Chapter 1: Turbulence

Japan: August 31, 1996

Joey felt sick to his stomach.

Not like a vomit-sick and not like a nervous-sick, more like he'd broken a rib and lost the tip somewhere inside and it was worming around, poking all his other organs. But when he stealthily prodded his ribs while everyone else was talking, he couldn't find anything broken or even directly hurting. So he told himself to toughen up and ignore it. Besides, it was no time to be sick. It was time to be celebrating.

There was the grim conversation first, of course—Yuugi had a lot to say about being partly dead for a while and seeing monsters running loose around Domino and whatnot. Serious stuff. Joey took it in with serious nods like the rest of his friends. But all the while, the back of his skull had a happy tingle he couldn't shake, partly from the conclusion of the tournament and partly from the girl sitting next to him. Krisalyn shot him a glance now and then, and her mint eyes were enough to make anyone tingle.

In the end, Yori declared there was nothing any of them could do about the monsters until they were back in Domino. Everyone agreed. About that time, an announcement came overhead saying the blimp was getting pampered to take off and for all the guests to "enjoy the amenities in the meantime."

Joey intended to.

"Hey, barkeep!" he called, jumping to his feet. "Drinks on me—Joey Wheeler, King of Games, Battle City Champion. Something bubbly for everyone."

Duke commented mildly that the whole blimp was still courtesy of Kaiba, and Joey told the ponytailed sewer rat to hush. He said the same to the little voice inside, the one that kept echoing barkeep and wondering if his dad was at a bar somewhere saying it too. Not today. There were monsters in Domino. Even his dad wouldn't be dumb enough to leave home with real monsters on the streets.

Probably.

Joey's stomach clenched tight, but he kept his smile, and he forced it brighter. The bartender brought out a collection of Ramune bottles, tossing a grape one to Joey. That made the bright smile easy.

It was only after Joey had taken a swig that he realized he should have offered it to Krisalyn. He quickly grabbed another one from the counter and held it out. But she shook her head.

"You make a gracious offer, but I'm afraid grape has never agreed with me," she said with so much diplomacy she could have stopped a war.

Joey laughed. "You could just say you hate it. I ain't offended."

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear while her cheeks turned pink. "Seems my upbringing betrays me. In my usual social circles, everything has to be tactful and veiled."

"Well, hangin' out with me must be a real breath of fresh air. I'm too dumb for tactful." It might not have been something to be proud of, but he was too full of champion-ness to be ashamed of anything at the moment.

It paid off. Kris leaned in close and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Joey thought he might've misplaced his lungs, because he couldn't seem to breathe.

"It is refreshing, Joey." She smiled. "I like you a lot."

"I like me . . . you—I like me with you." He coughed. "It's hot in here, ain't it? I think the AC mighta broke."

"Dude, you're blowing it," called out Tristan. Joey swore he'd choke the guy as soon as he had a chance.

Krisalyn turned to get a Ramune, leaving Joey flaming all the way to his ears. Mai wiggled her eyebrows at him in a much-too-meaningful way and then sidled up to put her arm around Kris's shoulders for a private conversation. Joey hovered, uselessly wondering if Mai's accent would make her harder to understand and stress Kris out, then realizing the hypocritical irony of the thought. If Kris could understand his gibberish, she could understand anyone.

The karaoke machine kicked to life as Duke and Tristan started a duet that was clearly a duel. Joey almost jumped for a place in line, then realized karaoke wouldn't be any fun for Krisalyn. So he spoke to Fuguta for a moment, who directed him to a closet he'd never noticed, chock full of games. Board games, card games, even handheld video games. Joey tossed a Game Boy aside and filled his arms with card games, dumping them across the nearest table. Then he scouted the room for targets.

Yori and Yami had already bailed, as had the Ghouls—no loss on that one, at least—and Ryou. Slim pickings. But Joey was determined to party anyway.

He grabbed Serenity, Anzu, Mai, and Krisalyn. Then, just because he could, he pulled in Fuguta and the bartender too. No one could resist the charm of Joey Wheeler, and there were plenty of games to go around. Joey dominated at Skip Bo, drank two more Ramunes, and blessed everyone's ears with his performance of We Didn't Start the Fire. Then he lost so badly at Uno, he was holding twenty cards when his sister went out. She cackled at him, and he tossed all twenty cards in her face.

Too much partying, he discovered, was bad for a man's stomach. So while the overhead system announced a delay to departure and people were distracted speculating about the issue, Joey excused himself to the bathroom.

