Chapter Text
"For my part, I'm gonna sign the agreement, take my share of the money, and have a nice vacation," Jen said, sipping daintily from her water glass as she scrolled through the options for your impromptu movie night.
You cradled your knees against your chest, eyes locked on the screen to surveille the titles with her. "Just like that, though?"
"Just like what, sweetie?" She glanced over at you, pausing on the poster of an old dimestore romance adaptation you remembered from high school.
You shook your head. "Sparks? Pass," you dismissed the movie and she shrugged, flicking her eyes back to the menu and continuing to scroll. "Just like...giving up. Abandoning Third Star for, what, a payout? It feels cheap."
Jen tossed her hair over her shoulder, laughing brightly. "I wouldn't call the amount of money we'll be receiving cheap. Kaiba is being incredibly generous with this offer."
"I know that," you muttered, "but we worked so hard to build up the company for this? Just to shill out at the first buyer?"
You felt more than saw Jennifer glance over at you, contemplative, and her lips pressed together for a moment before she spoke. "I understand you reservations. I do," she insisted when you shot her an exhausted look, "but I do have to say, you might be spitting in the gift horse's mouth. Metaphorically."
"As opposed to literally spitting in Kaiba's mouth."
She snickered briefly. "If only. But you know what I mean." At your clear and apparent skepticism, she sat upright, movie hunt abandoned temporarily. "Like, okay, let's talk it through point by point." She began to tick off her fingers as she spoke; "The offer to us as shareholders is incredibly generous, as we've mentioned, but he isn't just cutting us a check and running. He's also providing a severance for anyone who no longer chooses to follow the company under the new leadership, on top of matching Kaibacorp pay and benefits to workers who do choose to continue. He's allowing the company to keep the name – like, okay, I can't emphasize that one enough, he isn't even requiring the company name to have a subtitle, like 'a subsidiary of KaibaCorp', no he is literally allowing Third Star to continue being Third Star, and that's huge. And – and! - he has extended offers to at least a dozen current employees of Third Star to transfer to the Domino Branch and develop under him directly."
At the reminder, you felt a bristling along your shoulders, sharp and electric and punctuated by a heat behind your eyes. You knew what she was saying was true – she and Justin had been very specific in their terms, and from what Jen had kept reminding you, Kaiba had been content to agree to them with only the barest pushback – you knew it, but it still left a rancid taste in your mouth, the feeling of being bought and paid after so much had happened.
It must have shown in your face, for Jen sighed, propping her hands on your knees and wiggling them, sending you tumbling onto your side with a sharp "Hey!"
She smiled down at you, but her eyes were soft. "Look, I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But this isn't just a good deal for everyone involved, this is a once-in-a-lifetime, golden opportunity." Flopping back into her previous position, she snatched the remote back from the couch cushions and selected a wuxia movie.
You remained silent through the opening credits and the title screen, eyes fixated on the panning camera across the fields and plains until the camera settled on the hero of the story. Quietly, you asked, "Did you get an offer?"
"Mm," Jen confirmed, tilting her head back over the edge of the pillow to look at you.
You nodded once, narrowing your eyes. Kaiba had said as much – and all the rest, too – but the news felt different coming from Jen's mouth.
Another long moment of silence. In the movie, the hero had happened upon a fight in a tavern, leaping into action to preserve the peace. Then, "Did you take it?"
Jen scoffed. "I think not." At your puzzled look, she laughed, and elaborated, "I went into corporate law to meet Kaiba, remember? Dream accomplished – why would I want to keep duking it out with a bunch of stuffed shirts? Besides, I don't think Japan's for me – I've lived here my whole life, I couldn't possibly leave now."
"Wait, you're going to retire?" That came as a shock, more than the news that she had turned down an opportunity to work closer with Kaiba.
"Oh certainly not," she said, dismissing the notion with a wave of her hand. "I'm too good to be idle for too long. Just...a break, I think. I wasn't kidding about that vacation. Go somewhere nice, and then the wedding, and then once we've settled in I'll probably find another position somewhere closer to home."
