I am many things. I attempt to bring a lot to my fiction. I try to bring a little bit of everything I've ever learned to every story I write, because that's just part of the process. I've dedicated my life to the pursuit of this art form, and every time I practice it, it's like I get to discover a new piece of myself.
Right alongside everyone who reads it.
One thing that I have never been, though, is subtle.
I think that's why the Kaibas appeal to me so much, even now.
.
Darren waited solemnly, hands at his sides, focusing every synapse of his brain on not being tense, which was quite understandably, but no less paradoxically, making him anxious. He'd already gone over every conceivable detail to be gleaned from Mokuba's office, and mostly the only conclusion he'd been able to reach was that the Kaibas' lives were impressive but so, so depressing.
The room was clean, pristine even. The three walls not dominated by wide glass panes were decorated by box art prints of Kaiba-Corp's releases. It was bright, colorful, dynamic, and meticulously planned. Anyone who entered this office was supposed to register its occupant as a spirited professional, and the fact that he was eleven years old was only ever supposed to be a little bit of trivia, rather than an intrinsic part of the equation.
Darren didn't know what he'd rather have seen on Mokuba's desk, but he thought of the anime figurines on his daughter's shelves at home, the posters and framed memorabilia and . . . everything, and it made everything so much sadder.
Mokuba was just coming out of his private restroom, wiping his mouth with a kerchief, when Roland came in from the hallway. "Sorry about that," Mokuba said, heading over to his desk and moving to sit. "I hope he didn't cause you a headache on the way out."
"I've dealt with worse," Roland said idly. "Pack up. You're going home."
"I'm fine," Mokuba said shortly, waving a dismissive hand.
"You are absolutely not fine," Roland said. "I'm not attempting to pull rank on you, or diminish the work you've been doing. This is purely a matter of self-preservation." This caught the young Kaiba's attention; he looked up, searching Roland's face. "Your brother is on the mend, and he'll be waking up soon. When he does, I can't have him hearing that I've allowed you to mimic his every habit in this building. I'll compromise and encourage you to keep your phone charged and at hand, but that's as far as I'm going to allow this."
Mokuba grimaced. "You really think Niisama will reprimand you. Punish you."
"It's not a thought. It's a certainty."
Mokuba drew in a breath, let it out, drew in another. He looked defeated all of a sudden, like he also understood the certainty of Roland's words. He groaned. "Fine," he said, almost growled, "I'll go. To save you the headache, and possibly an ulcer. I'll go home. But I'm going to be insufferable about it."
Roland smiled. "I would expect nothing less, sir."
Mokuba finally seemed to register Darren's existence. "Oh. Detective. Um, thanks. For, uh. Yeah."
"Mm," said Darren. "You're welcome."
"Are you working my brother's . . . case?"
"Nope." Darren shook his head with conviction. "I've been forced out. I'm using vacation days to circumvent authority right now."
Mokuba smiled. It looked tired. "I like that."
"Heard some . . . wild shit's been going on for you guys. Aside from the obvious." Darren gestured. "Seto sure seems to've gotten himself into a hell of a deal this time." He glanced at Roland. "You think this plan of Yugi's is going to work?"
"Plan?" Mokuba looked suspicious. "What plan? What's Yugi's plan?"
"Our mutual associate," Roland said, rather delicately, "does not wish for your brother to endanger himself further in the name of this . . . crisis. He's decided for a more unorthodox, but evidently dangerous, move. He wishes to find someone strong enough to handle this alone."
"Stronger than Niisama?" Mokuba asked. His expression was dangerous again.
"Precisely," said Roland.
"That's stupid." Mokuba shook his head. "Nobody's a better pick to fight that man than Niisama. You know that, I know that, we all know that. Just because he's hurt doesn't mean he can't win. He's not a lame horse. We're not going to take him out behind the barn and shoot him."
"I know," Roland said, carefully. He said nothing more. He seemed to be making a very calculated decision to say nothing more, and Darren quickly realized why.
Mokuba stewed in silence for a time, then his face screwed up in annoyance. "He always does this. Even the one we knew. Oh, sure, he was nicer about it, I guess. But he was still the one always calling the shots. Always in charge. Always the boss. Oh, look at me, I was a king in a past life. I was a kid and I didn't rule any fucking thing, but I was still a king! I was trained for it! Obviously, I'm in charge! Duh!" Mokuba started grabbing various things from his desk, throwing them into a bag he'd had hung over his office chair.
