"Come on, even when you get arrested, the police give you one phone call from jail." Duke looked from one gangster to the other, trying to gauge how persuasive his argument was. "I can put it on speakerphone, you can hear the whole thing, and I swear I won't tell anyone what's happened. I just need to let my employees know that I won't be coming in and reschedule a meeting I had with a friend so that he doesn't think I stood him up."

The mobsters looked at each for a few long moments, then they turned back to him. "You get one call," the taller one said. "One call, on speakerphone, and if you try to tip them off, we'll mess up that pretty face of yours. Deal?"

"Sounds fair," Duke replied breezily, successfully hiding any nervousness he felt. "Okay, now let me think of a good lie to tell them so that they don't get suspicious." He sat and thought for a few moments, then said, "Okay, I thought of it. Are you ready for the number?"

Duke's hands were tied behind his back, so it was clearly out of the question that he should dial the number himself. The lackey started to pull out his own phone, but Duke stopped him.

"Wait, we should probably use mine so that he doesn't get suspicious. You know, caller ID and all that."

The lackey reached into Duke's pocket and pulled out his cell.

"Okay, now go to contacts and find Ryou Bakura, then call his cell number."

The lackey followed Duke's instructions, then put the call on speakerphone as it rang. It was after eight in the morning, so he should be awake by now. After the third ring, Duke was starting to get nervous, but he sighed with relief a moment later when Ryou picked up.

"Hi Duke, what's up?" There was a forced cheerfulness in his tone, a nuance that wasn't lost on the dice-master.

"I'm calling to ask you a favor. I got a call from my mom's rehab facility last night. They said that there were some… health complications. It might be nothing, but I'm driving out to Kyoto to see her." Duke hated using his mother in order to lie, but at least he was lying for a noble purpose: self-preservation. "I've been trying to call Suki so that she knows I won't be coming in for the next few days, but she's not picking up. Do you think you could swing by my store and let her know that I won't be coming in?"

"Sure, of course," Ryou answered, exhaustion underscoring his attempt at a positive tone. "I'm sorry to hear that about your mom. I hope she's alright."

"Yeah, me too," Duke answered with a sad sigh. "I know we were supposed to meet for coffee tomorrow. Since I'm cancelling on such short notice, how about I make it up to you by making you dinner on Friday. You can come by my apartment around six. How does that sound?"

"That sounds nice, thank you," Ryou replied, sounding somewhat… relieved, although Duke couldn't quite figure out why.

"Are you doing alright, Ryou?" Duke was worried about him; Ryou had said that there was something he wanted to tell Duke, something he wanted advice about. He was worried. He and Ryou had become good friends in the past year after the Egypt fiasco—bonding over their self-reliance and their lone-wolf lifestyles—and lately Ryou had seemed especially troubled.

"I'm… well enough," Ryou answered vaguely. "Don't worry about me, okay? We'll talk more on Friday. I'll tell Suki that you won't be in for a few days. I hope your mom gets better."

"Thanks. I'll see ya Friday."

"See ya."

The mafia grunt hung up Duke's phone, then put it back in their captive's pocket. For a moment, there was silence.

"Anybody up for tic-tac-toe?" Duke suggested, already bored.

After hanging up with Duke, Ryou redirected his path. He'd been on his way to another meeting with a friend, but he could stop by the Black Clown on his way. It was only a small detour. After fulfilling his promise to Duke, he made his way to the cafe where he was supposed to meet Marik.

He was in town for maybe a week, though Ryou didn't know why. Marik had called Ryou asking for a meeting, and Ryou had tentatively accepted the offer. He hadn't forgotten the events of Battle City. More had happened during those days than anybody else realized. It was a burden that Ryou carried, unable to share it with anyone. It was a burden he carried alone out of necessity. It seemed like Marik was here to make amends, though.

"I've been seeing a therapist ever since the Battle City Finals," Marik explained, his hands wrapped around the large mug that held his hazelnut latte. "He's been helping me work through a lot of things so that nothing like that ever happens again." He looked a little uncomfortable speaking about this, but he also seemed to determined to say what he thought needed to be said. "Part of me getting closure for that is apologizing to the people I hurt." He took a deep, calming breath before he continued. "I am so sorry for what we did to you," the Egyptian teen apologized earnestly as he sat across the table from Ryou, who sipped his green tea nervously. "We were awful to you. "There's no excuse for it, for any of it, and I want to make things right with you." He held his breath as he waited for a response.