The mention of a wedding jolted another shock through you – you supposed you had always known that was the nature of Jennifer and Richard's relationship, it was always just known, and they had never discussed it openly at the office. And, you realized with a rush of shame, you had forgotten, either at the apparent solidity of the façade they presented, or with everything else that had happened.
You picked over your next words carefully, finally settling on an awkward, "Have you picked a date?"
Jen flashed a knowing smile at you, her eyes creasing with amusement. "You don't have to pretend."
"No, no, I really - "
"I know, you really do care, it's just that a lot's happened." She waved another hand. "It's all right, I get it. There has been a lot going on."
A beat.
"So...?"
The same amused smile. "No exact date, but sometime in early winter."
The answer hit you with some force, and you blinked your surprise. Summer still had its grip on the city, but the months would surely pass in the blink of an eye. "Winter?" you parroted dumbly. "That's so soon!"
"Four or five months," Jen shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, taking another sip of her water.
"Is that – I dunno – is that enough? Do you - " you hesitated here, not wanting to overstep the unspoken boundary. "I mean. That's a lot to do."
"Oh, I'm not worried. Maa and the aunties have it covered, whether I want them to or not." Her eyes sparkled with some mischief here. "To say nothing of Dick's family. They are all very excited."
Her tone indicated that it had been a subject often trod by herself and Richard, and you could tell immediately how Dick felt about the subject.
Turning back to the screen, she nudged you with a foot. "Don't worry, you're obviously coming. But don't stress out about having to do anything. If I need you for anything, it'll be for a reprieve from five months with all of their clucking."
Mollified, you allowed yourself to relax into the couch cushions, watching absently as the main character of the movie breathlessly pulled a glowing sword from the trunk of a tree. "Is Dick – did he - "
"He got an offer," Jen cut you off, tilting her head at the screen. "He's not taking it."
You nodded. If anyone would have rejected the offer out of hand, it would have been Dick. He, more than anyone except perhaps yourself, had truly been punished for his part in the partnership, and you couldn't imagine he would be so keen to continue down a path that had only done him ill. You chewed your lip for a moment, considering. "But he thinks this is the right thing to do?"
Jen didn't respond for a little while, but you knew she had heard you – her gaze trailed away from the television screen, gently down until her chin rested lightly against her chest, her smooth brow furrowed in thought. Finally, then, she glanced up at you, and her eyes shone with a hesitance, a tenderness that made you bite down on your lip. "We all do, sweetie. It's - " she hesitated here, grasping for the words to explain, "it's something that we've all discussed for a long time – longer," she interjected when you opened your mouth to interrupt, "than we've even known you. It's...this was supposed to happen, and for it to be happening this way is..."
At the sound of the key clicking in the lock, you started, breathing through the illogical whitehot shock of panic that coursed across your vision at the sound.
Jen paused the movie, swinging off the couch to help her fiance, who had returned with the Thai takeout you had all ordered. You allowed them a moment of privacy to greet each other before you joined them, plucking a bag out of Richard's hand while Jennifer grabbed the other one, carting them off to the kitchen to grab flatware and utensils. It had been a while since the accident, and Richard was moving about more consistently without his much beloathed cane, but the routine of easing his burdens just came so naturally to the two of you.
Dick, for his part, pretended not to notice that he was being doted on, taking smaller, shuffling steps to mask the limp that usually surfaced when he was tired or otherwise exerted. He settled into a position on the couch, tapping a button on the remote. "What've we got?"
"It's that one kung fu movie from, like, high school," Jen called from the kitchen, doling out a hefty portion of rice into a large communal bowl. "I don't think I've ever seen it."
Dick rubbed his chin, squinting at the screen. "No, I don't think I have either."
"I might have, a long time ago," you piped in, depositing the dishes on the coffee table and settling back into your previous position. "But I don't remember much of it."
Dick grunted around a spoonful of curry, watching the action on the screen with mounting interest.