He stumbled through the door and leaned heavily against the sink, holding his ribs as he struggled to breathe. Whatever he'd bruised in that fight with Alister must've been hit harder than he'd thought. Usually he was great at shrugging off a beating, but this time, the ache seemed to be getting worse instead of better.

He coughed—

—and he tasted blood.

Joey looked up at himself in the mirror. He looked normal—maybe a little sandy from tussling on a beach and a little windswept from falling off a tower, but honestly, when was he ever really put together? He lifted his shirt to inspect his chest, but the only bruises across his ribs were pre-tournament. Yellow and healing. He splashed water on his face and ordered himself to shake it off.

Then he coughed again, hacking, and the blood spackled his hand. He stared at the little red patch with wide eyes. Leaning forward, he inspected his mouth in the mirror. He still had all his teeth, hadn't knocked one loose in the fight. Hadn't bitten his tongue.

He wasn't an expert, but he knew that wasn't a good sign—coughing blood with no visible cause. His hands shook when he washed them.

Joey avoided doctors like the plague. He'd only gone to a hospital once since his mom had left, and that had been for a broken arm he couldn't fix on his own. But he remembered Alister's deadly cold voice saying, Die, Kaiba. He remembered the flash of green and the monster he couldn't find.

Joey's skin crawled.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he snuck down the hall and let himself into the medical area. The doctor and two nurses were hanging out with tea and magazines, probably talking about the weather and normal things, probably sick to death of weird injuries from the tournament. All the same, when they saw him, they didn't tell him to get lost. The doctor stood up and asked if Joey was injured.

"I think so," Joey managed, feeling heat all the way through his scalp. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I been . . . coughin' blood. Can you take a look, doc?"

Everyone got busy pulling on gloves and putting stuff away. Joey wanted to melt into the floor.

"Maybe just you?" he squeaked out.

The doctor didn't even raise an eyebrow. He waved a hand, and the nurses stepped out, leaving the two of them alone. Joey sat on the exam table and let the doctor shine a light in his mouth and check his pulse and all that.

"No throat inflammation I can see . . ." The man hummed. "Heart rate's high, but nothing I wouldn't expect from our tournament champion. I imagine you've been pushing yourself hard for a few days now. Are you experiencing fatigue?"

"I'm a little worn out," Joey admitted. Then, sheepishly, "'Course, I was up 'til five playing . . . games."

The doctor smiled. "You're not in trouble, Mr. Wheeler. We expect you to play games here. If you'll lift your shirt, please, I'll listen to your lungs."

Joey hesitated. This had been a rotten idea. He was freaking out over nothing. But the doctor probably wouldn't let him leave now, so Joey pulled his jacket off and then his shirt, staring at the wall and trying to keep his face from acting like it was a big deal.

The doctor didn't gasp or demand explanations. He just pressed his cold metal thing to Joey's back and ordered him to take deep breaths, then did the same at the front. When Joey peeked at him, he had a frown on, and Joey couldn't tell if it was a concentrating frown or a concerned frown.

Then the doctor looped the metal thing over his neck and asked about other symptoms. He poked and prodded around Joey's ribs. Joey grimaced.

"No specific site of pain?" the doc asked. "Just a general ache?"

Joey nodded.

"Did you begin experiencing symptoms after the tower fall or was there another incident?"

"Hold up!" Joey gaped. "How'd you know I fell off the tower?"

"Those nets trigger an alarm when deployed, alerting us to possible injury. Although they meet every safety standard and then some, Mr. Kaiba is nothing if not thorough." Noticing Joey's sour expression, the man smirked. "Not a fan, I see. Safety conscientiousness is a wise mentality for a CEO hosting an event such as this one. I wish more business leaders would employ half the measures Mr. Kaiba does, but as a general rule, they meet the lowest bar necessary and call it even. A balance between avoiding lawsuits and pinching pennies."

Trying not to gape again, Joey said, "You really think Kaiba's a good guy?"

"Lie back for me." After Joey shimmied into position on the cold table, the doctor pressed one spot on his stomach, then another. "I'll refrain from comment on his personality, but I will confidently say Mr. Kaiba strikes a fascinating paradox as a CEO, ruthless by nature yet still surprisingly gracious. It's a miracle considering his age, more so considering the practices of his late father, who was the very definition of a cutthroat businessman. Any discomfort here?"