"Thank you, but it's okay, Marik, you don't have to—"

"It's not okay," Marik insisted, looking pained as he recalled in detail what he'd done to Ryou. "I told him to stab you. I'm the reason you were hospitalized. I'm the reason you were sent to the Shadow realm with him." Ryou shivered at that reminder. "I'm the one who suggested to him that we, well…" He stared down into his latte uncomfortably, his cheeks tinged red with shame. Ryou knew why, because his own face with flaming now too. "It was atrocious, what we did to you."

Ryou laughed a soft, cold, bitter laugh. "That wasn't the worst thing Bakura's done to me in my soul room. Besides, it was still better having you there than facing him alone," Ryou admitted, his eyes fixed on his tea before he took another sip of it.

"You shouldn't downplay it like that," Marik murmured, looking up at Ryou again. "I'm deeply sorry for doing it, and I feel awful. I can't forgive myself for it until you forgive me first." His pale purple eyes were pleading now, and Ryou took pity on him.

"I forgive you, Marik." He understood that both of Marik's personalities had been far from sane at the time, and while that didn't release him from responsibility for his actions, it made it easier for Ryou to forgive him. Besides, Ryou still placed the blame for that on Bakura. He'd been the one to invite Marik to their soul room, after all. It had been his idea, and he'd been the one to cause Ryou the most pain. Marik, by contrast, had seemed mildly affectionate towards Ryou, even as he used him with the cold inconsiderate intentions of a sociopath.

"Thank you." Marik looked relieved as he received forgiveness from Ryou, feeling that burden of guilt lifting from his shoulders. "And I… I wanted to ask you something else."

He was still blushing as he reached out to hold Ryou's hand where it rested on the table. Ryou looked up at him in confusion, surprised by the gesture.

"I started to like you during Battle City, in my own strange way. I didn't understand it very well then, and I certainly didn't express it properly. I wanted to know if you'd be willing to give me a chance. I promise that I'm cured, and I'll never hurt you again. I-I like you, a lot." Marik looked like he wanted to say more, but he just shut his mouth then, waiting for Ryou to answer.

"I'm flattered, Marik," he began slowly, his heart racing as his stomach began to feel queasy. "But I'm not ready for a relationship right now, with anyone. I'm still trying to… figure things out myself, you know?"

Marik nodded with understanding; he knew what Ryou was talking about, even though he wouldn't say it. Having an evil yami was something that it took time to recover from; the longer you'd had your yami for, the longer it took to recover. Ryou gave Marik's hand a small squeeze before he released it.

"Thank you for the offer, and it's nothing personal, but I can't." They sat in silence for a minute before Ryou excused himself to the restroom, the nausea too strong for him to fight it down. So much for holding onto his breakfast.

Seto cursed himself as he struggled to type with his restricted fingers. The bandages were on his knuckles, which had carried the force of his blows against the mirror, but they limited the range of movement for his fingers, and now he was starting to regret punching out the mirror.

That was what bothered him, not the pain, not Mokuba's disapproval and concern, not Roland's silent scolding, not the doctor's disappointment at tending to Seto's hands for self-inflicted injury yet again.

He was frustrated with his new difficulty with typing, but he was still proud of himself for not cutting. It was a small victory, made even smaller by the fact that he'd still hurt himself, just in a different way.

He'd been clean for two years, save his relapse after Battle City, so he didn't know what was driving him back to it now. Gozaburo was gone, and even though he rarely went a day without remembering his step-father—his inheritance, from his company to his mansion to his fortune, were all so thoroughly tainted by him that it was impossible to escape his memory, his presence, his influence—he would have thought that the absence of the man would be sufficient to alleviate the massive pressure he'd always imposed upon Seto.

He quickly redirected his thoughts. Thinking about his step-father would just make it worse. He needed to distract himself with work. He pondered briefly the fact that other people usually talked to a friend or family member about their problems. Even if it worked for other people, it didn't matter. He didn't want to do it, and it wasn't exactly an option that was available for him anyways.

"This," Duke said as he tapped the box of floral tea with his finger splint, "Will help you relax when you're feeling anxious. It has lavender and chamomile, both of which are known for those properties. It also has rose petals, which help fight depression, among other things. And this," now he tapped the box of lemon ginger tea, "Should help with the nausea." He thought for a moment, then turned around and withdrew a package of candied ginger from a cabinet, placing it with the boxes of tea before he pushed them across the counter towards Ryou. "This will help with that too. Try using them for a week and let me know if they help."

Ryou accepted the offered items gratefully, pleasantly surprised by Duke. "Thank you so much. I will."

They'd finished eating dinner, during which Duke had answered Ryou's questions about his mom at rehab, which Duke had answered vaguely and evasively, feeling somewhat guilty that he wasn't being honest about what had really happened. He couldn't bear to tell him that he'd been abducted again, and that this time, for each day that his father didn't deliver the money he owed, they broke one of Duke's fingers.