In moments like these, in the calm between the flurry of activity from the last year, it was almost easy to forget everything that had happened. You scrutinized your friends from the corner of your eye, taking in the clarity in Jen's eyes, and watching pensively at the hint of crow's feet that had begun to form around Dick's eyes when he squinted.
In this moment they were people – they weren't comrades that had stood beside and behind and about you during the culmination of your demons. They were just people, just a couple, eating takeout and watching a movie.
You didn't have the time to wonder what they saw when they looked at you – Dick jolted somewhat when he saw the attention you had stopped hiding. Abruptly, he reached for a napkin, patting his cheeks and checking the front of his worn sweatshirt.
"Have I got something?" His brow furrowed.
Jen leaned over with interest, her brows raising in surprise. "Oh, no, yeah, you've got something – yeah, c'mere," she said, ushering him closer to allow herself the opportunity to hook a finger in the collar of his sweatshirt to drag him close enough for a kiss.
The scene made you smile, softly, sincerely for what felt like the first time in ages.
They were just people. They were just your friends.
When they separated, Dick took another once over of his face, his sweatshirt, his lap, sending you a quizzical glance. You shook your head, turning your attention back to the screen briefly. "No, sorry, you don't have anything. I was just..." You trailed off, shaking your head again.
Richard remained silent for a moment, considering, and popped another bite of curry into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes didn't leave the screen when he spoke. "My therapist has advised against taking the offer," he said.
You jumped, though you supposed you couldn't be surprised that he would have been able to guess what was on your mind. "Were you going to?"
True to form, he paused, weighing his words carefully. "I don't think Kaiba could have paid me enough to deal with that shit every day," he finally said, and you were surprised to find that it was lacking the bite of bitterness that you would have expected. He shook his head. "No, I think..."
Here he paused, glancing over at Jen. She reached her hand over to squeeze his, her face lighting from within at the sight of him.
As though this were the confirmation he needed, he continued, "I think we're going to take a vacation, and we're going to start our lives on a different footing." Grimacing, he rubbed his leg. "So to speak."
"So are you going to find another job after the wedding? It - " you hesitated, scowling a bit at the admission, "It definitely is a lot of money, you would both be fine, I would imagine."
At the question, the two reacted in a most baffling way – Dick, for once all lightness, grinned at you, while Jennifer gave a protracted groan and tumbled back against the couch's backrest dramatically.
"Honey, no - "
"I think I'm gonna write a book."
You blinked in surprise, and Jennifer buried her face in her hands, continuing to groan. Dick didn't respond to the melodrama, simply patting his fiancee on the thigh affectionately, but his grin widened.
"A book," you repeated.
"Yeah. I've - " he paused like he wasn't used to saying the words, "I've always wanted to, I think. My therapist has encouraged it – it's a hobby to keep my mind busy, since I – since I can't run anymore. And this is the best opportunity I'll have to do it. So I'm going to."
He said the last bit with some emphasis, and you understood that it was a conversation that had been coming up often in the last few days. Jen had moved her hands from her face, but she still rested her head on the back of the couch, not looking at Richard.
Her tone was strained. "You know I will support you in whatever you do, honey, but - "
"Great, I'm glad to hear it." Tugging her against him, he rubbed her arms with exaggerated affection, and though Jennifer sent you a long-suffering look, she winked at you and smiled before settling back in to finish the movie.
"A book."
Dr. Lucas's reaction was a restrained version of your own, a mild surprise tugging at the wrinkles in her brow. She canted her head at you. "Is that something you think you would like to do? Would this buyout afford you the time and a living with which to do so?"
You picked at the worn corduroy on the armchair, pulling a thread away with some impatience. "I don't know. What would I even write a book about?"
"What is Richard's book about?"
"I - I didn't ask." You frowned. Dr. Lucas allowed you the moment to form your words, and you continued, "I don't think I want to write a book. There's nothing that I have to say that – that I think people want to hear."
"My dear, writing a book doesn't have to be something that other people want to hear. A book's intended audience can merely be one person, with the convenient consequence of having more."
