me a villain, but I won't stop trying to reach him. You've given up on yourself and your companion. You're nothing more than a voice in your own realm of consciousness. It's easy to surrender when things are wrong, ugly, and hard. I could run from choices for fear I will make the wrong ones, but ultimately my husband deserves to love again. Outside of the relationship he's grieving, he deserves an identity, and so do you. The true cowards are the ones who are afraid to take chances, resigning themselves to the falsehood that one moment of euphoria is as good as it gets. Even when the goal is muddled and the players are wounded, the game is only over when someone stops trying.


Even walking the grounds Pegasus felt an ominous sense of unrest, but there was little time to investigate at the moment, "Do you know how many times I've given you an extension?" He hissed into the phone.

"P-Please sir, given the nature of the request the answer has been elusive."

"Is that so?" He mocked, "Well, that changes everything."

"There's a questionable lead from the village, but the source is a child and the details haven't been thoroughly – "

"Let me make myself very clear. I will have my answer before Christmas." He paused for a long glug of wine, etiquette flew out the window twenty minutes ago, "No, no, don't nod your head; I want to hear you say it."

The sputtering employee was only further unnerved by his boss's perception of his body language, "You'll have your answer before Christmas." He replied meekly.

He smiled, relaxing, "Very good." Snow flurries had begun to drift from the sky in fine, powdery gusts, and as he hurried away from their relentless assault, made sure to add, "I'll be in touch."

When he approached them, the children were laughing. He almost fell into the help. Holed up in a tiny stone room, they were doubled over imitating someone choke on Christmas dinner. Surprise became a swelling thrill in his gut, and when fear and concern tempted the edges of his subconscious, he assigned them to Seto and forgot them. He could not dwell on the nagging part of himself that said their comfort zone had expanded too quickly. He attributed it to their need for release, and let it go. He had waited months for this moment, for a glimpse of genuine happiness among them.

They regarded him curiously, story halted, analyzing. He waved them on and pulled up a seat, and it did not matter that it was dark, and dank, and cold. The youngest child giggled in slurring, high pitched squeals, and he was so enamored by the sound it became inconceivable that he could ever stop it. The place had been devoid of laughter since Cecelia's passing; it was a precious commodity. He wanted to scoop them up, find the sensitive areas on the bottoms of their feet or the crooks of their arms, and tickle until he could not tell one voice from another, and they had become enveloped in safe, sacred harmony.

He let them do as they pleased; eventually moving the assembly to the dining room where they could watch the snow drifts create mounds of white outside the windows. They talked with loud abandon, completely swept up in their stories. There were no whispers of tension or cunning, no sideways glances to the guards. Power plays seemingly forgotten by the endearing group, the captor delighted that trust between them was not far off.

They had finally stopped being afraid of change, he decided, surely they realized, as he had just then, that they could never want anything more than this.


As it came time to return to their rooms, Tristan couldn't help but notice the glow of togetherness shake from Tea's features. The door was heavier when he shoved it open that night and clambered into bed. Beside him, he could sense Ryou was also nervous.

"Do you think this'll work?" He asked when he could no longer stand the silence.

The other shrugged his shoulders slightly, "I don't know." He said, his tone not a shred convinced. A long moment of understanding passed between them, and he knew their two minds had found the same train of thought. The ring was their best chance, if not for the spirit, for its pull to other millennium items like the puzzle. Maybe, Tristan thought, Bakura could use the ring just long enough to find the other spirit, who could be trusted to help them. It was only when the white haired boy would not hold his eyes, that he gathered courage to do the unthinkable.

"I'm not gonna pretend I know what you'll be going through...maybe we can hold out a little longer. But if there's no other way, if we're out of options..."

"You can't seriously ask that of me."

Tristan swallowed thickly and turned to face his companion. Bakura avoided his eyes in silence, trying not to tremble.

"I'm begging you."

The paler boy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the world. He had plenty of demons. He made his fair share of mistakes. If some unforeseen force had been driving him to atone for them like this, he may have accepted and dealt with it. Being asked by friends he trusted to know him, the same friends who watched him struggle, and suffer, and break...he forced a sob back into his throat.

In his head, to calm himself, Amane was sitting on an iridescent bridge, either side leading to pristine white as far as the scenery stretched. Life here wasn't all that bad, was it? They weren't being beaten or tortured; they were still allowed to talk to one another, conditionally. If he really worked it out, he knew what the right answer was. If he stopped letting the false nicety of Pegasus Crawford sway him, and if he ignored the way the man had made him feel loved, and secure, and wanted, even for just that one moment in his arms, when he was worth saving...he knew what the answer was. He also knew what it meant. The only tie to a man who could contend with the spirit would be irreversibly severed. His friends would have their freedom, and he would go back to being trapped in a bigger, prettier world with the same ugly secret. He would have the gang to run to, of course, but after tonight even that had changed. After tonight, things would never be the same.

The sob sat in his chest, well suppressed and suffocating. He battled with the weight, calling it tears and whimpers, because he could not accept that it was anxiety, and shame, and guilt. Not at hesitating to save his friends, but at betraying the only man who did not ask him to bear pain for the greater good. He would do what was right (he hoped) because his friends were his first, longest supporters. But faced with an impossible choice, he could not ignore every ounce of his heart leaping for the arms of the man who absolved him of worry and affliction, taking all of the anguish into his own body. Sacrificing in silence. Protecting.

In the end he didn't know who was right and who was wrong. He only knew that if he did not agree, everyone around him would suffer the same terrible captivity he had all these years. And yet, in the back of his mind, a little whisper prodded that he deserved more than misery. That he was worth something, too. He did not know truth, he only knew reality. Hurting his friends out of selfishness was on his soul, and so, he would surrender to spending the rest of his life getting strong enough to fight back. Maybe that way, when he was faced with whatever came at the end of life, some part of the universe would know that the bloodlust was not his, that he was merely swept up in a spirit's quest for power, and spent his entire life trying to find a way out.

"Okay." He relented, meeting his friend's eyes, "We'll do what we have to."

Tristan wanted to thank him, but seeing his friend sitting helplessly beside him made the request impossibly real, and he knew it would never be enough. "We'll get through this." He promised, because he at least wanted Bakura to know he would never fight alone.

The boy's eyes repeated what he had stammered earlier: you can't seriously ask that of me.

And for a moment, Tristan almost wished he hadn't.


Doubt will creep through the windows as you sleep,
Setting in like a cold, cold front.
Your hands go numb and your stomach doubles up.
And you think, was I happy once?

"They Can't If You Don't Let Them" - A Fine Frenzy


Author's Note: In case anyone is interested, the song mentioned in this chapter is the one that inspired me to write "The Stockholm Game," and provides a lot of depth to the story. That aside, I realize this chapter is choppy, and I have to be honest and admit I did intend it to turn out that way. The characters are re-adapting to their sense of self-discovery, coming of age is never an entirely smooth and poetic experience. Given the circumstances, I wanted the style of "Identity" to reflect the struggles of the characters, because they have always been about more than just captivity. As always, thank you for reading.