It had taken three days for Mr. Devlin to make enough earnings to pay back his debt, which meant that Duke now had three broken fingers on his left hand. When they'd let him go, he'd gone straight to the hospital to get his hand treated. He told him that he'd broken his fingers by getting his hand accidentally smashed in a door, and he'd told Ryou the same thing.

At dinner, Ryou'd finally confided in Duke about his anxiety issues. He was the first one that Ryou told, and while doing so had been a nerve-wracking decision, he was already feeling glad that he had.

He looked at the boxes of tea, then looked up and asked, a little embarrassed, "Could I perhaps try one of them now?"

"Of course," Duke answered with a kind smile. He filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove with the flame on high beneath it. He got a pair of mugs out and handed one to Ryou, who had chosen to try the ginger tea—he was already feeling nauseous after eating more than he was used to eating at one time.

"Has the nausea affected your eating habits?" Duke asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he pulled out a box of peppermint tea for himself.

"Yeah," Ryou admitted with a sigh, staring into the empty mug. "It's… hard to eat when I know that it probably won't stay down, and then my stomach will start hurting after a while. I try to just eat a little bit at a time, because I thought that might make it easier for it to stay down, but that doesn't seem to be helping."

"Are you eating three meals a day?" Duke asked, suspicion nagging at the back of his mind.

Ryou shook his head and answered quietly, "No, more like one and a half, on average. Every few days I'll try eating more, but it never seems to work out. I mean, I do have to eat something, because if I try going hours with nothing at all, I'll pass out, so I manage to keep my blood sugar up with soda and hard candies, but it's just not enough."

Duke thought for a few moments, wondering if he should dare to investigate this further. Yes, he should, he decided. It was for Ryou's own good. "Have you lost weight since this started?"

Ryou shrugged noncommittally as he continued to avoid meeting Duke's gaze. Duke put a hand on Ryou's shoulder and led him to the bathroom, pulling out the scale, setting it on the floor in front of him, and looking at Ryou meaningfully. Ryou was too meek to protest, and besides, Duke was physically capable of forcing him onto the scale, so he stepped onto it on his own. He couldn't bring himself to look down at the numbers, but Duke was watching the digit display on the scale as he waited for the results.

"Ryou, you're far too light." Duke looked up at him, his voice serious and concerned as he continued, "You're either underweight, or very close to it."

Ryou started to tremble, his face burning red with shame as he looked away from Duke again. His breathing was shallow as he swallowed hard, unable to resist the anxiety attack as it hit him with sudden force, dozens of fears flying through his mind at lightning speed.

"It's okay," Duke assured as he pulled Ryou off the scale and hugged him tightly. He was no expert, but he could see what was happening. "Just breathe, Ryou. Breathe."

Ryou struggled against the hyperventilation, trying to regain control. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the urge to be sick. No, not now, he mentally pleaded with himself. Please, not now, not here.

"You're going to be alright," Duke continued, trying to help him calm down. "You're not alone. You have help. You have me."

His words were intellectually reassuring, but his nausea was too strong to fight anymore, and Ryou found it impossible to hold back any longer. He broke free from Duke's hug and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet just in time. Duke held back his hair for him, filled with pity for his friend.

When Ryou was done, he sat back on his heels and tore off a piece of toilet paper with which to wipe his mouth. Duke disappeared for a moment and returned with some bottled water and a piece of the candied ginger. Ryou drank in small sips, Duke remaining silent as he tried to think of the best thing to say. When his friend started nibbling on the ginger, Duke gently pulled Ryou over so that he was now sitting at Duke's side.

"How are you feeling?" Duke asked quietly, prompting Ryou to burst into tears. He enveloped his poor friend in a warm embrace, letting Ryou lean against him for support.

"I feel awful," Ryou sobbed, allowing himself to enjoy the rare luxury of being physically close to someone. "I'm so tired of feeling sick all the time."

Duke handed him some tissues as he replied, "Thank you for telling me about this. I promise I'll help you so that you're not suffering like this anymore. You may feel awful now, but you'll get better."

"Thank you," Ryou sniffled, closing his eyes as he leaned against Duke's chest for a few moments. "I'm so tired…"

"You haven't been sleeping well either? You should have said so. I have a tea for that too."

"Since when are you so well versed in natural remedies and herbal teas?" Ryou asked curiously, his tears starting to subside the more he spoke with Duke.

"Do you remember Orihime?"

"Isn't she that girl you dated a few months back? The one with the really long hair?"