"But that's it, I guess. I don't have anything to share that I want to be an audience for. Rehashing it all here - " you gave an irritated gesture about the office, "has been fine for the purpose it's suited, but my – my - "
"Your story?"
"My suffering isn't entertainment," you finished firmly.
"No, it isn't," Dr. Lucas agreed softly, thoughtfully. "Writing a book can often be a personal choice – and it seems that it is the one that Richard has made for himself. But what works for Richard will not necessarily be what is best for you. Do you want to continue working?"
"I do," you responded without hesitation. "I do, I just." You flailed about a bit, at a loss for the words to summarize how you felt. Finally, with some disgruntlement, you plopped your hands into your lap and let the silence settle.
Dr. Lucas nodded her understanding, smiling a bit wryly. "Yes, job hunting in this economy is a less than attractive prospect."
You shot her a look, irritable. "I shouldn't have to," you snapped, without meaning to.
She ignored the tone and simply smiled that eye-crease-smile of hers. "My dear, from what you've told me, you don't have to."
"But darling, Domino is so far," your mother said, swiping the last bits of uneaten food from plate to trash can, handing you the last of the soiled dishes to wash and grabbing the dish towel from beside the drying rack.
"It is," you agreed, the aggravation in your tone a match for her distress. "And there's so much here that I would be giving up."
You worked through the washing of the dishes efficiently, stacking them in the rack for your mother to pluck and dry. The subject had dominated dinner conversation, and neither of your parents seemed to truly be leaning in either direction – a mirror, infuriatingly, to everyone else that you had talked about it with. Rinsing a sautee pan, you frowned out the window into the setting sun, watching your father lope about the backyard with your parents' new puppy.
"I wouldn't be able to see you guys so often," you said, a bit sadly.
Your mother glanced at you from under her lashes – a bit unnervingly, she didn't respond right away, flicking a bit of sud from your shoulder with a soft affection. "You won't," she finally said. "I will miss these dinners of ours."
You spun on her in your shock. "You make it sound like I've decided."
Shaking her head, your mother wiped the dish towel in a circle over the bottom of the sautee pan, hanging it on the rack with its fellows before turning to face you, the lines in her face showing starkly in the light of the sunset. "I don't think you've decided, but I think the choice is obvious."
The finality of her tone put you on the defensive, and an aggressive rush of emotion reared its head, roaring defiance in your chest. "Maybe I won't go," you said, a bit childishly.
Your mother squinted at you, a smile curling the corners of your lips. "I think," she said, haltingly, "that if you chose not to go, you would come to regret it in time."
That stopped the defiance in its tracks. Absurdly, you felt chastened by the simple statement. "Mom, you know what that company's done, you know, you were there, I don't know if I can just - "
She knew, of course she did – during the Battle City finals, she had had the run of the hospital, barking direction every which way, mediating conversations of heavy medical terminology, allowing you to crush her knuckles and squeezing your father's hand in kind. She had seen the deterioration in the following years, and the tentative rise when you switched career paths over, and over, and over.
"Oh, my darling." She pressed a hand against your shoulder, the same she had fussed over only moments before, and forced you to look her in the eye. "I know that this KaibaCorp has made mistakes, and I know what it cost you – what it cost me! And your father! We thought we'd lost you many times over. But I also know that without the medical care of those KaibaCorp doctors, we really would have. Many times over."
You snorted, feeling heat begin to pool behind your eyes. "So because they kept me from dying again, I should work for them?"
"No, of course not, what a silly reason." She fussed over your shirt, plucking at the way it hung on you, wiping an imaginary crease while she considered what to say. "But the burden you have carried – are carrying still - you've...you've been carrying it alone, all this time, and I think - "
"Don't tell me that I should just drop it and forgive everything."
Her eyes snapped to yours immediately, and you saw them flash in a way you knew yours did sometimes, and underneath the softening flesh you realized that your fire had always come from hers. "No, but I think you should give them a reason to be better. Show them what it means to fight for something that matters. Never let them take a child away from their mother again."
Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment, the heat behind your eyes pricking somewhat before you realized that a tear had escaped, trailing down your cheek. Then another, then another, and your face scrunched in on itself as the dam burst and you allowed yourself to collapse onto your mother's shoulder.
She didn't coo at you as you had remembered she had once done, long ago, nor stroke your hair – she simply held you solidly against her, allowed your fingers to claw at her sides, and you felt warm spots trickle against your neck.
The words that came out of the both of you were a blur – anxieties and fury, things pent up to bursting for years tumbled out of you and her, overlapping, the edges of your sentences blurring against hers.
When the both of you were spent, faces blotchy and noses running, she cupped your cheeks, scrunching your face further, and pulled your forehead to rest against hers.
"When you were very small, it was a dream of yours to make a name for yourself in Domino."
You let out a watery laugh. "I'm a little old to be a famous duelist, mom." To say absolutely nothing of the physical strain, a tiny voice in the back of your mind said.
"Maybe so," she agreed, wiggling your cheeks with her hands to draw another laugh from you. "But that doesn't mean you should leave this opportunity."
Drawing back, you wiped your face along the back of your forearm, sniffling inelegantly. "You've always hated that dream, though. You told me it wasn't realistic, that I should focus on other things."
"Well," she sniffed, "those other things didn't work out either. So maybe when your father and I come to visit you, you can show me what's so great about this Domino."
You weren't supposed to be in the building. Not only was it far past business hours, nearing on midnight, but you were on leave, having taken off to make your decision. Even if you had been the lone dissenting voice, you had come to understand, the company still would have completed the merger – you would simply have clung to your title and your office, the last leader of a company in flux.
You took the stairs in twos, slipping through the door to the stairwell and tracing the wellworn path to your office. You flicked on the lamp on your desk, and simply stood for a moment, letting the stillness of the night envelope you.
It just been a job, just like any other. You started out in a relatively low position on the social media team, but as time went on and you found that you were good at this kind of work, good at anticipating people and their needs and wants, good at predicting how this or that group would behave, you secured promotion after promotion. It had felt good – for the first time in such a long time, it felt good to build something from scratch, by the strength of your merits and not by the favor of a friend of a friend.
Taking a turn about the room, your fingertips dragging along the spines of the books and stacks of magazines on your shelves, you stopped, picking up the 15th anniversary edition of Duelist Monthly. You flicked through it absently, wrestling with the sticky heaviness that settled in your chest at each of the glossy pages, the photos both grainy and of stark resolution, and mostly at the sheer weight of the memory.
“Hey, you got a sec?”
You frowned and sat, dumping the magazine on your desk – as it fell, it clattered open to a full page spread of the Battle City finalists, and your heart gave a tremulous squeeze.
There was a link to this tournament, it seemed, that you would never quite be able to extricate yourself from. Your university path had been altered beyond repair, your career floundered back and forth until it finally came to roost as though on tracks, and even your death.
You scowled at the word, working your mouth around it as though it were something quite sticky that you couldn't dislodge. You had addressed it in such terms before, it was true, but only at your most volatile, your angriest, something to be spat out like venom, to cause another person to hurt.
But also, interrupted a quiet voice in the back of your mind, but also your rebirth.
Yes. You supposed that was true, too, wasn't it? Who knows where you would have gone next if Justin hadn't stolen this stupid magazine from the mail cart before it made its way to you?
You rolled the thought around in your mind for a few moments, letting it marinate, swiveling your desk chair back and forth and letting your toes drag across the carpet. After a bit of this you glanced up, a crease forming between your brows – had that light always been on?
You got up from your seat, swerving around the desk to pop your head out from your door, peeking down the hall.
Your frown deepened, and you followed the hall to the light, knocking softly at the open door.
Justin stood before one of the windows of his office, eyes downcast and a tumbler in his hand. At the knock he jerked, turning to face you – his expression had been sombre, but at the sight of you he brightened visibly, a line of tension easing about the creases of his mouth. Then after a moment, it stiffened once again with awkwardness.