"Not from you. It's all just sort of discomfort-y inside." Joey frowned. He'd never heard anyone talk about Kaiba's dad except to say he was Mr. Moneybags Senior. KaibaCorp, family business and all that.

"These bruises are old," the doctor murmured, still prodding around. Joey tried to keep the heat from his face.

At last, the guy stepped away and told Joey to sit up. Joey might not have spent a lot of time with doctors, but he still recognized a bad-news face when he saw one. His goosebumps felt bumpier than they had on the cold table.

"Am I dying?" Joey tried to laugh and failed miserably.

The doc shook his head. "I can't find anything of immediate concern, but I'll admit I find that, in itself, concerning. These bruises indicate you have experience with pain, and I imagine you wouldn't come to me unless something truly concerned you. Once we land in Domino and I have access to additional equipment, please allow me to evaluate you once more. I promise discretion."

Joey licked his lips. "Discretion, meanin' . . . you won't tell anyone about . . . things?"

"Not unless you would like my assistance." The doctor gave him a meaningful look. "Then I would gladly offer it."

"I got it covered, doc. Thanks." Joey managed a smile. "But, uh, that extra checkup would be okay, I think."

After writing a few things down, the doctor brought him a little plastic cup with pain meds and a bottle of water. Joey swallowed them down and accepted the solemn charge to eat a meal and take it easy during the ride back home.

"If anything worsens," the doctor said, "return to me immediately."

"You got it, doc. Thanks again."

Joey hopped down and pulled on his shirt and jacket, both of which managed to still shed sand. He'd probably be trailing it around for weeks. Just before he went out the door, the doctor called after him.

"One more thing. Congratulations on the tournament win." The man smiled, tossing his gloves in the trash.

In return, Joey grinned and saluted.

Yami had never found patience such a struggle until he was standing as a spirit, waiting for Yuugi to explain the monsters in Domino and counting the seconds until he could have a private moment with Yori. Once everyone started breaking out sodas and blaring karaoke, he thought he might have to disappear into the puzzle just to endure the wait, but it was at that moment he found himself sitting in Yuugi's place.

/Thanks, partner,/ he managed.

Yuugi sounded amused. /I know you really missed her. Just remember I can't block it all out, so don't get too . . . sock-on-the-door or, uh, or anything./

Yami's face flushed with heat. /A scandal was not my intention./

Yori was watching him. She raised her eyebrows knowingly and rubbed the space between them. Since everyone else at the table was engaged in their own conversation, she leaned in close to say, "Yuugi must be teasing you. You're red as a beet."

After clearing his throat, Yami said, "I wondered if we might speak privately. Speak. Emphasis on speak."

She nodded toward the door, already rising. He followed, and even with his neck still burning at the thought of scandal, the cool, quiet air away from a crowd came as a relief. They found a table by a window, with a view of the ocean, and Yori watched the waves with something of a shadow in her dark eyes.

"It's a harrowing experience," Yami finally said, "to be trapped in the shadows."

"You can say that again." Yori had snagged a Ramune on the way out, and she popped the marble down with perhaps too much force, the clink echoing through the blimp's metal corridor. "I know you're worried, but I'm okay. It sort of feels like a nightmare now, looking back. Just a bad dream."

"Sunlight helps with that," he said. "This evening, things may return with more force."

"Then don't be surprised if I hold your hand tonight." She winked.

Yami's stomach gave a little flip. He chuckled. More seriously, he said, "I am here for you. However you need. I just . . . wanted you to know."

"I do know." But even as she said it, that shadow remained. She drained half her soda, still watching distant waves.

"If you'd like to talk . . ." Yami left the offer hanging.

After a moment, she nodded. "There is something." Her gaze returned to his, piercing and intense. "I spent some time in the spirit world, and I met one of your high priests. Shada—he's Shadi's father."

Yami blinked. "You . . . what? Who?"

Yori's lips twitched. "Yeah, that's how I felt, too. He's a good guy. Taught me how to use the bracelet, which is what I needed to fight the shadows. He also told me some things about the past. Not much, but I thought you might like to hear it."

Ironic that he'd offered to help her, and here she was trying to help him. It seemed to be the nature of their relationship. While he couldn't deny loving Yori's independence, part of him also worried she had walls he would never reach past.

One thing at a time.

"Yes," he whispered. "I'd like to hear it."

She told him of Shada's history, discovering his heka and becoming a priest.

"Heka?" Yami asked, frowning.