"I know," Roland repeated.
"Who do you think you are? You think you're a king now? Just because you used to be? This isn't Egypt! This isn't your jurisdiction! I didn't vote for your ass! Come in here, stomping around like you own the place, guilt him into helping you with your fucking savior-complex-ass bullshit, throwing our parents in his face because that's fair, force him into a fight fucking nobody could win, and then one thing happens and now you sweep in to save the day? Why couldn't you give us this genius-ass plan before Niisama got hurt? Huh?! Oh, you got your human shield all worked out, but he's too weak now so we're just gonna throw him out with the trash! It's okay! I know a guy! Oh, you thought I meant what I said about trusting him? Fuck you. I go around and lie whenever I fucking please until I get what I want, and then I judge other people when they call me out on it!"
Roland's face was implacable, but he didn't speak. Darren thought he spied the inklings of a grin on the man's face, and perhaps he was being silent now to keep from actually laughing.
"What have you ever done for this city?! Huh?! Who put you in charge? You get to go around acting like a goddamn superhero because you let other people do all the hard shit for you! Oh, we have someone stronger we can use now, someone we can recruit to do the job right now that Kaiba failed!"
Mokuba threw his bag over one shoulder.
Roland stepped near the door.
"But if I say any of that," the boy continued, "is anybody going to listen? Or are they going to look at me like a kicked puppy in the rain, like, 'Oh, poor baby he's cranky, let's make sure he has his nap now. It's okay, Mokuba, Yugi is gonna save the day, just like he always does. We're so sorry your brother always lets us down. It's not like we put too much on our plates and then expect him to bail us out, and then shit on him when he isn't fast enough!"
Roland cleared his throat.
"I'm gonna strangle them," Mokuba declared with conviction. "I'm going to line them up in the backyard and I'm going to wrap my hands around their necks and I'm going to—"
A knock came at the door.
The anger sloughed off Mokuba's face so quickly and completely that Darren felt dizzy. "Come in," the boy called out I a perfectly professional, pleasant, even sweet, tone.
A young woman with a stylish bob of black hair, slim glasses, and freckles stepped inside. She had a manila envelope in her hand. "Excuse the interruption, sir—oh, you already have—hello, Mister Ackerman. I'm sorry. Excuse me. I'm just here to—here you are, sir. The report you asked for."
Mokuba took the envelope when it was offered. He smiled. "Thanks, Umi. I'm going home for the day. Can you ask Helen to forward my calls, please?"
Umi nodded. "Of course, sir."
Roland nodded. "Pardon us, Miss Takeda," he said.
They all left Mokuba's office. Umi headed off in one direction while Mokuba and his retinue went the opposite way. Mokuba grumbled under his breath, adjusting his pack: "I'm gonna kick him in his shins until he cries. See how kingly he is when he's curled up on the floor. Asshole. Nobody asked you to take command here. You always abandon Niisama as soon as it's convenient."
"I know," Roland said. "I agree with you. But I also agree that finding someone else to head this operation is our best chance now. Master Kaiba has a long recovery ahead, and it won't amount to much if he isn't allowed to rest."
"I know that," Mokuba growled. "It's not what he's doing. It's how he's doing it. Everybody acts like he's some hero. Unimpeachable. Perfect. Golden boy. But he's not. He's never been. He's just as fucked up as any of us."
"I have to wonder," Darren said mildly, "what your brother would make of your language right now."
Mokuba looked over his shoulder at Darren and stuck out his tongue.
Darren laughed.
"Can't wait to hear who he thinks is better than Niisama," Mokuba grumbled. "It'll be nice to have a reason to laugh at something. Oh, don't worry, Mokuba! We can still prevail! We just have to band together! We're a family! Everything will work out if we just believe in each other! Not your brother, though. Fuck him."
"If I didn't know any better," Darren said, "I'd think maybe you had doubts about Mister Mutou's leadership skills." Mokuba eyed Darren suspiciously. "And before you remember that I'm probably not actually supposed to know what the hell you're talking about, let me assuage you: I've been brought up to speed. I know enough about what's going on. And yes, I do believe it's real. You don't have to worry."
Mokuba stopped on a dime.
His face went slack, and he blinked several times.
"Oh." He tilted his head to one side. "Huh."