"Hey." You waved, suddenly overcome with a shyness that felt like an ill-fitting coat, heavy and patchworn.
"Hey," he replied with a breath of what sounded like relief.
"Can I - ?" You gestured, and he sprung to life as though electrocuted.
"Yeah, yeah." He set the tumbler down, cleaning a stack of paperwork from a seat and waved to welcome you to sit. "'Ve always got time for you, killer. Do you - ?" He raised the tumbler, jiggling it a bit, the liquor catching the dim light of his office lamp.
You sat, tucking your ankles underneath the seat, hesitating. "I – guess – sure. Thanks."
He filled a clean tumbler with a finger of whiskey, and the handoff brought your fingertips to brush against his, shooting a current through the both of you for what seemed like years.
"Thanks," you said again, after a moment, jerking the glass to your chest.
It had only been days since the last time the two of you had been alone in the office together, but it felt like much longer, the weight of that night stifling – it was clear that he was feeling the consequences as well, his eyes searching yours for a cue as he sat, silent. Where once there had been an ease in his manner around you, and in yours around him, there was now a crackling tension, building like static.
You took a sip of whiskey for something to do with your hands, then, abruptly, simultaneously, the both of you blurted, "What are you - ?" and halted.
A laugh stuttered out of him, and he looked at his hands, fingers tapping against the rim of the glass. "You first, killer. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He rose his head to squint at you, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
You shook your head, unsure where to begin. "Just. Thinking."
"Oh, yeah, definitely. I come to my office to think, too, sometimes."
"Okay, then what were you doing here?" you shot back.
His face all seriousness, he replied, "Thinking," and held the façade for a mere moment before laughing again, the barest of a familiar twinkle coming to his eye. "Sorry, please, go on."
"I was just thinking," you continued, "about...everything. You know, I – um." The realization dawned on you at that moment that the terms of the merger were different for Justin than they probably were for you, or Dick, or Jennifer. You went on, your tone hesitant, "I know that – Kaiba - "
"Are you gonna take it?" Raising his glass to drain the dregs of his liquor, Justin reached over with feigned nonchalance and refilled his drink.
"I - I don't know," you admitted, watching the dancing lights the whiskey cast against his face before his hands settled to stillness once more. "I don't think I can just stay here after everything - "
"Fair."
"But I don't know if I can just leave everything behind, either."
A grin broke across his face, and he leaned back in his seat to cross one ankle over the opposite knee. "Killer, there are easier ways to say you're gonna miss me."
"I couldn't imagine what that would feel like," you scoffed. "I don't mean you, I mean - " a pause, fumbling for words, and you waved an arm about the office space, "I mean everything."
Another quiet chuckle, another tap of his fingers against the glass. "I know what you meant. Guess that just leaves you with one option, huh?"
"Justin, how could I work for him? After everything he's done to me – after everything you've done to me in his name – how could I make that my life?"
If you thought this would cow him, you were surprised when he looked up and met your eyes unflinchingly, the same infuriating mix of earnestness and guile roiling in his gaze. "Easy, you sign on the dotted line and fax it over."
"Just like that?" you challenged.
Justin shrugged. "Just like that." He raised the glass to his lips for another pull, squinting at you in contemplation as it went down. Licking any stray whiskey from his lips, he cocked them into a smirk. "I've got a good feeling about it."
"Oh you do, do you?" you spat venom, setting you half-empty glass onto his desk with an aggressive clink.
Unperturbed, he simply said, "I do. Trust me."
The familiar entreaty, the refrain repeated so often, pulled you up short, and you could only stare at him for a moment, then looked down at your hands, a tangle in your lap. "And what about you? What will you do?"
"Me? Haven't you heard? I just sold a company to a major buyer – I've got it made." He spread his arms in a show of bravado, chuckling mirthlessly when you shot him an incredulous look. He didn't respond for a long moment, and for a long moment you thought he wouldn't, that he would just leave it at his bullshit. Then, quietly, "I think I'd like to visit home. For a little while."