"Oh, Shada would like you." She grinned. "He got all huffy when I didn't ask that question. According to him, it's the 'magic of the natural world,' and it was required to be a priest."

He leaned forward. "The priests had magic? Beyond the items, you mean?"

"According to Shada. Before you ask, no, he didn't mention if you were in that category. Or me. Since you were a pharaoh and I was a slave, I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's a yes for you and a no for me." She tucked a wisp of hair back, and he noticed her ears had gone red. "I'm sorry I didn't ask more questions. I really should have—"

Yami stopped her by gently placing his hand over hers atop the table. "I imagine you were a bit preoccupied with . . . darker things."

She swallowed and nodded. After another sip of her drink, she went on to tell him the rest—Shada's description of priestly life as taxing in every way; his assertion that greater mastery of the items led to greater mental instability, but that such a sacrifice was necessary for the good of Egypt; descriptions of Karim and Isis, his fellow priests, who held the scales and necklace. Priest Seth with the rod. Priest Akhenaden with the eye.

"I'm familiar with Akhenaden," Yami said darkly.

At her raised eyebrow, he told her of his shadow game with Marik and its narrative detailing the creation of the Millennium Items, the bloody history of Kul Elna, and the spirit of the ring's confusing place in it all.

"I wish I knew how much of it to trust," he said in the end.

She gave a low whistle and finished her soda. "If it helps, Shada didn't say much, but he didn't seem keen on Akhenaden either. Sucks you had a rotten uncle."

"I had a what now?"

Yori snorted. "Here I thought I covered everything. Shada called Akhenaden 'brother to the pharaoh,' so that's your uncle, and he told me you took the throne when you were thirteen years old. He also told me your father's name, and I'm going to butcher it horribly, so I'm sorry in advance for that. Here goes. Akinam-khenen. Aknam-cannon. Akhenamkha . . . nom nom."

Yami tried to hold back his smile, but she was too adorable, failing so hard. Her cheeks pinked, and under the table, she lightly kicked his shoe. He chuckled.

"Should've made the punk write it down," she grumbled.

"It's close enough," Yami said, his chest warming. "It's . . . wonderful, actually."

In terms of real information, what he knew about his past self was barely a spoonful of sand in a bucket, but it was a bucket that had previously been empty. Now he had enough to touch. Enough to feel real.

"My name?" he asked hopefully.

Her gaze fell, and she shook her head. "I asked. He said it's been—"

"Sealed." Yami sighed. "It's alright. I still know more than I ever have, and I'm grateful."

"There is . . . one more thing."

He waited. She tipped her glass back and forth, the marble rolling in its curved path with no escape.

"After I made a deal with the shadows, I started remembering a few things. Small things. And I—it's not a big deal, but I remembered the first time we met. Back then."

Yami's breath caught.

"It was before you were pharaoh," Yori said. "I was sneaking around at night, no surprise, and you saved me from falling off a balcony. Even though I was a slave and you were a prince. You showed me the way up to the roof, and we watched the Nile together."

Though Yami tried to find something to say, all his mind could seem to do was repeat her words, trying to picture it, trying even more desperately to remember it. But there was no moonlit Nile in his memory. Only darkness.

"Shada says we were . . . friends," she added. "He saw us together a lot. Apparently he thought I was a spy, so he questioned me, but turns out I was just a really bold, really weird slave. Once again, no surprise."

She gave a faint smile. When Yami still didn't speak, she said, "I'm sorry. I know you've been searching for your past all this time, and it feels like a real jerk move to remember any of it before you do."

That finally jogged him back to reality. He shook his head. "It's your past, too. You deserve to remember."

"So do you. I know we've got monsters to fight and all that, but we're going to get your memories back, Yami. I promise."

She held his gaze with more depth in her dark eyes than in the ocean outside the window. In that moment, he felt he could conquer any fight, while at the same time, he was losing one. The contradiction left him dizzy.

He half-lifted out of his chair, leaning forward across the table. Yori leaned in as well, and rather than grounding him, her kiss only left him twice as dizzy.

Until an overhead announcement startled them both: "Attention, passengers. KaibaCraft 3 is grounded until further notice. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Inconvenience, indeed.

Yori raised her eyebrows in clear disbelief. "Well, my money is on 'we found out there are real monsters in Domino, and we are secretly panicking behind the scenes.' Care to take a trip to the bridge with me?"

Although he would have much preferred resuming what had been interrupted, Yami nodded and said, "Let's go."