"Yeah. We only dated for a few weeks because she was too much of a hippie flower-child for me, but she was really into that stuff, and I learned a few things from her before we broke up and she left to join a commune."

"Oh." Ryou focused on breathing deeply as he rested against Duke, not quite ready to stand yet. He felt Duke's hand gently take Ryou's own trembling hand and wrap his fingers around his wrist, measuring his pulse. It was still too high for a resting rate, but it was gradually going down. They sat like that for a few more minutes, but were soon disturbed by the whistling of the kettle.

"I don't understand why you do that." Mokuba's expression betrayed his anger, his confusion, his disappointment. "What do you accomplish by breaking the mirror and ruining your hands?"

Seto had managed to stay busy all week, hoping to avoid having this conversation with his brother, hoping that the child would forget about what had happened before he got a chance to confront his older brother.

He sighed and answered, "It doesn't matter. You—"

"Yes, it does!" Mokuba stomped his foot to punctuate his statement. "You're hurting yourself, and I don't want you to. Why do you do it?"

Seto swallowed hard. Mokuba had no idea how much Seto used to hurt himself in a much more deliberate way. He restrained the urge to urge to scratch at his wrists—they always felt prickly and itchy whenever he thought about cutting—and straightened up in his office chair.

"If I promise not to do it again, will you be satisfied with that?" Seto offered. He'd promised Mokuba the night it occurred, but that had been in the heat of the moment, and Mokuba knew that wasn't as good as a promise made in a state of calm consideration.

Mokuba's expression became more thoughtful as he weighed his options. Each time something like this happened, he would pester Seto to promise that he wouldn't do it again, and Seto would refuse. He would say that he would try, but he couldn't honestly make that promise. The chance of him breaking it was just too high. While the reason for this behavior was a secret Mokuba desperate wished to be told, he decided that his brother's wellbeing was more important than his own curiosity.

"Do you promise?" Mokuba asked seriously, giving his brother a look that said, "If you break this promise, I will do everything in my power to punish you for it."

"I promise."

"Pinky promise?"

Seto smiled a little and held out his hand, pinky extended. Mokuba came closer and linked his pinky with Seto's. "I pinky promise." He kissed his little brother's forehead as his young face settled into a content expression of relief.

"Good." Mokuba seemed satisfied with that.

"Now, it's time for you to go to bed." Seto unlinked his pinky from Mokuba's and turned back to his laptop.

"But I'm not even tired," Mokuba complained.

"Then you're playing too many videogames and not running around enough."

"You're one to talk!" Mokuba was looking indignant again. "You make the videogames I play. Besides, I don't have anyone to play with."

Seto glanced over at his brother, feeling a pang of guilt. It wasn't Mokuba's fault that he couldn't seem to make any friends at school. It was Seto's. Everyone knew KaibaCorp and its young executive, and the kids in Mokuba's class were no exception. They'd tried befriending Mokuba for the benefits that would come along with being his friend. Mokuba had been too smart for them, and as such had turned away all attempts at friendship—a behavior disturbingly similar to his big brother. Seto felt responsible for any loneliness his brother experienced because of his brother's affluence and success, but he had yet to think of a way to remedy the situation. He'd let Leon von Shroeder visit with them a few times, since he and Mokuba had hit it off at the KC World Championship, but a certain… altercation between the elder brothers had separated them for good. Rebecca Hawkins had visited a few times too, and the two got along well enough, but Rebecca was also a college student who helped her grandfather with his research, so she had extremely limited availability. Maybe I should get him a pet, Seto thought, not for the first time. He quickly dismissed the idea, doubting that it would do any good. Animals weren't a real substitute for human interaction.

"How are your hands?" Mokuba asked softly, and Seto held them out for his brother. The bandages he still wore covered the healing skin, but his knuckles weren't so badly cut that they would scar permanently. The worst case scenario was that there were still bits of glass dust under his skin, and they were harmless.

"Do they hurt?" Mokuba was studying the bandages as if staring hard enough would let him see through them.

"No," he lied. "In a couple of weeks, you'll hardly be able to tell that anything happened."

Mokuba shivered as he remembered how those very same hands had looked when they were dripping blood and sparkling with bits of broken mirror-glass.

"Never again?" Mokuba asked, looking up at his brother again with uncertainty. He needed assurance, which was exactly what Seto gave him when he lifted his brother into his lap and hugged him close.

"Never again. I promise."

Author Notes: If you want to know what event Marik is talking about, check out my Tornshipping one-shot in my Miscellaneous One-Shots collection, because that one-shot is actually part of the canon for this story. ^_^