The bareness of the response, humble almost to the point of timidity, shocked you into silence for a little while. There was an emotion you couldn't identify behind his eyes when he looked back up at you, and it left you breathless.
That same emotion clung to your throat until Justin brought his glass to his lips a final time, swinging his head back to drain the liquor, and stood. "But that's enough wallowing, don'tcha think, killer?"
Nodding, you allowed him to usher you from his office, turning back to glance at him at the doorjamb. You didn't know how much he'd had to drink before you had found him – his eyes seemed glassy, but clear, and the smile on his face was familiar, if a bit sad. He said nothing as your eyes traced his face, simply gazing down at you as though he had all the time in the world for the moment the two of you were in.
"You're not going to kiss me again, are you?"
His eyes creased, head canting to one side, doglike. "Do you want me to?"
"No."
He raised his hands in a display of submission. "I'm at your leisure," he joked, taking a step back into his office, forcing a rush of cold space between the two of you.
Nodding, you glanced back at the light of your office, then back at Justin, who had resumed his post in front of the window, his eyes downcast and his hands in his pockets.
"Hey." His head swiveled to face you, expression quizzical. "Are you – are you gonna be all right?"
"Me?" A familiar light cross his face as he cracked a toothy grin and levelled a finger gun at you. "I'm always all right, killer. You just let me know if you need anything, and I'll be there in a flash."
He winked at you, and you nodded, raising a perfunctory thumbs up; now that Justin had shown you the vulnerable parts of him it was that much easier to see how fragile his expression was in this moment. You hesitated another moment, then tapped a knuckle against his doorjamb. "Good night, then."
"Night, killer."
The walk down the hallway to your office seemed that much longer, and you reached across the desk to turn off your lamp to leave. When your eyes caught the file folder with that familiar embossing, your fingers froze. Reaching for the folder, you spun it to face you, flipping open the cover to read the cover page that you already knew by heart. Absently, you flicked page by page, eyes dragging over words you were well acquainted with, until finally they came to rest on the two jagged lines, marked by sterile Xs.
Prospective employee, prospective employer.
Cautiously, as though you might startle the job offer, you reached for a pen from the mug on your desk, clicking it twice in thought, tapping the butt end against the X that seemed to vibrate in the center of your vision.
As if by its own volition, your hand moved through the motions of your signature, and your name stared back at you, black ink stark against the page. As if a switch had been flipped, you felt a throb in your chest – it wasn't a pain, merely a twinge, and you breathed through the sensation, closing your eyes softly.
"Please don't let me do a big thing badly," you whispered to the open air of your office.
There was one fax machine in the building, and it resided in the copy room adjacent to the worst conference rooms. You scribbled a quick cover page, merely the Japanese characters for the word fine, feeding the paper into the slot and punching in the number Kaiba had written on a card stuck in the offer envelope, one digit at a time.
Stepping back, you crossed your arms over your chest, breathing deeply, willing the tightness to loosen around your lungs.
Shaking your head, you acknowledged that to stay here would be the worst of the choices – it was the safe choice, of course, but in your mind you knew that it was the wrong choice. Like the veteran of a battle, you knew you wouldn't be satisfied to simply be comfortable in a high position of the familiar shell surrounding a brand new company – not when those who had battled with you were no where to be found.
You didn't know where this opportunity would take you. To Domino, obviously, and though the location was fraught with distress, it also had a sense of comfort along with it, the sense of something you knew front to back. But beyond that?
The fax machine had sat in rest for a few minutes, the signed offer merely sitting patiently in the tray to be plucked back up. You reached for it, sighing softly, before jerking back when the machine started itself back up. One sheet of paper, then two, inched their way out of the print feed, and the fax machine settled into silence once again.
Hesitating, you reached for the sheets of paper, before, unbidden, a smirk cracked your stormy expression.
"Asshole," you scoffed.
On one page, next you your signature were the swooping curves you had to assume was Kaiba's signature.
And on the other, the cover page, were simply the Japanese characters for knew it.